by Chris Pike
“Yes,” Theodore said. “Right here.” He reached in his backpack and took out a brown paper bag. As he unfolded the top, it made a crinkly noise, and the aroma of the rich coffee beans wafted out.
“Do you mind if I touch them?”
“Not at all.”
I ran my fingers over the smooth beans, so dark and luxurious. The muscles in my face relaxed, and the tension melted away as I inhaled the aroma. My breathing returned to normal.
“I’ll be right back with hot coffee for you,” Theodore said.
He headed to the modest kitchen tucked away in the back of the library where he rummaged for a pan. It might take him five minutes to boil water. Gas service had been restored in various buildings in the city I had learned from a neighbor. I marveled at the simplicity and ease with which he could boil water. At the ranch, it was an ordeal and I only boiled water over an open pit when I needed tea. It was a brew I made from dandelion leaves. I learned from experience the smaller leaves made better tea, while the roots were used for “coffee”. But real coffee? I couldn’t wait!
I guess Teddy wasn’t so bad after all.
He returned with a large mug, a spoon, and a bowl. He placed the bowl on the table, and my eyes gravitated to its contents.
“You have sugar!” I exclaimed, my eyes wide.
“Only for special occasions.”
“This is a special occasion?” I asked meekly, seeking approval.
“Of course it is.” Teddy sat up straight in his chair and exuberantly said, “You lived through a catastrophic event which killed millions of Americans. You escaped and travelled across Texas. You had to learn to live without electricity or modern conveniences. You had no medicine. You survived, and you became a leader at a very young age. That’s a story worth telling.”
I dropped my head, trying to hide the tears forming in my eyes. I blinked them away. I’d pushed so many feelings away, buried them deep within my subconscious. I had to, otherwise I wouldn’t have survived. Why had I agreed to be interviewed? I’d have to remember all the fear and hardship of those early days. I was so young when it happened.
Teddy handed me a napkin. I thanked him and dabbed the tears from my cheeks.
I wrapped my hands around the mug, taking in the warmth. Using the spoon, I slid a half teaspoon of sugar into the coffee, and swirled the coffee around in the mug, the spoon clinking against the sides.
I tapped the spoon twice on the mug to let the coffee drip away from it and placed the spoon on the white napkin next to the mug. Curls of steam drifted upwards, and I relished the aroma as the muscles in my face relaxed, the tension in my shoulders melting away.
I brought the mug to my lips and blew short, cool breaths on it. Then for the first time in decades, I tasted real coffee. It was a sip, and I let the flavor fill my mouth. Several sips later I was like warm putty in the hands of a child.
The smell of coffee reminded me of my home where my mother and father enjoyed leisurely breakfasts on Sunday mornings. Mom would cook a southern style breakfast of biscuits and gravy, and serve it on the backyard patio under the shade of a magnolia tree. The sun’s rays would peek over the tops of the towering pine trees, raining down warmth on birds singing their morning melodies, flitting from branch to branch.
I could hear my parents laughing and discussing current events, my mind taking me back to when I was a teenager. A time I didn’t know was soon about to end.
Teddy flipped a switch on the tape recorder, and pushed it near me.
“You can start now,” he said.
“My name is Cindrella Strong, and this is my story.”
Chapter 5
Houston, Texas
Current Day
I woke to the sound of a bloodcurdling scream. Laying crossways on my bed, fully clothed since I was too tired to undress the previous night, it took me a moment to gather my wits. My first thought was that I was dreaming, or someone was screaming outside, then I realized it was none of those options. It wasn’t a dream, and the scream came from within the house.
Specifically, my little sister’s bedroom.
In the darkness of the early morning hour, I pushed the covers off my bed, went to the door, and held my ear against it. I stood there for a moment, listening, the hairs on my neck prickling. I needed a weapon, and the only thing coming to my mind was a knife. My dad’s guns were locked in the safe, and he kept the only key with him at all times.
A large knife would do.
Opening the door, I raced to the kitchen and fumbled around in the knife drawer, searching for a knife. The biggest, sturdiest knife I found had a wooden handle and a seven-inch long blade. I held it firmly in my hand, edge side up, my arm muscles tensing. Like my dad had taught me for self-defense, I dropped it to my side, readying it for an upward thrust to do the most damage to the soft and vulnerable section of the belly, rendering an attacker helpless.
On cat feet, I tiptoed out of the kitchen, hurried through the den, then down the hallway to May’s bedroom where she screamed hysterically.
My adrenaline was pumping at full throttle, and I had already decided if I needed to, I’d kill to protect my sister.
I pushed open the door a crack, looking for what I imagined would be a big man brutalizing May. Her room was dark, so I reached for the light switch and flipped it on. May screamed and thrashed around on her bed, caught in the throes of a nightmare.
I stepped over to her bed and placed my hand on her shoulder, gently jostling her. “May, wake up.” I rubbed her shoulder again. “Wake up. It’s only a nightmare.”
To my surprise, she sprang up like a tightly coiled rubber band, obviously recovered from the previous day.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Trembling, May folded her arms across her chest. “I think so.” She ran her hands over her arms, her stomach, her legs.
