The Survival Code, page 35
She’s going to run.
I scramble up from the floor and throw myself in her path. I’ve got several inches and at least thirty pounds on Mom, yet she round kicks my legs out from under me with ease. I land hard on my back.
Out of breath.
Vision blurred.
Dad’s warm blood runs underneath me.
Mom’s been drilling again. Or maybe she never stopped. Her Krav Maga is much better than mine. By the time my brain processes this thought, she is halfway gone.
It’s Navarro who leans over me.
I’m quickly flooded with intense relief.
I reach up and touch his rough face.
The sensation doesn’t last. He barely has time to pull me to my feet before I hear the screams. Mom is already on the beach.
Charles is calling my name.
Over and over.
She’s taken him.
She’s taken my brother.
As I get to my feet, Jay makes a grab for me. “Jinx! Wait! It’s not safe—”
I shake free of his grasp and take off at a run. Behind me, I hear him yell at Toby and MacKenna to stay in the yard.
I make it to the edge of the property where I have a good view of the beach. Mom has already made it halfway to the dock. Charles struggles against her and she hoists him over her shoulder to pick up speed. She jogs toward one of the speedboats at the end of the dock. That must be how Tork arrived and how the two of them planned to leave after they’d completed their mission.
Charles struggles against her, yelling, “Mom! No! Jinx!”
The sound is already growing more distant and I know, I mean really know, that I’ll hear these screams. Always. Forever. In my nightmares. In my dreams. Anytime a room falls silent.
“Jinx! Jinx!” Charles calls again.
I can’t let her take my brother.
I can’t.
I become an extension of this thought and my body takes off on its own. I bolt down the beach, running as fast as I can in the way-too-bright sunlight.
The breeze. The swaying palm trees. The waves. This is a scene set in the wrong location.
It’s too late.
Mom climbs in the speedboat at the end of the dock and fiddles with the rope. I’m still at least a hundred feet away from her. A second later Navarro is at my side with the shotgun. But there’s no way he can hit her at this distance.
He fires into the ocean. Not even really in the direction of the boat. It’s an act of frustration. And defiance.
It’s a loud boom that goes nowhere and hits nothing.
Jay runs up a second later. “Son, that’s enough.”
Leaving the two of them behind, I continue to run after Mom even after she cranks the boat’s engine on and steers it away from the dock. I run to the very edge of the wood with the tips of my Cons poking over the ends of the planks.
I stand there alone, soaked in my father’s blood, facing the vast blue ocean and the tiny boat vanishing into it.
If it’s the last thing I do.
If it takes everything I’ve got.
I’ll get my brother back.
I will find you and kill you.
NO MORE RULES
I’m so angry. At my parents. At Gus for leaving us. Or not coming back in time. At MacKenna for always being right. But mostly at myself. For refusing to see what was there all along.
At first, Navarro does everything.
We wait in the house.
He wraps Dad’s body in plastic.
Staying pissed keeps the pain at bay.
Toby looks angrier than I feel. He sits on the suede sofa with his fists balled up. Like he wants to tear the world apart. Jay joins his son, tries to be reassuring. But what do you say to someone when your wife has wrecked the whole world?
I’m sitting by myself at a table in the kitchen.
MacKenna comes in and pulls up another chair.
“I know,” I tell her.
“What?” she asks. She hugs herself.
“You tried to tell me. About my mom.”
“Jinx,” MacKenna says. “I thought she was a gold-digging husband hunter. Not some kind of evil, neo-Nazi superwoman. There’s no way I could have seen that coming.”
After a pause, she says, “What are we going to do?”
My stomach turns over with unease.
I’ve been thinking about this myself. “I’ll help you all get packed up. You should go as far south as you can. To somewhere without an extradition treaty.”
“We should go?” MacKenna repeats. “What about you?”
My face flushes. “I don’t care what happens to me,” I say. “The cops will show up here sooner or later. Dying in a Mexican jail is as good as anywhere else.”
“Oh, I see,” she says. “You’re giving up. And leaving us to fend for ourselves.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that the Novaks would want anything to do with me after what happened. Jay’s going to be a fugitive thanks to Mom, and they’ll probably be on the run for the rest of their lives.
“Well, I just assumed that... I mean...” I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ve lost everything. Because of her.” I realize that I can’t just blame everything on my mother. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to listen. To pay attention to what’s been going on. “Because of me.”
“Now you have to decide—are you going to run? Or are you going to help?” She catches and holds my gaze, and I think it might be the first time we’ve ever really looked at each other in this way. “Jinx. I mean, however it happened, we’re a family now. I love Charles too, you know. Whatever we’re going to do, we’ll do it together.”
“Thanks, MacKenna,” I say, feeling tears burn my eyes.
She nods. “You can call me Mac.”
She leaves the kitchen, I assume to return to the living room to sit with Toby and her dad.
A while later, Navarro comes into the kitchen. He glances around the richly furnished house. “We can’t stay here you know.”
“I know.”
I can see the beach through the window.
The tide. Coming and going.
