The Last Handful of Clover - Book 3: The Stone in the Stream

3.09 Bird's Eye

June 16, 6:30 am

Dawn first illuminated the silent airport, on the western edge of the city. But quickly, as the sun cleared the Wasatch, the line of shadow fled to the east. And as it did, the fires that continued to burn all across the city paled from angry stars in a murky night to bright patches of embers, their glow lost in the harsh light of morning.

By 6:30 am, the sun had crept into the Avenues, which remained one of the few neighborhoods with no fires burning. In fact, a passing bird might be forgiven for thinking that the Avenues neighborhood seemed almost normal. Few power lines laid across the lawns and sidewalks. The roads were still mostly neat and tidy, and the few stalled and abandoned cars in the middle of the streets could easily be mistaken for morning commuters, pausing at intersections. And although those huddled in their homes did not know it, their neighborhood was the last small island in the city where electricity was still flowing.

An air of strained normality was desperately trying to take hold with the dawn, and yet the smoke of the burning city was still drifting in from the south. And when viewed from the streets themselves, the morning sky was a hazy gray, with drifting tentacles of brown and angry red.

But despite the gloom, the sky above the city was cloudless, and even the rising columns of smoke could not obscure the growing brilliance of a sunny June day. It was the kind of summer day that people in Salt Lake City longed for: clear and warm and beautiful. A day to spend in the park, or at the pool. A day to head to the mountains for a hike, or to get on your bike for a trip down the wide streets of the city.

Overnight the residents of the Avenues, like those in the rest of the city, had gone to ground. Despite having electricity, few lights had been burning overnight, as if any visible sign that the neighborhood had been spared the blackout might bring disaster down on their heads. But now the sunlight was making the timid rabbits of the night poke their noses out of their dark burrows, to tentatively sniff for danger. All across the Avenues, eyes peeked through closed curtains, or through the crack of a door or a window. As the day brightened, the rabbits became more bold. Alone and in pairs, they cautiously ventured out onto their porches—glancing nervously, their noses twitching, hands shielding their eyes from the smoke and morning sun.

What most people could not see from their porches was that, despite the air of normality, many of the houses in their neighborhoods were filled with the dead—many still draining their blood onto their hardwood floors or lush carpets.

All the television stations were now off the air, and only one commercial radio station continued to broadcast. KSL-FM continued to insist that everyone stay indoors, but fewer were heeding those words, now that the sun was up. The station was also reporting that more and more people were fleeing the city, but cautioned those listening not to make that mistake. The Army was turning back everyone that made it to the perimeters they had established, and they reported that there had been many cases where those who refused to turn around had been shot.

At 6:45 the radio station pulled off a major coup, when they were able to get a new helicopter into the air. In actuality, it was a helicopter owned by a sightseeing company and housed at a facility not far from the Kennecott copper mine. And to say that it was borrowed by the newsroom, rather than stolen, would depend on some loose definitions of those terms. But however they pulled it off, in the early morning light the helicopter lifted off from the city's outskirts and began a methodical canvass of the devastation that had occurred overnight.

The intrepid pilot and his on-board photographer captured scenes across the city that were right out of an apocalyptic movie. Even more frightening than the physical destruction, the bodies in the streets, and the still burning fires, were the scenes of panic.

The situation at the hospitals had clearly gotten much worse overnight. The University Medical Center still appeared operational, but they were treating most patients in the parking structures outside the hospital itself. Even that was better than LDS Hospital and the Salt Lake Regional Medical Center, which had both been overrun and looted. From the low passes they made, it appeared to the crew that most of the doctors and staff had fled, leaving patients either dying or unattended. Abandoned patients that could still get to their windows waved at the helicopter. Some in desperation, others with friendly smiles. It appeared that some family members were still at the hospital, trying to watch over sick loved ones. But many of the sickest patients had simply been abandoned.

The helicopter also radioed in to describe how, in the first light of dawn, thousands of people were attempting to flee the city; both in cars and on foot. I-80 was backed up for miles. To the east, it seemed as if the settlers of the Salt Lake Valley were attempting to leave the same way they had arrived: On foot. Emigration and Parley's canyons were both hopelessly blocked with stalled cars, and families were quickly abandoning them, and trying to head up the canyons on foot. No one knew if they would succeed, or be stopped, or even killed in their attempts to escape.

Twenty-five minutes after lifting off, the helicopter headed due west, following a line of cars. They approached what looked like a military blockade in the narrow gap between the Oquirrh Mountains and the Great Salt Lake.

Before they could get a good look at the blockade they spotted a military drone, and then another helicopter, both closing in on them fast from the south. They noticed too late that the desert below them was littered with ATVs and other off-road vehicles, smoldering and burning. Clearly, those attempting to get around the blockade weren't having any luck.

The reporter was able to report via radio what he had seen, but it was the last broadcast he would ever make.

Perhaps there was a no-fly rule in effect that they didn't know. Perhaps the other chopper thought the helicopter was attempting to flee the valley. But before the crew could even get a good look at the military force gathered there at the edge of the Salt Lake Valley, they saw a flash from the approaching military chopper.

The bloom of light as the helicopter exploded was brief, and in the grand scheme of the city's demise, barely noticed.