Code Orange

I slide my phone out from under June’s stuffed bunny when Dale calls. The tan bunny that smells of grape juice, my co-pilot for today.

“This is Joe. How can I help you, Dale?”

“Where are you?”

“Leaving the grid station. Why?”

“I need you to turn around. Joe, there’s been an accident. An attack. We need you to turn the grid off.”

“I’m heading back to the station. Accident? What attack?”

“An explosion. The Manner Block, downtown Boston. Joe, we need you to turn it off before it cascades. Before we lose more lives. How far are you?”

“Do I have clearance? I’m outside of town, fifteen minutes from the station.”

“Full access. Frank said he is ten minutes out. You and Frank need to get the grid turned off. Stop this terrorist attack. Shut it down—before more people die—”

“Terrorist attack? Where did this happen?”

“Frank has the secondary codes. We need Boston turned off. The Governor is issuing a state of emergency. We are Code Orange. Follow protocol, Joe.”

“But you know the issue, what we discussed last year, and what will happen if they turn off Boston. Recommendations weren’t followed; life support wasn’t put in place. If I follow Code Orange, people will die. The state didn’t follow the plan to secure shelters, schools, and senior centers. Where are people going to go?”

“The Governor is directing everyone out of town, minimizing panic and the loss of life. There are an estimated 358 fatalities so far. We need to stop the collapse of the downtown Manner Block. Joe, cut the grid before the terrorists move across town.”

“Which way are they moving?”

“South. That’s the latest. The police and the FBI are trying to stop them, but the terrorists are using the grid to power their devices. Hang on, Joe, let me look at this report.”

The Manner Block sits at the heart of downtown Boston. It’s a place for office workers and government officials. There are also massage shops that offer extra services. The police have tried to shut the massage shops down, but they can’t keep up with the volume. After the scandal involving our last governor, the police shut down many of my favorite spots.

The grid house for the power station is twenty miles out of town, north of Boston. A remote area, authorized personnel only. Few know what’s behind the gates. Fewer still know how to gain entry. I’m one of eight who do. Two people for Code Orange protocol in the event of a terrorist attack. I’m one of them. Frank is the other.

To reach the grid station, I have to cross a train track, and the gates are down. No train, no horn blaring. Red lights at the gate are blinking.

I roll down my window. I need the fresh air to stop my hands from shaking and cool off the panic sweat that beads across my forehead. The smell of musty mud and wet worms fills the car. I gag at the stench and roll the window up. I turn up the A/C fan. Tugging at my collar, I wish the train would hurry.

I pull my access card from my pocket. I’m ready to swipe it at the first of four gated entry points.

Over the last few months, we’ve seen reports of terrorist attacks that have come across Dale’s desk.

I start tapping my hand on the steering wheel, cussing myself for not being ready. I couldn’t tell my wife because of the secrecy of my position. Shoot, she still doesn’t know what I do. Married nineteen years, I still have to lie to her daily. Twenty-three years on the job. From day one of the job, trained to be a professional liar. I’ve gotten pretty good at it. Explaining who Becky is to my wife—that was my best cover-up yet.

My wife, Mandy, works at the Blue Pelican Senior Center on the east side of town, three miles from the Manner Block. The senior saints love her Southern hospitality. It’s adorable how she charms everyone when we are out with friends.

My daughter June is the absolute love of my life. This morning I dropped her off at the Little Tots Learning Center on the north side of town. The school offers summer classes for the gifted and serves as a convenient daycare. I hate that I made my little girl cry today, but at nine, she’s old enough not to depend on a stuffed rabbit for comfort. Her funny bunny.

I glance over to the stuffed bunny, my daughter’s eighteen-month birthday present. One ear is half torn off, showing my sloppy stitching from when I reattached it while she sat in my lap crying. She was heartbroken when her emotional support stuffed bunny lost its ear. It got stuck in her bedroom door. The bunny’s left eye has been missing for three years. June wanted to know whether her funny bunny could still see with only one eye.

