Migration: Beginnings (Migration Series Book 1) Read online

  Rhys and Jason go back and hide in their room for the rest of the day, Jason disappearing into the suite’s bedroom almost as soon as the door closes, and Rhys going back to the living room to watch more of the news. There are reports of other terrorists that have their plots thwarted while conventional bombs are set off in some of the larger cities of Europe. The angry separatists are finally connected to the same group that had disrupted different parts of Europe for the past year, trying to call for the cleansing of Europe from all others, leaving it and all of Europe’s resources for them and them alone. While the group previously hadn’t been able to convince Europeans to leave by their initial actions, their latest show of death and destruction caused by the bombings spoke volumes.

  When the newscaster starts to talk about conventional bombs that had been set off in Tuscany, Sicily, and Rome, Rhys finally turns off the television. He rubs his face and heaves out a sigh, hoping to dislodge the uneasy feeling he’s had all morning—like he’s going to vomit at any moment. He stands, trying to dislodge all the unease within him and goes to the bedroom, finding Jason huddled under the blankets with all the curtains drawn. The thought of hiding away from the world with Jason is suddenly the best idea ever, so he toes out of his sneakers and gently touches Jason’s shoulder, hoping his bring his husband some comfort. Rhys climbs under the sheets and scoots close to Jason, his fingers wiping at the stray tear he finds slipping down Jason’s cheek and pulls him close. The two stay like that for hours, giving and getting the comfort they need, while ignoring the rest of the world.

  Chapter 2

  Immediately after the nuclear bombs are set off in Portugal and London, there is a slight lull in the terrorist’s activities, and the whole world begins to think that the absolute worst is over. But after two days, as officials try to restore order to the chaos, there are follow-up explosions in Ankara, Turkey, Cologne, Germany, and Zagreb, Croatia, again with demands for the removal of “the impure” from the continent.

  Official estimates put the dead at between twenty and twenty-five million people, though the complete total will surely never be known since so many people are displaced by the turmoil, and millions more incinerated by the nuclear blasts. After the final bombing, there is a concerted effort by those still in charge of the European Union, along with leaders from around the world, to move as many people as possible from the most densely populated cities of Europe. Leaders decide to give into the terrorist’s demands of evacuating the continent, mostly because of the sheer number of bombs that are found to have been stolen from former Soviet state, and are now assumed to be spread throughout Europe.

  Cruise ships and airplanes from around the globe become engaged by world governments to move people first to main hubs, protecting them as much as possible while quickly moving them out of Europe. Flights are filled to capacity, dropping off whole families at the most convenient place out of harm’s way, with final decisions on how to spread out the population, the ‘when and where’ to be made afterwards. For those who get separated from their families, like the thousands of children who have been away on holiday or otherwise separated from their parents, there’s often little hope for once again becoming reunited.

  Migration out of Europe has left vast swaths of previously vibrant cities empty, as entire populations are moved away. While a measured migration of a large population can gradually be taken care of over time, and a proper balance of things can come back into harmony, the leaders of Earth’s nations don’t have that luxury. Before the bombings, there were three-quarters of a billion people in Europe. Now, as those people are displaced, luxuries like some individual freedoms and opulent living spaces, even pets, quickly become a thing of the past.

  Populations are first moved to the closest neighboring continents, Africa and Asia, as quickly as possible with the primary goal of simply moving bodies. And after the first few hundred thousand people show up, there are discussions about plans to evenly spread out the displaced populations across the globe. As some resources become available to move thousands of people at a time, populations, while still arriving in massive waves, were finally starting to be directed to the most appropriate places. But as those same resources start to become stretched, changes to the flow of humans are made, to best use the limited time the coordinated governments have to continually meet the demands placed upon them.

