by Sean Patten
“The social contract,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s a trade-off. Less freedom, more safety.”
“Right,” I said.
“And if we’re less than a half a day into this shit and cops are robbing people at gunpoint, taking their cars, that’s not going to go a very long way in making people not feel like civilization is falling apart.”
“Maybe they needed the car for actual police business,” I said, trying to be charitable.
“Bullshit,” he said. “They wouldn’t be robbing us at gunpoint if that was the case. And they didn’t just take the car—they took the shotgun and whatever else Henry had in the trunk. No, they fucking robbed us.”
Steve was right—both about the robbery and the bigger issue. People were going to be looking to cops and the military and any other authority figures for guidance and protection. And if these groups started acting like nothing more than roving bands of thugs, it’d be a bad situation. To say the least.
“They could’ve been a couple of bad apples,” I said. “Crooked cops looking to take advantage of all this shitshow.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “But when I saw that they were in officer’s uniforms I felt…relieved, you know? I thought they might’ve actually been there to help.”
“But no,” I said.
“But no,” he repeated. “And I know the next time I see a cop I’m sure as hell not going to be thinking I’m in safe hands. Even if this thing blows over and things go back to normal. Now I’m going to know that any cop I see has the potential to be a fucking thug.”
I grunted in agreement. I didn’t have the sunniest picture of the government—never had. I knew that people were people, no matter what uniform they’re in.
But Steve’s words were important. The only thing keeping total chaos at bay was going to be how much faith people had in the institutions they’d come to rely on. If what we’d just been through was a scenario that’d be playing out over and over across the country over the next few days and weeks, then it’d only be a matter of time before people started getting it through their heads that it was time to look out for themselves.
Wouldn’t be a pretty sight at all when that happened.
“And this is weird, too,” Steve went on.
“What’s that?”
“How quiet it is,” he said. He made a sweeping gesture towards the large, four-lane road we were headed down. “Barely any cars, aside from the ones we saw on fire or smashed down at the Strip.”
He was right about that, too. We’d been keeping our distance from the road, but we were close enough to see any traffic. And there hadn’t been much to speak of. Maybe a handful of cars had gone down the road in the last hour. Sure, most cars were useless hunks of scrap, but even so there should’ve been some activity, people walking in groups, people on bikes even—anything.
“What do you think they’re all doing?” he asked.
Then it occurred to me.
“I bet I know,” I said. “You ever have the power go off during a storm?”
“Yeah, sure,” Steve said. “Been a while, but yeah.”
“And what do you do when that happens?”
A thoughtful expression formed on his face as we walked.
“Hmm,” he said. “Use my phone and laptop until the battery drains, then drink some booze. Then, if it’s a worst-case scenario, read a book.”
“Right,” I said. “You hunker down and kill the time. Wait for them to fix it so you can go back to normal.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Just wait for it all to work itself out.”
“So,” I said. “I’d bet you that’s what plenty of people are doing right now, especially out in the suburbs. In the cities it’s probably a different matter entirely—bet you got enough looting and vandalism to make the worst sports riot look tame.”
“But in the burbs,” Steve said. “They’re just sitting around and waiting for people to fix things, like they always do.”
He let out a snort.
“And they’re going to be learning pretty soon that no one’s fixing anything.”
“Yeah,” I said, pointing up. “Still haven’t seen a single plane or helicopter or anything.”
“You thinking that means it’s…”
“Global?” I asked. “Hard to say exactly. But we’re not going to be like the rest of them—we’re not going to wait around for people to save us.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Good call. But…I gotta ask, J. Say we get to the airport, and say we actually find Kelly there. Then what?”
“Then we get the hell out of Vegas, out of Nevada, and back to New Mexico.”
“Okay, I get that. And I’m right there with you. I don’t want to leave LA behind, but I get it—being away from people is the right call. But you think Kelly’s going to go along with that? What if…”
“What if what?” I asked.
“What if she doesn’t want anything to do with you?”
I let the words hang in the air as we continued walking.
It was a question worth asking. I hated to admit it, but there was a distinct possibility that Kelly wouldn’t want to go with me.
After all, I’d proven before that I couldn’t protect her. Why would she think this time would be any different?
“I don’t mean to be a prick about it,” Steve said. “But we need to think about this stuff before it happens, right?”
I said nothing for several moments.
“Right,” I said.
“You know what?” he said. “Never mind. Of course she’s going to want to come with us. What else would she do, right?”
I didn’t say anything. Clear as day I could picture in my mind’s eye seeing Kelly again, telling her what was going on and what we had to do. And then I imagined her saying “no,” that she’d rather take her chances on her own.
A stray cloud moved over the moon, casting us in low darkness for a minute or so.
“Damn,” said Steve. “I’ve spent so much time around lights that it makes you forget that dark is so…dark.”