“What were you dreaming about?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I was hot and having difficulty breathing, like someone was pushing down on my chest. She sobbed and hiccupped gulps of air.
“It’ll be okay,” I reassured her. “Come with me. Let’s get something to eat for breakfast. What do you want?”
“Cereal is fine. What should we fix for Mom?”
A breath caught in my throat. “May, I need to tell you something.”
“Tell me what?” she asked, puzzled.
“Mom, she uh…” I swallowed hard, “…she, uh, died yesterday.”
“What?” May asked. “Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not teasing.’
May furrowed her brow in despair. She stepped over to the door and looked down the hallway. “Mom?” she called out, her voice cracking.
When she took another step, I reached for her arm, holding her back. “Don’t,” I pleaded. “She was already gone when we got home yesterday.”
“Where is she?”
“In bed. I covered her with the sheet.”
“Oh,” she said. Her face turned red and her eyes were tearing, trying to process the information. “We need Dad. He’ll know what to do. Where is he?”
“No clue. I’ve been trying to call him, but I can’t get through.”
“Ella, what exactly happened? I only remember bits and pieces. My friends falling and thrashing around. How did I get home?”
“I carried you here. I found you crying by the side of one of the school buildings.”
“Who else did you find?”
I shook my head. “Nobody.”
“How’s that possible?”
“I don’t know.”
“We need to call somebody,” May said. “We need help.”
Before I could stop her, she bolted to the kitchen. I followed after her. She picked up the receiver of the land line and punched in 9-1-1.
“I’ve already tried that,” I said. “There’s no answer.”
“There has to be,” May said.
“I tried for hours. Nobody picked up.”
May dialed 9-1-
1 again, then hung up when nobody answered. She slumped down in a chair at the breakfast table, hung her head in her hands, her chest heaving with emotion. I went to her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“It’ll be okay,” I said, trying to console her. She burst out crying. I knelt and hugged her. “We’re together and nothing else matters."
It wasn’t the truth, but it was all I could think of to say to her.
* * *
For several days, we stayed in the den, afraid to venture outside after we dug a shallow grave in the backyard to bury our mother in. It had been hard, dirty work, and May and I took turns hacking away at the hard soil. When I thought it was deep enough, I wrapped our mom in the comforter from her bed and laid her to rest. I said the Lord’s Prayer, then scooped the dirt on top of the grave. May picked a few white clover flowers growing wild in the grass to place on the grave.
Burying my mother made me grow up really fast, yet I still clung to hope our dad would make it home. If he was still alive, he would have moved Heaven and Earth to get back home.
At night I slept on the floor using a bedroll as a mattress. May slept on the sofa because she was too frightened to sleep by herself in her room. We turned on the TV every so often, trying to find news—local, national, anything, even a talk show. There was nothing, only static. I expected a public service announcement about what had happened, hoping to find some direction, but none came.
We played cards to pass the time, or read books to keep us entertained, and when we tired, we watched movies using old technology of CDs, that were now a godsend. I had teased my dad endlessly about his love affair with tapes and CDs; though I’m sure glad he had a collection any movie buff would be proud to display.
On the fifth day, I made a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. May flipped TV stations trying to find some news. She had become obsessed with checking every station, hoping she’d find a working one.
On the seventh day, while I was in the kitchen perusing the pantry, the Emergency Alert System blared over the TV so loud I jumped and knocked over a glass of water on the counter. The incredibly loud sound of an out of tune electric guitar hyped up on steroids was hard not to notice. It was so loud, echoing in my brain and bouncing around, scrambling it I could hardly stand it. Then it quickly became one of the sweetest sounds I had heard.
I bolted to the den and stood in front of the TV, my eyes attuned to the snow filling the screen like black and white confetti being ground up in a blender and spat out. Breathlessly, I waited. The Emergency Alert System occasionally tested by interrupting programming, but this was the first time it had been used for a real emergency.
“May!” I yelled. “Come in here. Hurry!”
She raced from the bathroom to the den and stood next to me. “What is it? What’s going on?”
“Shhh, listen,” I said, pointing to the TV.
The snow-filled screen morphed into a dark blue screen with bold white letters announcing This is a nationwide alert from the Emergency Alert System.
Then an authoritative male voice boomed over the TV.
“This is a message from the Emergency Alert System. This is not a drill. A member of congress will deliver a message in ten minutes. The EAS gives the president, the vice president, the speaker of the house, or the next ranking member the authority to address the public during a catastrophe. If none of the aforementioned people are available to make the announcement, then a member of congress will. Stay tuned for an announcement. Do not turn off your TV.”
“Is this for real?” May asked.
“I think so. Let’s listen.” I sat down on the sofa next to May.
For several agonizing minutes, we waited and watched the alert scrolling across the TV, the lettering boring into my pupils. When I closed my eyes, I could still make out those letters.