Today, I gave her a cell phone instead of her stuffed bunny when I dropped her off at school. I ignored the objections from my wife, who argued that June is too young for a cell phone. I protested that June is too old for a stuffed bunny.

Of course, I programmed my burner number into June’s speed dial. My wife doesn’t need to know about the phone; she already calls my work phone enough as it is.

“You still there, Joe?”

“Yes. I’m stuck at the train tracks waiting for a train that isn’t coming.”

“Joe, cross the tracks. The governor has shut down all taxis, buses, and trains services. The shutdown will last until we can apprehend these terrorists. Boston is on lockdown.”

I look both ways before crossing the train tracks. I see no trains. A few people are walking along the tracks.

“Joe, we are getting more reports in about their direction and next target. Police are en route to a school to head them off.”

“School? What are they trying to do? Dale, I’m a half mile from the first access point.”

“Mass casualties. Zero reports on why. Preliminary reports on who. We are only concerned with the how. They are using our grid system to power it. That’s why you and Frank need to shut the grid down.”

My center console starts vibrating. I open it and fish my burner phone out. June’s picture is on the screen, my smiling princess. She has my eyes, my nose, and my snarky personality. It’s the photo of her on her eighth birthday.

I swipe to mute Dale and answer June’s call. “Hello, my princess…”

“DADDY… DAAADDDDYYYYY… HEELLLL —”

“June, what’s going on? What’s happening? June,… June…”

Silence.

I check my burner phone, no signal.

I unmute my conversation with Dale.

“Dale, what’s happening? Dale? Hello, Dale, are you there?”

Silence.

I check. My work phone has no signal.

I toss both phones onto the passenger seat with June’s stuffed bunny.

I roll my window down as Frank’s sedan pulls in behind me at the first gated entrance. I shift the car into reverse and wave for him to back up. I curse when I can’t move, and watch Frank step out of the car.

“Do you need help, Joe?”

“I need you to move, Frank. I need to get to June.”

“We are Code Orange, Joe. You can’t leave; we have to get the grid shut down. Orders.”

“I don’t care about orders, Frank. June called. Something is wrong. I need to get to her.”

“Code Orange. Joe, you know the protocols. You know what’s required. We have to shut down the grid and get to the bunker. We have to follow the —”

“I’m not doing any of that, Frank. I need to get to June. She’s in troub —”

With Frank’s car behind me and the gate in front of me, I am trapped with no exit. The shrubs that line the entrance are the height of my car’s hood. I hit the gas pedal, crank the steering wheel to the right, and drive into the shrubs to head back to town. The limbs screech down the side of my car, scraping underneath it.

Frank is running, yelling, and waving his arms at me as I turn the car back toward town.

I roll down my passenger window, June’s one-eyed bunny staring at me. I yell over the engine, “You do it, Frank. I have to go… June needs me.”

“JOE… STOP… you can’t lea—”

I spun the car back onto the road, tires squealing. The engine roared, drowning out Frank’s screams.

I make it back to the train tracks, slam through the train track crossing gates. Fragments of a red caution light lodge under my windshield wiper.

The upcoming intersection traffic light flashes red and there is no oncoming traffic. I blast through the intersection without stopping.

Four miles down the road, I take the next right, tires spinning and squealing as I fight for traction. I push the gas pedal harder. Back to town. Back to June.

The stuffed bunny beside me bounces in the seat. I reach over and pull the seat belt across the grape-smelling funny bunny to keep it safe. “Daddy is coming, kiddo… Hang on, June. Daddy will save you.”

I dial June back. Nothing connecting. No signal.

The Boston skyline spreads across my front windshield. I play out scenarios in my head. I recall reports, practice mock runs, and review safety procedures. Nothing has prepared me for the reality I see.

Cars and trucks are speeding towards me.

People running across the fields.

Horns, sirens, and alarms blaring.