“You should have told me, about my mom,” I say, staring at the blue sky.
“I didn’t know anything for sure, and you wouldn’t have believed me,” he answers. “Plus, it wouldn’t have changed what your dad was gonna do. He knew more than I did.”
He held out hope. Right to the very end.
“Why did you go?” I ask, unable to conceal my bitterness.
He covers my hand with his and, in spite of everything, there’s a little jolt.
“You know how your dad always told us to have a backup plan? I realized I needed to be the backup plan, you know?”
I sigh. “Why him?” I ask. “Of all people, why Jay?”
Navarro shrugs. “It had to be someone who worked in Carver’s organization. They probably wanted someone who supported The Spark. To be able to argue that Rosenthal targeted The Opposition. Jay is an immigrant. With military training.”
In spite of my best efforts, I begin to cry, choking out a sob that sounds like a hiccup. Navarro puts his arm around my shoulders. “She doesn’t care,” I say. “Whether we live or die. If Dad died. She just didn’t care.”
Navarro sighs. “Would you feel better if she did? Your mom is responsible for a series of attacks that killed more than two thousand people. Including a group of toddlers at a day care center. Would you be happier if she wanted you to live but them to die?”
No, I wouldn’t.
“You should have shot her,” I say.
“I might have hit your brother.”
His dark gaze darts around. “You can have your message now,” he says.
My message?
“From Dad?” For an instant, my heart soars.
Until I realize, it’s a message from the grave.
All these emotions must flash over my face, because Navarro hesitates.
“What is it?” I ask, prompting him.
He gets up from the table and returns with a pencil and a take-out menu from one of the kitchen drawers. He scratches something on the paper.
18.266735, -87.835484
I squint at the number. It’s a set of DDM coordinates. Degrees decimal minutes. It’s a location. “It’s a map? That’s what Dad left me?”
The fancy house has a working computer and Wi-Fi, so we resolve the coordinates.
They point to a remote place called Xcalak. It’s south. Right above Guatemala.
We have to leave.
Navarro says what I’m thinking. “Once it’s dark, we have to go.”
For the next few hours, we go through the motions. There’s a computer in a small room decorated like an office. I do a search for Mom and Charles. I don’t know what I hope to find, but I don’t find anything. Jay keeps the TV on in the living room. Partially to monitor the news and partially to fill the silent void. Navarro is the only one of us who speaks any Spanish. Occasionally, there’s a news report about The Spark or about Rosenthal’s disappearance, but mainly the Mexican media is covering what they’re calling Caos en la Frontera.
Navarro translates: Chaos at the Border.
The screen shows thousands of Americans lining up at border stations in places like Nogales and Tijuana. There’s a huge mess in El Paso as people try to flood Juárez. Mexican politicians appear on TV and argue about sending their army or closing the entry points.
If Dad were around, he’d probably say that this benefits us.
But Dad isn’t around.
Around dinnertime, MacKenna cobbles together a meal from stuff she finds in the house’s pantry. I don’t even know what’s in a tuna casserole, but she manages to make one. Later, I see she’s found a yellow legal pad and is making notes. I’m glad she’s keeping a record of what’s happened. Someone needs to.
After sunset, when the beach is deserted, Navarro goes outside.
He looks almost guilty when I follow him and catch him with a shovel.
“You need to get some rest, Susan,” he says.
“You’re digging Dad’s grave?” I ask.
There’s a long pause filled with the sound of the tide.
“I want to dig.”
“Susan—” Navarro objects.
“I want to dig. Please.”
The please gets him.
We choose a spot in the middle of several palm trees, where the earth is as dry and firm as it’s going to get. You’d think digging would be easy. It’s basically just moving sand from one spot to another, but it’s hard, backbreaking work. The deeper the hole gets, the more it occurs to me that I’m standing in my father’s resting place.
The Novaks come out and help dig. When it’s totally dark, Navarro and Jay lower Dad into the hole we’ve created. The sand is soft and beachy and sounds like crackling leaves when it hits my father’s body.
Dad is gone.
Forever.
We bury Tork too. I insist on it. I don’t think he deserves a funeral. But I need it to be done. I need it to be over.
Then.
We have to leave my father’s body behind.
We have to go.
I will follow Dad’s plan to its final step.
And then.
There will be no more rules.
EVERYONE’S FOR ROSENTHAL
Navarro has a moldy, dirty RV. We clean it up as best we can and load all the supplies that will fit. We have to take the shotgun and the AK. Jay scowls as we load them. But he doesn’t stop us.
Before we leave, Jay draws us into a huddle. I find myself sandwiched between Navarro’s cool, steely control and Toby’s simmering, seething anger. “We leave here together. We’ll stay together. Come what may. And that’s what matters,” Jay says. He kisses MacKenna on the forehead and ruffles my hair.
Beyond the vast desert, over the highest mountains, through fields of corn and wheat, past icy lakes and into the heart of America’s greatest city, I imagine that Ammon Carver waits in his tower of gold believing he controls the universe from his penthouse and leather chair.