I was innately aware of how silent our world had become without the steady hum of voices. My parents talking, teachers giving instructions, laughter from children playing near our house, friends calling, text alerts. I had become so desperate for another human voice I started watching movies on our portable battery operated DVD player. I had teased my dad mercilessly when he bought it, and my mom had said it was a waste of money. When he dug that out of the closet after we had been out of electricity for several days following a hurricane, I didn’t tease him anymore. He had put a card table in the middle of the den and moved the sofa closer so we could watch the movie on the incredibly tiny screen. It paled into comparison with our big screen TV.
So much noise was caused by humanity. The washer or dryer humming, the whirl of the dishwasher, the ding of texts, the AC clicking on and off, traffic, lawn mowers, weed eaters, electric hedge trimmers, the thumping of helicopters flying above our house, traffic. How could I ever miss traffic? Yet I had lived in it all my life. So much noise in the Houston metroplex, and now the city had gone quiet.
How could I live my life in silence, especially a life void of other human voices, even if it came unnaturally from the TV or radio? We had become so accustomed to noise, and now that it was gone, the world had become terrifyingly silent.
Our neighbors had disappeared and only once had I seen a man walking along the street. He wasn’t looting houses, and didn’t appear to be searching for anyone, yet I was too scared to run out to him to ask him if he knew anything.
A dish clinked in the sink and it brought me back to the moment.
Then the EAS sounded again. May and I waited in anticipation. There was no video feed, only those white letters ingrained on the TV screen.
“My name is…my name doesn’t matter. If you can hear me you need to know the president of the United States of America is missing. The last contact was as Air Force One was departing Ellington Air Force Base near Houston. We have no confirmation if he is alive or dead. The vice-president, the speaker, and most of congress are dead. Do not rely on the American government to help you. There is no government. I repeat. There. Is. No. Government.
“It is estimated the death toll is in the millions. The Eastern Seaboard was especially hard hit. Without a working infrastructure and people to support it, disease and starvation will result in additional casualties. Canada and Mexico are affected as well, with reports of huge casualties. Reports indicate the United States suffered a germ warfare attack, and most everyone subjected to the agent released through a cloud engulfing the Eastern Seaboard and Gulf States died within minutes. If you hear this, it means you are still living and more than likely you have some sort of natural immunity to the biological agent.
“It is unclear how the cloud dispersed over such a wide area, but it is thought once the agent came in contact with water, it rapidly multiplied at a pace no one anticipated. The entire Eastern Seaboard was hit, including offshore along with the Gulf Coast states. Fishing vessels have washed ashore. Offshore oil rig personnel were not spared either. Cruise ships are idle. Planes have crashed. The electrical grid was compromised due to a lack of manpower, but nuclear power plants are safe for the moment. Once their generators cease to operate, there will be nuclear contamination. If you are in close proximity to a nuclear reactor, you must leave the area.”
May and I sat transfixed on the TV, listening to the man speak.
“Sporadic reports from ham radio operators indicate the biological agent has affected some mammals, resulting in mutations. Reports are coming in, but cannot be substantiated at this time. If you see something you think is unbelievable, then believe it. Protect yourself at all times, and carry a weapon if you have one. If not, do whatever you must to get a weapon. Learn how to use it.
“Other than that, I have no guidance for you at this time. Shelter in place if you have supplies, or if you don’t have enough food or water, try to find whatever you can. If you have a country home with supplies, I suggest you find a way there because the cities are no longer safe. There have been reports of roaming gangs attacking defenseless people, and at times killing them.
“That’s
all the information available at this time. If you hear this, God bless you. And one more thing. Don’t go out at night.”
I waited for additional instructions from the man, and when there were none, I looked at May, who had gone white. She had curled into a fetal position on the sofa, her arms wrapped around her legs. She rocked. I went to her and brushed strands of hair out of her face like our mother did when we were little and needed our tears dried. I took the afghan from the back of the sofa, placed it over her, and tucked her in like she was a little child. For a long moment I sat next to her, thinking about solutions.
Various scenarios crossed my mind, and I mentally checked each off the list as not being viable. Then it hit me regarding what I had to do.
Chapter 6
“May! Get up, May!” I jostled her until she woke.
“What do you want?” she asked groggily. “Leave me alone. I want to sleep. I can’t deal with this right now.”
“There’s no time to sleep. Pack whatever you can carry on your shoulders. We’re heading to the ranch.”
“The ranch! Why? It’s two hundred miles from here to the middle of Texas.”
“Waco is close by,” I offered.
“Waco sucks."
“No it doesn’t. One of the most popular HGTV shows is filmed there.”
“This was the last season.”
“I don’t want to argue about it. What’s important is the ranch has all we need,” I said. “Uncle Grant should be there, and we’ve got enough food for a year. The last time we were there I helped Dad and Uncle Grant inventory and stock the cellar, so I’m confident what’s in there. Dad left a Winchester .30-30 in a rack upstairs, and there is ammo in the chest in the room, so I can hunt when we need meat. Dad also left a couple .44 Smith and Wesson pistols we can use if we need protection. Anybody who sees a .44 pointed at them won’t mess with us.”
“Those are big guns, aren’t they?”