“It’s going to be a nightmare,” I said, grateful that the cloud had quickly passed over, the low light returning. “People are either totally blind to what’s going on or they’re in shock.”
“That crowd at the Strip didn’t seem to be too worried,” he said.
“They were just treating it like a free-for-all,” I said. “That’s why they were robbing people and grabbing TVs and all that crap. They think that the lights will be back on in the morning and they can wake up safe at home with their new toys, never a price to pay on what they’d done.”
“It’s all going to dawn on everyone,” he said. “And damn, that’s going to be a mess.”
I was happy to see how clear-headed Steve was being about the matter. No talking him into it, no having to convince him that things weren’t going to go back to normal.
We continued on in silence for a time.
“Hey,” I said. “Back at the casino.”
“Shit,” he said, shaking his head. “Feels like that happened a million years ago. What about it?”
“When they had you with the other hostages, when they had you all lined up…you did good.”
“What?” he asked. “What do you mean I did good?”
“You kept your shit together,” I said. “Other people in that situation would’ve panicked.”
He shrugged.
“Only thing to do,” he said.
“And after,” I went on. “You saw what a mess that turned into when the bullets started flying.”
“What a disaster,” he said. “People dropping left and right.”
“And you weren’t one of them,” I said. “You kept a cool head. It was…good. Like I said.”
Good. That was the only word I could muster. I didn’t want to condescend to him, to give him a pat on the head. But I wanted to say something.
“Good,” he said, repeating the word. “I did what
had to be done. People turn into animals when disasters like that hit.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You’re right about that.”
“You saw how those people were in the kitchen,” he said. “If there weren’t people like me or you to that guard to tell them what to do they would’ve either stomped all over each other trying to get out or waited around like sitting ducks.”
“Now, wait until the entire country’s full of people acting like that.”
“Fuuuck,” he said, dragging out the word.
“Like Henry said, imagine what Manhattan looks like right now. Two million people all panicking. At least LA’s spread out a little.”
“I don’t even want to think about it,” he said. “Maybe it’s not such a bad thing we’re stuck in the middle of the desert.”
“You won’t be saying that tomorrow when the heat hits and there’s no air conditioning.”
“Oh, shit,” he said. “That hadn’t even occurred to me.”
“And no heat in the winter,” I said. “People are going to have to learn to start fires again.”
“Maybe I’m still in denial, too,” Steve admitted. “Maybe part of me is still thinking that everything’s going to be back to normal in the morning.”
“It won’t,” I said, my tone harsh. “The faster you understand that, the better. Nothing’s going back to the way it was.”
“All right, all right,” he said.
To my surprise, he chuckled.
“What?” I asked.
“Just thinking about no one checking social media the morning. People are going to have internet withdrawal.”
“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” I asked, my tone incredulous. “I’m more worried about what happens when the network that’s responsible for feeding the country breaks down. Or when the medical system fails. Or when people realize they can get away with murder.”
“Easy, easy,” Steve said. “Just…trying to introduce some levity.”
“There’s no room for levity about any of this,” I said. “We’re standing on the brink of what might be the worst disaster in human history.”
“Okay, Justin,” he said. “I get it.”
“Do you?” I asked. “Because things are going to get totally fucked. And I want to make sure that your heads in the right place, not making jokes about people not being able to download porn.”
Silence hung in the air.
“Yeah,” he said. “Fine. I get it.”
We continued on in silence, eventually reaching a large road sign. Written on it in big, white letters were the words “O’DONNELLY-REEDER INTL AIRPORT — 2 MILES.”
“There we go!” said Steve. “Two miles. That’s about a half hour if we make good time.”
“Let’s go,” I said. “We don’t have a second to waste.”
I picked up the pace of my step, eager to finish the trip. And I braced myself for what horrors we might see when we arrived.
Chapter 22
01:00
Steve and I hurried along, my pace picking up the closer we drew to the turnoff for the airport.
My stomach grumbled, hard.
“Holy shit,” said Steve, glancing over to me. “I heard that one.”
I did a quick scan of the events of the day, realizing that I hadn’t eaten since before the flight. I thought back to the bacon-double-cheeseburger I’d left untouched at the restaurant when Steve and I had our first spat of the day, kicking myself for leaving it on the plate untouched. I knew that each step we took would be a calorie burned, one that would have to be replaced if I didn’t want my body to begin cannibalizing itself to stay functioning.
“I’m hungry as hell, too,” said Steve. “Maybe we can find some grub at the airport.”
I knew the odds of that were slim. Even if O’Donnelly-Reeder wasn’t a total war zone, it’d likely be one of the first places picked clean by looters. People in crises seemed to have a sixth sense for just where to go to scavenge goods, and I gave it a week at most before the easiest-to-get supplies would begin to run low.
Then the real trouble would begin.
All the things a 21st century, first-world person took for granted—food, safety, shelter, climate control—were about to become in short supply, and fast. Steve and I, and hopefully Kelly, would have to worry about where to stay, what to eat, and how to defend ourselves. The world ahead was fraught with danger, each day a struggle to survive.
