Protecting Our Home

by Colton Lively

  “Everything all right, Jacob?” His dad’s voice carried strongly; it was a deliberate choice so that whoever Jacob had met would hear him loud and clear. “I hear voices down there.”

  “I’m okay, Dad,” Jacob replied. “Just, um, found an old guy asleep on the basement couch.”

  “Really?” Cody took the stairs quickly and saw his son illuminating a sorry-looking, unshaven old man who was teetering by the couch.

  “Pleasure to meet you, boss!” he said. “Sergeant First Class Rawlins, reporting for… well, I shouldn’t really be on duty the day after that much whiskey,” he grinned. “But in my defense, it’s not every day you find a liquor cabinet like that.” He whistled. “I mean… man, they must be loaded.”

  “When did you get here?” Cody immediately wanted to know.

  “Dunno, maybe two or three? It was hard to tell, ‘cause the signs on all the banks downtown went out. I tell you the truth, man, just walking over here to the suburbs, I saw all kinds of crazy shit going on. I had to hide in a department store bathroom for twenty minutes. There was noise like a fuckin’ battlefield or something. God knows what was going on there.” He glanced at Jacob. “Oh, sorry for the bad language, kid. It’s been a while since I talked to a…”

  “What led you here?” Cody asked succinctly.

  He gave a lopsided smile and rubbed fingers and thumb together. “Rich pickings! Everyone’s stuck at their workplaces, miles away. I figure there won’t ever be an easier time to find a nice bottle and a warm bed.”

  “Why didn’t you sleep upstairs?” Jacob asked.

  “Well… to be honest, I prefer the basement. Feels more protected down here, you know? Besides, if they came back…”

  “You’d have extra time to make your escape,” Cody assumed.

  “No, no, fella,” he chuckled, “I never ‘escape.’ I ‘withdraw from the battle.’ Thought I had this one won until the young man here pulled a gun on me.”

  “You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you. Anyway,” Cody said, “we’re here for some specific things, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Things?” Rawlins asked. “What kinda things? Jewelry, money, all that stuff?”

  “No, no,” said Jacob, bringing over his half-filled box of borrowed electronics. “We need some kind of radio.”

  “You gonna build one out of that junk?” he said skeptically, but then began poking around in the box. “Hey, you know what you got here?” he said, suddenly interested. “A Prick-seventy-seven,” he said, recognizing some of the components. “My training unit had these, back in the day. Old Vietnam-era radio. Think it still works?” He reached into the box and took the heavy, block-shaped unit back to the couch.

  “You know about this stuff?” asked Jacob, who’d embarked on his radio project more in hope than in expectation.

  “Only a little bit. But if we could get this working, I reckon I might remember just enough to call down some artillery.” He flipped switches and turned dials, but the radio remained uncooperative. “See if there’s a battery pack.”

  “Probably fried, like everything else,” said Jacob. “That being said… down here in the basement, is it possible some things were shielded?”

  “Shielded from what?” asked Rawlins.

  “An electromagnetic pulse,” Cody said and explained for a minute.

  “You’re freakin’ kidding me!” Rawlins apparently hadn’t considered this as an explanation for the chaos that was ravaging his world. “Someone sneaked one in? A nuke, up there in space?”

  “No one knows for sure, but it looks that way.”

  “Did we respond?” he asked at once. “Back in the army, they used to tell us that one nuke deserves another, and then two deserve two, and after that, we’re really off to the races.”

  “I sincerely hope not, but there’s no news of any kind,” Cody explained.

  “Which brings us back to the radio,” said Jacob. “I can’t find any batteries here, and the mains supply is obviously out.”

  Rawlins made a fuss of rummaging through the box and then, unsatisfied, began poking around the shelves. “All you’d need is…” He found something that looked right and reached through to pull it from its obscure storage location at the very back of the shelf. “You got any D-type batteries there?”

  “Yeah, Mr. Lewis had a whole big box.”