  Rhys and Jason are stuck on Maui for three weeks, though they don’t just “take up space,” as Jason says when they hit a local volunteer shelter. While they stay at the hotel at night, their days are spent helping out wherever they can, from going out with some of the islanders to bring in more fish, since the islands aren’t getting regular supplies from the mainland, to helping cook meals, assist those in need, and whatever else the local government asks them to do. It’s demanding work, but it helps to keep them both distracted from the dreadful news the world is constantly subjected to.

  They finally get word that they will soon get off Maui, though when they do, it’s not by air, but instead by ship. The USS Nimitz, a Navy aircraft carrier, is drafted into regular service as a civilian carrier between Hawaii and the mainland United States soon after the bombings occurred; makeshift accommodations take the place of all the multi-million dollar airplanes the carrier previously housed. After almost a week at sea, Rhys and Jason find themselves at the port in Long Beach, California, walking down the long gangplank to the crowded, dirty concrete pier. Rhys figures he and Jason are, somewhat, finally approaching normality, though Rhys finds his thoughts turning morbid at the sheer number of bodies that seem to spread out for what looks like miles before them.

  “What do we do now?” Jason wonders aloud as they take their first steps back on dry land, Rhys stopping for a second to hold his head to try and stop his inner ear from sending him reeling ass over teakettle. Jason grabs his hand, making sure he’s okay.

  As Rhys gets his bearings, he takes the first real opportunity to look at their surroundings. His mind wanders, and he imagines that the port must look very much like it did at the height of World War II, with ships departing to the Pacific theater on a daily basis. Except the ships that fill the port today are filled with thousands of people from all across the world instead of instruments of war. Rhys looks up and spots a Chinese freighter as they walk along the wharf, with what looks like thousands of Europeans standing on deck, waiting to disembark.

  Jason takes his phone out of his pocket, turns it on, and automatically dials their home when the phone finally locks onto a signal. “Hey, Mom?” he says, smiling at Rhys; besides a couple of times during their extended stay on Maui, they had not talked to Jason’s mother much at all. Though they both tried, neither of them was ever able to get through to Rhys’ parents.

  “Hey, we made it to Long Beach,” Jason says. He squeezes Rhys’ hand as he turns and shakes his head; Rhys doesn’t have to ask to understand that morose-looking headshake meant that they had yet to hear from his father. Cupping the phone, Jason adds, “Mom said there was extensive bombing in Rome—conventional, not nuclear—and it took out a lot of network services. There are still a few hundred thousand people yet to leave.”

  As Rhys nods, Jason goes back to his conversation with his mother, and the pair continues to walk aimlessly through the dock. They finally wind up migrating in the general direction of where everyone else is going when Jason stops to a halt. “He did? Boo,” he says, turning to Rhys. “Your dad called.”

  They stop, and Jason conveys the message his mother is giving him. “Mom and Dad are okay. Aunt Marie and her kids went up to Canada to get out of Boston, but they have a cell phone and coverage. Your sister, Dan, and their munchkin are fine in Orlando.” Jason leans over, giving Rhys a kiss. Both men are elated at the news; everyone in their immediate families is okay. Then thoughts of the unknown fate of Jason’s father stab at Rhys, popping the relief he was feeling and replacing it with dread. He’s sure that Jason can almost sense the worry flowing off of him, and Rhys gives him a butt
of the shoulder and then a squeeze of the hand.

  Jason finishes his conversation, saying that he’ll let his mother know when they will be home, but that they have to figure out how to get there first. Signing off with a, “Love you, Mom,” he puts the phone in his pocket, and the pair continues to wander through the throng of strangers, deciding to head toward the mouth of the port where there appear to be buses loading up and streaming people away from the area.

  A few steps toward the line, Rhys hears the distinctive cry of a small child, and looks over just as Jason kneels down in front of a small Asian child who can’t be more than ten or twelve months old, though Rhys isn’t a good judge of age, since he lacks any actual experience with babies.

