The Fallon Exodus

Barely an hour had passed since Matthews' Alpha Echelon vanished into the darkness to the east when Bill's voice came crackling over the radio.

The ABL — Ablution Unit — was a trailer fitted out as a mobile sanitation plant: toilets, showers, laundry, and a boiler room.

Ryker's clipped report followed right on its heels.

The column could stretch across hundreds of kilometers, and satellite phones were too few and too unreliable to count on. From Jed, who had built the relay drones, to Cody, who had trained the Division operators to fly them, it felt as though everyone had been preparing for this day all along.

Another vast column of vehicles rumbled out of Fallon Camp, engines beating a heavy, low note against the cold. I stood at the window and watched in silence as dozens of red taillights receded into the dark. Each of those lights was a family I was now responsible for — the future of our community.

I was still standing there when a call from the vanguard broke the quiet. The clock read 15:05.

The faint chop of Jake's rotor blades bled through underneath Matthews' voice.

Controlling the interval by time rather than distance, I judged, would give us more flexibility when the road itself started changing underneath us.

Middlegate sat fifty miles east of Fallon. Matthews' transmission had come through without a hitch. It was the first time we had used the relay drones in earnest, and I was privately surprised ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they were working as well as they were.

Everything was running to plan. Smooth. But I knew peace was always the quiet before a storm, and I did not let the tension go.

That was when Dave came up on the net.

The moment the call with Dave ended, Mike came into my trailer with a look that was a shade ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠too urgent. I knew from his face that something had gone sideways.

"Mike, what's going on?"

"Chan, we've got a problem. Nine people from Headquarters Platoon and the Fire Support Platoon are hanging back. Families that still haven't made it into Fallon Camp."

"I see. I understand. But we can't hold the entire column for that."

Mike let out a breath and asked the question anyway.

"So what do we do? We can't force them to go."

I thought for a moment, then made the call.

"If they want to stay for their families, let them stay. But if they mean to wait, then catch up with us, give them a few pickup trucks, personal weapons, and enough supplies to last. Tell them to close up with the main body on their own, families in tow."

Worry moved through Mike's eyes.

"We're not going to come off Route 50, are we? If the roads split, we'll have a real mess."

"Not at least until we're through Nevada and Utah. But if they haven't joined us by the time we clear those two states... then I'm afraid there's nothing we can do."

While Mike went out to pass the decision along, I called for Jed and Chloe. The radiation meter Gibson had left us kept blinking, and I still could not say with any certainty what the numbers actually meant.

A short while later Jed and Chloe stepped into the trailer. I held the meter out to Jed.

"Jed, what do these numbers mean?"

His expression tightened a fraction as he took it.

"Well, it's reading 0.20 microsieverts an hour. That's a touch higher than ordinary background radiation, but I can't say for certain yet whether this is Palo Verde's doing. At this level... it's not enough to be a problem for the body."

I handed him one of the meters.

"Jed, keep this on you. If the reading changes in any way that matters, you tell me at once."

"Got it. We only have the two Geiger counters?"

"That's right. Any way we can get more?"

Chloe spoke up.

"Hospitals with a radiology or nuclear medicine department would have them."

Jed shook his head.

"Won't be easy. They won't sell them, and we can't just take them either. Military, a fire department, or an industrial shop that does non-destructive testing — those'd be easier."

"Understood. We'll look for a way as we move."

I turned to Chloe.

"Chloe, if we end up facing a radiation problem, what medicines and supplies do we need to lock down?"

She answered in that same calm, clinical voice.

"Potassium iodide is the first priority. It keeps the thyroid from taking up radioactive iodine. We'll also need Prussian blue, which helps the body flush out internal contaminants like cesium. Think of it as a kind of antidote."

"How much do we have?"

"A small amount on hand. If we ever face a mass-exposure event, though... it wouldn't come close to being enough."

"Alright. Put together a list of what we'll need going forward and get it to Frank ahead of time, so he can pick it up whenever the chance comes."

Jed and Chloe had barely cleared the trailer door when Bill and Frank came bursting in, both of them out of breath.

"What's going on? We're busy — why didn't you just use the radio?"

Bill shut the door behind him and dropped his voice.

"Boss, this is something we ought to talk about quiet."

"Spit it out."

"There's supply and ammunition containers the National Guard never got around to moving."

"How much?"

Bill swallowed.

"Seventeen containers' worth."

Frank was in before the last word had landed.

"What's there to talk about? Of course we take them."

Bill put a hand out to hold him back and looked at me.

"Still — I figured this was something the boss needed to know and decide on..."

"Ah, this is driving me crazy! You dump a headache like this on the boss and all you do is clutter up his head. Big Bill, pal, you're not hearing me. Haaah—"

Frank would rather grab the lot and roll than put the weight of the decision on me. I thought it through for a moment.

"We're moving inside Nevada either way, and we're under contract with the state. It shouldn't be a problem. Leaving it sitting there is the same as throwing it away. We take it with us."

Color came back into Frank's face at once.

"That's our boss. See? I knew he'd say that."

Bill nodded, looking relieved.

"Got it, Boss. I'll fold all of it into the Charlie column."

I stepped out of the trailer after them and took in Fallon Camp, humming with activity in every direction. Even with Code Black declared, not a single person was running. Everyone was moving calmly, at their post, according to the plan. The sight filled me with an unfamiliar pride.

The words I had always hammered home. Don't run. Think, then move.Minimize non-combat losses. Watching those principles actually hold inside the organization, I found myself admiring all over again the way Mike and Bill had so carefully managed the Division and the Union.

And strangely, I realized that the bad feeling and the anxiety that had been sitting on my chest since Colonel Gibson told us about the Palo Verde detonation had gone. My head was clear. When the unknown terror became a thing standing in front of me, I knew exactly what I had to do — and, paradoxically, that knowledge gave me peace.

I was still turning that over when Carlos, who had been standing by on comms, came up on the radio.

I went back to the truck, took the handset, and called Matthews.

Puzzlement had been plain in Matthews' voice. Bill came up on the net before I could set the handset down.

Another great column of steel rolled out of Fallon Camp and turned east. Dave's voice came through almost on top of it.

Every preparation was finished. Colonel Gibson's family, though, still had not arrived. We had sent Gunner and Division operators to escort them, and there had been no word.

I was waiting, tight in the chest, when Gunner's voice finally broke the silence.

I let out a breath I had been holding. Once again, we had started moving before anyone else.

I found myself looking back over the road that had brought us here. From the ice and snow of Canada to the deserts of Nevada, the greatest reason we — and our people — had survived might have been a principle almost too simple to name.

When it was time to run, we turned and ran before anyone else. When it was time to fight, we waited until the enemy had a blade at our throat.

What had changed was the scale. More than a hundred vehicles. A people that now numbered over three hundred.