  “You’ll need a bunch of those,” he said. Once Rawlins began to slot them into place, checking that each battery was from the same batch, he said, “Now, these adapters are dangerous suckers, so I want you to be careful.” Nevertheless, he handed Jacob the metal box filled with batteries, then showed him how to connect the battery pack to the old PRC-77 radio. “You’ll have to fiddle with it a bit.”

  Watching all of this, Cody saw both that Jacob had found a kindred spirit—even if the man was an old drunk who’d broken into someone’s house—and that they were running very short of time.

  “Guys, we gotta go,” he said simply. “Bring what might be useful, and let’s make tracks.”

  Though he’d initially been scared of what the boy and his father might do, the old vet now found himself loathe to part from their company. “Tracks, huh? You think it’s going to be better, where you’re going?”

  “It’ll be safer,” Cody said.

  Rawlins made a disgusted sound. “That’s ‘cause you don’t understand yet. I was in Falluja, man. I know what happens when things get real rough. It’s every man for himself. Ain’t no one you can trust. Even the guys you thought were in command, the professionals, they start to lose it. And that was just another battle in another war. This,” he said, standing unsteadily and waving around, “this is your actual, bona fide, take-it-to-the-bank, cross-my-heart-and-hope-not-to-die End Of The Fuckin’ World!” he announced, aspirating each syllable with fatalistic determination.

  “It’s a major setback for society, sure,” allowed Cody. “But it’s mostly affected just our machines. In a year or so, when repairs are underway, things will improve. But for now, we need a safe location.” He added pointedly, “Away from others.”

  “You don’t get it,” the old man persisted. “I seen what happens when the structures go kaput, when the institutions fall away. People become ravenous, like animals. ‘Looking after number one’ becomes their entire way of life. You’re gonna see a big slew of murders, old scores being settled, kids shooting their parents and blaming a mugger, people setting fire to the competition…”

  “Take it easy,” said Cody, in whose experience pessimism and alcohol never made a good cocktail. “I gotta find keys, upstairs,” he explained to Jacob, “and try to get some gas.” Cody returned to the stairs with a wary look back; Jacob was armed, and often impressively sensible, and besides, this guy seemed harmless, either despite his obvious inebriation or because of it.

  “You shouldn’t lie to your boy about how things are gonna be!” Rawlins called after Cody. “He gotta know what he’s up against.” Then, quieter, “There ain’t gonna be no rules, kid,” leaving Jacob confused as to whether this might be a bad thing or not. “Law of the jungle. If you’re first to the carrion, you get to eat. If not, you get to fight. That’s how it’ll be. One long National Geographic documentary, only we’re the lions and gazelles, now.”

  “I think I’ll try to have a bit more faith in humanity than that,” Jacob had already decided.

  “If you could see what I’ve seen…”

  “I’ve seen my share,” Jacob felt confident enough to say. “Sudden change brings chaos, and chaos brings death. I want to leave those images behind, but I can’t.”

  “You got to embrace them, kid! Those aren’t nightmares, they’re lessons! You got to dive down into that feeling, down into the hopelessness. ‘Cause, you know what you’ll find? Right deep down where those things begin?”

  “Fear?” he tried.

  A short, phlegmy laugh. “Fear is everywhere, kid. In your toes and your kidneys and every word you say. Like my old squad leader used t
o say, ‘If you ain’t terrified, you ain’t paying attention.’ No, no, what you find, deep down… is evil.”

  “But I’m not evil,” Jacob complained.

  “Maybe,” the vet allowed, “and maybe not. But the worst things happen because of evil. And you’re gonna see evil during these days. The evil that wants to eat its own children. The same evil that all bad men are born with.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Jacob said.

  Then the vet was somehow towering above him, two stern hands on Jacob’s shoulders; the cloying smell of partly digested scotch was nauseating. “Believe what you want. But you’re gonna see it. Men trying to kill each other over a scrap of nothing. Women treated like dirt, ‘cause everyone’s too focused on themselves, on filling the great big hole,” he said, thumping his chest. The gesture brought a fresh round of coughing, and Jacob took the chance to ease himself away from the looming, bedraggled form. “You don’t know what hole I mean… you ain’t never seen people consumed by it, dragged down into the depths. The need, kid…”

  “Jacob! We’re good to go, buddy, come on!”