No time to worry about that now. I told myself to focus on the task at hand. That’s how it was going to be from now on—figure out what needed to be done, and then do it. Long-term planning would have to wait until immediate needs were met.
Before too long I spotted another sign, one that pointed ahead to the turnoff.
“There it is!” called out Steve. “Come on!”
The sign read that the turnoff was a mile ahead. My heartbeat picked up as Steve and I hurried along. Despite myself, I began to get excited. And I scolded myself for it. What was I expecting, Kelly to be waiting at the pickup area, standing there with her bag at her side?
No. I knew I’d be lucky to even find someone who could tell me if her plane had landed. But that didn’t stop me from picking up my pace as we headed back towards the road.
A low rumble sounded behind us as Steve and I approached the off-ramp. I turned in time to see a pair of headlights grow closer and closer, the sound of the engine increasing by the second.
Steve turned too, and we watched the car approach.
“Bro,” he said. “I don’t think that car’s slowing down.”
“I think you’re right,” I said.
“Shit,” he said. “We need to move.”
The car drew closer and closer, the engine growing to a growl that filled the night air.
I grabbed Steve’s upper arm as I ran off the road.
The car, an older-model van, whooshed past us the moment we jumped back onto the shoulder. As I jumped I landed crooked on a rock or branch or something and toppled over, falling hard on my elbow.
Once the car blew past it took the upwards turn-off towards the airport and disappeared into the distance.
“Assholes!” shouted out Steve, sticking up his middle finger and extending it in the direction the car had gone.
He turned his attention to me where I lay on the ground, my elbow throbbing.
“You all right?” he asked, squatting down at my side.
I titled my elbow and gave it a look after rolling up my sleeve. It was scuffed, a small crosshatch of red on the skin. I crooked and straightened my arm a few times, the pain growing less and less.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s just a scuff.”
“Good,” said Steve.
He turned his head towards where the van had gone.
“Pricks,” he spat. “Could’ve killed us both.”
It wasn’t hard to guess why the van was in such a hurry. Everyone at the airport was likely there for the same reason as us—to get information on flights that were due to come in tonight.
And once they realized that they might not be coming in, not ever, chaos was sure to break out. We needed to be far away from the scene when that happened.
“Come on,” I told Steve. “No time to waste.”
My elbow still stung a bit, and I made a mental note to be more careful in the future. The hospital system was likely, right at this moment, in the process of being overwhelmed. People were almost certainly filling every health care facility there was with injuries from the first few hours of the crisis, and doctors were likely frantically trying to treat them all with no power.
That system, like every other system that held society together, was no doubt already on the verge of collapse. We’d soon return to the point where a simple infection or untreated flu or broken bone might be deadly. I’d gotten lucky with just the scuff, but from here on out injury and illness had to be avoided at all costs.
We reached the turn-off and headed up it, the road leading up a
nd onto an elevated overpass. I glanced over the sight of the incredible infrastructure of the highway, wondering how long it would last without maintenance. It was easy to picture the enormous columns of the highway crumbling and covered with plants, vast sections fallen and smashed into pieces on the ground below.
Stop thinking about the future, I told myself. Here and now. Here and now.
As we climbed the off-ramp, I heard the sounds of…something growing louder and louder. But the top of the road was still a ways up, and the airport was out of sight.
“What’s that?” asked Steve, apparently wondering the same thing as me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “And I’m not looking forward to finding out.”
We went up, up, my legs aching under the strain of making an upward climb by foot that had been only intended for cars. Once high up enough, I glanced back over the road that we’d just traveled, making sure that no car was approaching that would drive up the off-ramp in the same frantic manner that the van had, this time with Steve and I having no place to go to avoid it.
But we were clear.
“Come on,” I said. “Almost there.”
The noise grew as we went up. It was a low roar, one that reminded me of the chaos at the Strip.
“Fuck,” I said. “I know what that is.”
“What?” asked Steve.
“People.”
Now we were almost there. On tired, worn-out legs I made the last few steps up, reaching the flat peak of the road. Once there, I ran over to the side and looked out at the sights beyond.
The source of the noise was made instantly clear.
“Holy shit,” said Steve, stepping to my side. “That’s…a lot of people.”
That was putting it mildly—very mildly.
Up ahead, a teeming horde of people were gathered in front of the enormous, futuristic domes of the recently opened airport. The mass shifted and churned, the great din of thousands of panicked conversations happening all at once rising up from them.
“This looks like about the last place we ought to be, bro,” said Steve. “You sure you want to do this?”
I felt as though I didn’t even have a choice in the matter. I needed to find out something, anything about Kelly. Part of me knew that I was being irrational, but I didn’t care. Still, I knew that I didn’t just have my safety to worry about, but Steve’s.