  “Aww, c’mere little guy,” Jason says, and the child instantly climbs into Jason’s waiting arms, burying his face in Jason’s neck as he continues to sob. “His parents have to be here somewhere,” he says, putting a protective arm across the infant’s back, patting him gently.

  As they glance through the crowd, there are thousands of people around them, but nobody looks like they might be missing a child. “Wait here,” Rhys says, and runs ahead, asking everyone he comes into contact with if there’s a family missing a little one, but headshake after headshake proves frustrating; it’s as if the child appeared out of nowhere, as nobody is missing him. Rhys wonders how someone could just abandon their own child since it appears that is what happened. But then again, the world has drastically changed in the last few weeks. It’s like he doesn’t know what to expect anymore. He morosely shakes his head when he comes back to Jason’s side.

  “What’s this?” Jason asks, and Rhys looks down, spotting a slip of paper tucked into the boy’s bright orange pants. He pulls it out, finding two sets of writing, first in a foreign language—Korean, Rhys thinks, or maybe Vietnamese. The foreign lettering is again beautifully penned in English, which Jason reads aloud.

  “Please take care of our great-grandson. My grandchildren left him with us in Paris before the evacuations, but we have not seen or heard from them for many weeks and fear the worst. My husband was injured on our trip here, and I cannot care for them both in this strange new country. And while my heart breaks just writing this, I hope you can provide a loving and caring home for our little Liu.”

  Jason turns to Rhys, saying, “His name’s Liu,” and then drops a quick kiss on the boy’s head. “I include his parents names below so that hopefully one day he may be reunited with them. But until that day, please care for our great-grandson.” Showing the note to Rhys, Jason says, “Oh my God…” The look on Jason’s face nearly breaks Rhys’ heart, and Rhys can barely fathom being abandoned at such a young age.

  Rhys takes the note from his husband and looks it over, then folds it back up, barely fathoming the desolation the boy’s great-grandparents must be feeling at the loss. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, and the pair continues on their original path, heading toward the bus area. They find a group of US military members watching the crowd.

  “Excuse me, sir?” Rhys says, pulling Jason along with him. “Sir? Sergeant?” he asks, finally getting the attention of a man with three stripes on his arm. He glances at the name stitched across his chest that says Rodriguez.

  “Head to the bus depot up there,” the sergeant says, pointing to the area where Rhys and Jason were already headed. “Buses will take you to Vandenberg Air Force Base where you will be processed into groups to head North, Northeast, or East, depending on where you live, your family status, or where you’re being relocated if you’re not original residents of the United States.” Without saying anything else, he turns back to his group.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Rhys says, reaching out to get his attention though the man is obviously disturbed by the unwanted touch based on the look he gives Rhys. “Sergeant Rodriguez, we found this little guy,” he says, pointing to the infant who is quietly snuffling against Jason’s neck, the note weighing heavy in his hands, “alone and crying back there,” he points to where they came from, “and we’re trying to find his guardians, or maybe someone who can take care of him.”

  Sighing, the sergeant shakes his head. “Happens a lot out here, unfortunately. Kids who were given to others to care for when the bombings occurred, especially if they aren’t relatives to the people who brought them to the states…well, they often get abandoned here. You guys want kids?” the sergeant asks, his voice so nonchalant that it shakes Rhys more than it should.

  “I’m sorry?” Jason says as he glances first at the sergeant, then to Rhys, then back to the sergeant. “People are just abandoning little children?”

  “Look,” Rodriguez offers, his voice tinged with anger, “I know you probably just came off one of these ships, and so you’ve been mostly out of pocket for a while. There’s a lot of bad shit that’s been going on, and people are making decisions that negatively affect those around them—and those they love.” After a sigh, he adds, “You sure you two don’t want kids?”

  “No, sir,” Rhys responds, his voice flat, even as his gaze drops to the child in Jason’s arms. And Rhys knows that while some day Jason might wear him down, adopting kids in the middle of a worldwide crisis just doesn’t seem right. Especially if the child might one day be reunited with his parents.