  A wave of relief greeted his father’s call. “We won’t tell anyone you’re here,” Jacob said, still very unsure what to make of the old man and his drunken warnings about the dire netherworlds of the human condition. “Just… please don’t drink too much, all right?”

  “How much,” the old vet said, slumping back into the couch, “would you say is ‘enough’ right now, kid?”

  Jacob had nothing for him; money would have been useless, even if he’d had any, and a scared teenager could scarcely hope to offer sage advice to a combat vet. “Look, thanks for the help with the radio. Um, stay safe,” was all he could think to say.

  As he jogged up the stairs, the heavy box of electronics jangling, Jacob had the same thought three times—Hey! Take the harmless old guy with us! Rawlins has been around and might even be useful!—and all three times chose to let the idea go. The clincher was his mother’s likely reaction to the very idea of a leering, drunken old man sitting in the back of their truck next to a vulnerable fifteen-year-old girl. At least you’ve got a roof over your head, a fridge half-full of the Lewis’ last Whole Foods delivery, and a high-end liquor cabinet.

  Back outside, the truck hadn’t yet started, but Jacob could see that people were gathering at the end of the street, even at this late hour, probably curious to see what an army truck was doing in their neighborhood.

  “Come on, kid, boogie on into the back seat and let’s bust this burger stand,” said his father, clearly emboldened with new confidence after solving their biggest problem: gasoline. Four full jerry cans now sat in the back, unnervingly directly behind the children, but that couldn’t be helped. The truck’s tank was full, and they had a plan.

  But the group behind them was growing, with about a dozen people visible in Cody’s rear-view mirror. From their gathering place at the top of the street, they had begun to advance on the truck, each of them looking very determined.

  16

  Outside the Lewis Residence

  H-Hour + 13 (1:55 am, Day Two)

  The question came as a shout from the shaven-headed kid at the front of the pack. “Hey, are you guys the army?”

  Cody swore silently, staring at the wheel. “This is not good,” he muttered.

  “Just… go!” Mary advised.

  “It’s a dead end. We’d have to turn round, then drive right through the middle of them.” There were perhaps fifteen people in total now, mostly high school age or college freshmen. “Whatever happens,” Cody stated, “these bozos don’t get our truck, agreed?”

  “Agreed,” the other three said at once.

  The leader broke into a run, quickly approaching the driver’s side. Cody had time to enact the only reasonable part of his current plan—“Kids, hide!”—before he had to start improvising. He popped open the driver’s door, jumped out, and raised his pistol.

  “Woah,” the approaching kid said, screeching to a halt.

  “United States Secret Service,” barked Cody. “Halt and stay where you are.”

  “Oh, man, look, I’m sorry…” he was saying, but Cody was waving for him to back up and join the crowd, which was arriving behind him, much slowed by the unexpectedly hot reception.

  Cody spoke rapidly but clearly into his sleeve. “Foxtrot Five to Tango Control, we have a Code Red at Location Alpha-Three, repeat, a code red. Please advise, over,” he said, then pressed his “earpiece” as he listened to the “reply.” “Roger, applying Sledgehammer Protocol. Will report on casualties.”

  The word spooked the whole group. “Whatcha mean, man?” someone asked nervously. “We just wanted to see who you were…”

  “I told you already,” Cody said, the weapon still pointing at the group. “We’re on government business.”

  “We know,” said one of the crowd, a woman in her twenties. “That’s why we’re asking you if you have any news.”

  “Nothing I can divulge,” said Cody.

  “But we heard the National Guard was mobilized. Blocking the roads into Canada.”

  “Sounds right,” Cody replied without giving anything away.

  “But, that’s not what you’re doing?” she continued. “I mean, you have an army truck, so we figured…”

  “Look, nobody wants this to get ugly. But control just gave me permission to fire, and if you don’t disperse immediately,” Cody said, raising his voice so the whole group could hear, “mission rules say I have to start shooting.”