Navarro gets behind the wheel of the RV and hits the gas hard, propelling us onto the street. A red-hatted gnome crunches under one of the tires.
And we drive.
In Hermosillo, Jay trades the Suburban for an old truck with a camper.
In Mazatlan, Navarro ditches the camper and steals a smelly VW bus.
Three days later, Navarro steers us toward a large, white church. We arrive at night. Inside, it’s lit mainly by candles placed all over the silent sanctuary. A priest clad in customary black sits on a pew in the first row, facing the altar.
Without turning to face us, he calls out, “You’re late. Marshall said you’d be here yesterday.”
An invisible knife pierces my heart.
The priest continues. “Now you’ll really have to make it quick. The Legion of Mary meeting starts in a little over an hour. If you’re still here when Mrs. Vega arrives, she’ll tell half the town about you before you can lace up your shoes.”
“Something’s happened to Marshall,” Navarro says.
The priest rises and turns to face us. It’s like staring into the face of a much older Navarro. “I see,” he says.
Navarro makes a sheepish face and gestures at the man. “My uncle, Estevan.”
Father Estevan scans our group. “And the boy?”
The tears come. Not like a few little droplets that I can wipe away with my sleeve. They run down my face. MacKenna pats my back.
The priest hesitates for a second and then says, “Well, we can at least get you some dinner.” He motions for us to follow him. I’m still sniffling as we walk through a series of cramped cream-colored stucco hallways to a little cheerful kitchen.
Navarro helps Father Estevan put out the food, which, in spite of everything, is delicious. It’s the most amazing posole I’ve ever tasted, along with some kind of shrimp in a creamy sauce. They talk among themselves, keeping the chatter light. Navarro makes a worried face at the mention of his mother.
Father Estevan goes in and out, helping with the meeting that’s being held in one of the halls. He keeps us in the small kitchen until everyone leaves. Jay, Toby and Navarro get out the map and trace our route. Every once in a while, Father Estevan points out a safe stopping point.
After everyone is gone, Father Estevan holds a service for Dad in the sanctuary.
I sit on a pew and stare at the huge stained glass window at the front of the chapel. It shows the Virgin Mary.
“As Christ went through the deep waters of death for us, so may he bring Maxwell Marshall to the fullness of resurrection and life with all the redeemed.”
Mary is seated on a throne, holding baby Jesus and flanked by the three wise men. It’s hard to look away.
“Maxwell Marshall, rest eternal and let light perpetual shine upon you.”
The window is almost radiating a golden aura. Almost glowing.
After the mass, Father Estevan comes to sit alongside me while everyone else gets ready to leave. I try to make conversation. “So. Can you put in a good word for us? With the man upstairs?”
Father Estevan follows my gaze and regards the stained glass too. “What’s upstairs isn’t a man,” he murmurs. “This conflict isn’t of heaven. It’s of earth.”
In a louder voice, he says, “Converte gladium tuum in locum suum. Omnes enim, qui acceperint gladium, gladio peribunt. Put your sword back in its place. For all who take up the sword shall perish by the sword. So says the word of the Lord.” He rests his upper arms on the pew in front of him. “Miss Marshall, God’s role in this struggle might not be what we hope. I fear things will get worse before they get better.”
I nod and get up, going to the back of the sanctuary and leaving him there alone in thought. It’s a grim pronouncement from somebody who ought to have more, well, faith. Somehow, I feel more on edge than I did before.
Walking around to the back, I find Navarro repacking our gear.
It’s a dark, cool night.
The sky so full of stars.
Navarro comes out of the back and stands near me, the only light coming from a lone streetlamp and the glow of the small bulb in the VW Bus. It seems like I ought to say something.
“What happened to your hat?” I blurt out. For the first time, it strikes me that he’s no longer wearing his black baseball cap.
“You don’t want to know,” he says darkly.
It’s quiet again.
After a moment, he speaks slowly. “You asked me why I came. Why I agreed to do this.” He leans against the Bus. It’s silent again for a second. “I came here for you. Because. Well, because... From the first time I saw you. That day at PrepperCon. You were supposed to be giving lectures on how to jar cactus jelly but instead you hacked that digital billboard to say Cactus Jelly Tastes Like Papaya Vomit. It took your dad ten minutes to figure out how to turn the thing off.”
Oh, Dad.
“I knew. I’ve always known that I...that I... I need you to know that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I think your dad could tell. He told me a lot about you.”
He’s leaning in.
Slowly. So. So. Slowly.
I can smell the chocolate mint he had after dinner.
Our lips are about to meet and it occurs to me that I’ve been wanting this and hoping for this and everything that’s horrible and wrong with the world could disappear for one moment.
For one kiss.
Except.
Someone kicks open the church’s back door, and I jerk my head around and see MacKenna. “Father Estevan is asking if we need any bottled—” She stops at the sight of the two of us so close together.
We exchange a tense look.
When I turn back to Navarro, he’s gone.
Ten minutes later, we’re all in the RV and we press on.