  The sergeant’s eyes soften just slightly. Pointing to the area where the crowds are being funneled through, he says, “Carry him up through the line with you, and someone there will take him off your hands.”

  “Thank you, sergeant,” Rhys and Jason say, almost in unison, and they head toward the throng of people.

  Jason uses a free hand to push at the infant’s backside, earning a slight crinkling noise. Turning his whole body so as to not disturb the finally sleeping child, Jason asks, “He’s still in diapers, isn’t he?” Rhys tugs at the elastic waist of the colorful pants the boy is wearing, seeing a diaper underneath and gives him a nod. “Poor little guy.”

  The closer they come to the beginning of the line, the closer they get to a long expanse of tables. The whole area is sheltered from the sun by a large, open tent, where people seem to be checking in at one end, and picking up bottled water and supplies at the other.

  “Look,” Rhys says, garnering Jason’s attention. “Maybe they’ll have some diapers and stuff for him.”

  “He’s getting heavy,” Jason says, giving Rhys a pleading look. “You think you can hold him for a little while?”

  Figuring that he needs to share the burden, at least for the short time they’re pseudo-parents, Rhys holds his arms out like he’s going to catch a sandbag.

  “Oh jeez, really?” Jason says, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like you’re gonna reinforce the dike, boo,” he adds. “Pick him up like you do Baxter when you have to take him to the vet.”

  Rhys accepts the baby into his arms but continues to hold him stiffly, and at arm’s length. It’s not his fault he’s barely been around children; he figured he’d have time to learn everything once he and Jason had decided to have them—if they were going to have them.

  Jason dutifully steps behind him and helps Rhys pull the little boy up to his chest, and there’s only a brief moment when the child stirs. Rhys holds his breath, but the child settles back down and snuggles quietly against him. “That’s not so bad,” he finally says, letting go of the breath and releasing the tension in his body just a little.

  “See?” Jason responds, stroking the child’s back, reaching out and squeezing Rhys’ bicep, while smiling up at his husband, and leans in for a kiss. Rhys tenses once again when the child squirms gently as if to get comfortable, though the real reason behind the movement is announced by a distinctive smell a few seconds later.

  “Well, at least we’re almost at the front of the line,” Jason jokes.

  The line starts to move quicker as more buses appear, and within fifteen minutes, Rhys and Jason are at the first stage of the check-in process, with multiple military officers working at each of several tables staggered in front of them
. When the couple in front of them finally moves, Rhys, Jason, and their young charge wait their turn until they are called forward and come to stand in front of a woman in military fatigues. Rhys figures that coordination of a migration on a global scale would have to go through something as massive as the military, but actually seeing it in action is different than what little he’s experienced so far.

  “Names?” the young woman with the rank of major, with ‘Callahan’ emblazoned across the patch on her chest, asks.

  “Doctor Rhys Tambor, R H Y-” Rhys begins.

  “You’re a doctor?” Callahan asks. She leans back and begins to motion to another officer, calling, “Colonel” to get the man’s attention.

  “Not that kind of doctor. I’m sorry,” Rhys manages as he shakes his head. “Doctor of Environmental Sciences. And this,” he says, gesturing with a bob of his head, “is my husband, Jason Frost-Tambor.”

  Callahan waves off the colonel, who diverts to another line to assist with something else, and types their names into a laptop, taking a sip from her nearby water bottle as the computer chugs, retrieving information. “Doctor Rhys Morgan Tambor,” she says, reading from the screen, “and Jason Conrad Frost?”

  “We got married right before we went to Hawaii. Three days before…” Jason offers, and Callahan just nods her head, understanding what wasn’t said. “So my paperwork is probably not completed yet.”

  “So Frost-hyphen-Tambor?” Callahan asks as the family behind them is called to the next available military personnel. “That’s what you want as your last name? Officially?”

  “Well yes, but—”