  “Jesus, man,” said somebody in a complaint, but the rest of the group could barely leave the scene fast enough.

  “You got to learn to treat people better!” the young woman said as she withdrew with the others and then melted into the darkened network of unlit streets.

  Cody holstered the weapon, made one more circuit of the truck with the strutting confidence of someone who’d tried a massive gamble which had somehow paid off, and then slid back into the driver’s seat. “And the Oscar goes to…” he grinned as he turned the key. Each time the balky engine decided to catch made today a red-letter day, despite everything. “Well done, kids.”

  He got the truck moving and executed a three-point turn, which momentarily turned the gearbox into an instrument of auditory torture. “Shit, sorry.” Finally pointing the right way, he gave it some gas, and the truck leaped out of the residential area as though it were truly on government business.

  “Now, let’s hear from Jacob about the Radio Shack full of parts he just borrowed from the Lewis household.”

  “Um,” said the teenager, still trying to connect the battery pack and the radio properly. “I’ll need some time.”

  “Fine, we can be patient,” said Cody, continuing to accelerate as they left the town behind. “We’ve got food, weapons, directions, and gas, but what we need next,” his father told him, “is news.”

  17

  Route 16, Maine H-Hour + 14 (3:20am, Day 2)

  Jacob volunteered six different times to sit in the front seat and “navigate,” but Cody had more faith in his son’s electronics skills than his ability to read an old-fashioned map in the dark. “I need you working on our communications systems, trooper,” Cody told him. “Got to get some fresh intel.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “It’s not ideal, I know,” Cody allowed, yawning discretely.

  “What, trying to work out an unfamiliar, fifty-year-old military radio set, in the dark, in the back of a truck? No sweat,” Jacob said, rolling his eyes.

  “We all have faith,” said a sleepy Emma from under her jacket, “that the GeekLord will yet again live up to his name.”

  “Speaking of ‘intel,’” Cody said to his current navigator, “where are we?”

  Mary had dozen off, giving Jacob renewed hope that her task might be delegated. But the radio had to come first, he knew. “Mom?” he said, a little too loudly, behind her ear.

  “Yep, yep, I’m here, no problem,” she sai
d, her finger immediately finding a spot on the map so that she appeared to have everything under control.

  “Wondering where we are, honey,” said Cody patiently.

  “Sure… we passed the intersection with… So, that puts us…” she said, moving the lighter to and fro until she could see the map’s tiny script. She was homing in but then changed her mind. “Wait, though, we already made the turn onto the…”

  “Got a stop sign coming up. Reckon this road dead-ends into something else,” said Cody. “A brown sign back there said ‘Beaver Brook Campground.’”

  She frowned. “That’s not on the map. Did you see signs for Eustis?”

  “One, but there was no distance marker.” He kept his eyes firmly on the stretch of asphalt ahead of him; the relatively new surface appeared ghostly gray under the twin splashes of his headlights. Either side of the road, trees had been neatly clipped back, and the grass verge was well-tended. “I guess no one will be taking care of the roads for a while,” he said tiredly. “Just another thing we gotta get used to.” Another huge pain in the ass, to add to all the others.

  “I think this must be our turn at Eustis,” she said, finding that the tiny hamlet was not only inconspicuous but invisible, absent its usual street lighting and the glow from surrounding farms. “We go left, northbound on Route 27.”

  “Okay,” said Cody, ignoring the stop sign and swinging the truck into a broad left-hand turn. When they were established on the new road, he asked, “Everyone comfortable back there?”

  Emma made a noncommittal noise but didn’t seem to have any complaints. Sapped emotionally by the events of the day, she’d steadily closed down until she was continuously dozing, rocked by the motion of the vehicle; her thick jacket did a solid impersonation of her duvet, so if she momentarily forgot where she was, Emma could imagine she was curled up in her bed.

  “I don’t really want to be driving around in daylight again,” Cody said to Mary, “so I’m gonna give it some gas. I’m pretty sure this thing will do fifty-five without falling apart. You just try to get some more sleep.”