I’m the only one running into the destruction.

White billows of smoke rise from a few locations; three of them swirl over the downtown area.

One lone billow of smoke, not downtown.

The lone pillar of smoke rises higher, its shadow stretching across the road as I drive toward it.

The beads of sweat on my forehead start to drip onto my cheeks. My shirt collar suffocates me like a noose. My wet hands shake and slide over the steering wheel. I wipe them on my pants, failing to keep them dry.

I take a left towards the lone billow of smoke that fills the sky. It is rising from Little Tots Learning Center, a half mile down, where I left June.

The dark cloud swallows the sky as I drive closer.

Flashing lights line the street ahead. Horns blaring, sirens screaming, people running. People without shoes, ash-covered hair, black streaks under their noses, bloody arms. No children. Everyone running away from the dark cloud swallowing the sky.

My dash lights turn on as I head farther into the darkness. I am getting closer to where I left June this morning. The smoke makes me face the one thing I can’t lose: my daughter. I assumed it would never happen. Not to me, not to us, not here.

Big flakes of burnt paper fall from the sky, settling across my car’s hood and windshield. I hit the wipers to swipe them away. The red light from the broken railroad crossing gate sweeps across the glass.

I dial June back. Nothing connects. No signal.

Four firetrucks and eight ambulances block access to June’s school. I pull my car into the nearby mini-mart parking lot. A man stands outside the door, mouth open and eyes wide, looking down the street as I step out of the car.

Charred papers fall around us like snow.

The smell of burnt wood, hot metal and diesel fuel.

I grab June’s bunny out of the passenger seat before locking the car. I look for the best way to get past the swarm of responders. They rush by with medical bags, fire hoses, and gurneys.

The ground shakes under my legs, a loud boom rattling my chest and ears. The ringing fills my ears. It drowns out sirens and screams, even my own breath. I blink to try to see as blindness spread bright across my sight.

The pressure jars me back and slams my body against the car, knocking the wind out of my lungs. Something moist and warm hits my stomach, matching the warmth on my eyebrow. I wipe my eyebrow, looking at the blood that covers my fingers. No pain, no burning.

Everyone is running past me.

One scream.

Her scream.

Clutching the stuffed bunny, I take off running toward her scream.

Behind the mini mart. Three blocks from school.

The ground shook under me again. An explosion behind me.

I spin around as the screaming starts again. With ash-covered hair and faces smeared with char, the crowd freezes. Everyone looks at the sky behind me.

I look.

On the east side of Boston, three more billowing clouds of smoke rise into the air.

The east side—Mandy works on the east side of town.

The building collapses, and I gasp for air. The Blue Pelican Senior Center high-rise vanishes from the city skyline.

My wife is in there.

I stand frozen, forgetting how to breathe.

Charred papers fall like snow around me.

No screaming. No sirens. The world goes silent as I watch.

“DDDAAADDDDDYYYYYY.”

I hear her scream for me. I spin and run behind the mini-mart, following the sound of her screams. I grip her bunny tighter in my hand.

“DDDAAADDDDDYYYYYY.”

“I’m coming, June… JUNE… I’m coming…”

An emergency worker rounds the corner of the building at the same time I make it down the alley. Our bodies slam into each other. I don’t stop. I keep running.

“DDDAAADDDDDYYYYYY.”

I’m scanning for her between the trash dumpsters that line the brick walls.

I see her.

The purple shoes she chose today stand out on the pavement. She stands in a doorway further down the alley. I use the only air in my lungs to scream.

“JUNE!”

June turns at my scream and starts running to me. I push my legs faster to reach her. White ash covers her brown hair. Under her nose, a dark spot of soot stains her upper lip. A rip runs down the side of her blue dress. Her yellow tights are torn at the knees.

I reach down and grab her, pulling her tight to my chest, squishing the bunny between us.

“Ohh, Daddy, you saved my funny bunny.”