“Swell,” 1B said. “It’s the apocalypse and only the sick and old will survive.”
“Really?” I shook my head at him, then looked to 2C. “How about foot traffic? Are we allowed to walk?”
“You really want to walk?” he asked. “Think about it, you’ll have to walk out of the red and orange zones, then try to find a place that is safe once you get out and for a while. My only option now is to get an evac bus. They’ll at least get me out of the area and to a safe zone.”
“Where?” I asked. “Where are they going?”
“As far as I can tell, yellow zone or lighter. Public buildings, garages.” He shrugged. “If I go on foot, I won’t get into one of those places, and I don’t know anyone in the other zones I could call.”
“Wait. Wait. Wait.” I held up my hand. “Zones?”
“Yeah, I printed it this morning when WPXI posted it.” He unfolded a sheet of paper and handed it to me. I looked at the map of our city. It looked Ike a target map with rings of different colors, black was center, red was around that and we were in the outer section of orange. “What does this mean?”
“Black means, well, you know what that means. The red is blast and fire, the orange is blast damage. Those three areas instant death is imminent. So, it’s important to get out of those areas.”
“And we can’t do it until midnight?” I asked.
2C shook his head. “And that’s if they don’t change that.”
“Okay,” I sighed out. “I guess I’ll wait until then.”
“What about you?” 1B asked 2C. “They disabled your car. What are you gonna do?”
“Like I said, take the evacuation bus. They’re supposed to announce pick ups and schedules.”
“Well, if you want a ride, you can leave with me,” 1B said. “I have no problem with that.
‘Thank you, I appreciate that.” 2C said with a nod.
I went back to my car and grabbed my bags. I wasn’t leaving our supplies out there. I wished both of them good luck and headed back into the building. I had the blast map to print up, double check my route and be ready to roll as soon as the clock struck twelve.
It was later than I wanted to leave, but what choice did I have? Walking made no sense, especially after listening to what 2C said.
Leaving at midnight still gave me fourteen and a half hours to get twenty or so miles.
Plenty of enough time.
I was confident.
The remaining time before I could go had to be well spent. The first thing I did upon returning to my apartment was turn on the news and a double check about the civilian vehicle ban.
2C wasn’t wrong.
It was indeed in effect.
I explained to Macy what was going on as best as I could, trying not to scare her, but keeping things realistic.
“Is it going to really happen, Mom?” She asked.
“I hope not,” I told her. “But we have to act as if it would.”
When thinking about it, was it really going to occur? Would the powers that be, the leaders of billions of people allow a total nuclear annihilation to happen? I just couldn’t see it.
The network news channels ran constantly. Retired Military personnel were reassuring that while it could go down to the last minute, it wasn’t going to happen. That they were probably already dismantling many of the weapons.
All well and fine I thought, that was in the United States, I was pretty sure those weren’t the weapons coming our way.
In my heart I didn’t think it would happen.
I didn’t feel it or ‘see’ it. Not that I was a psychic, but when faced with something that was supposed to happen, if I couldn’t see it happening, it wasn’t going to happen.
A weird gut instinct.
On this, I had to prepare even though I didn’t feel we were going to face the bombs.
I mean, we could look like fools. If we did, the local news station was going to look the same.
They promised to continue broadcasting as long as possible, but were set up remotely in a safe zone. They reported areas outside of the city that were helping people and areas that were dangerous.
Even though they kept stating that the situation would resolve, every station continuously spoke of survivor tips. What to do, what not to do.
I didn’t know how they knew all this information. We had never been in an all out nuclear conflict.
There was no real basis other than Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and both of those weapons were tiny compared to what we faced.
The news made sure to show a visualization.
And it wouldn’t be just one bomb. In bigger cities, it was two or three.
It was insane.
I was ready.
I had my bug out bags filled with my supplies. I had that blast map, and a list of shelters to go to if for some reason I didn’t make it to West Virginia. In fact, I printed up several blast maps of nearby areas they thought would be hit.
If I had any questions about post nuclear war, I went online. While the electricity was still on, I charged my phone and two power banks.
At ten minutes to twelve I would go sit it my car with my daughter, ready to go when the ban was lifted.
If indeed it turned out to be real, if the virus wasn’t beaten, if the bombs were still coming, I would clear of the orange area long before they fell.
With my designation of West Virginia, hell, I’d not only be out of the orange ... I’d be in the clear.
SEVEN – BUG OUT
‘The lifting of the civilian vehicle ban seems to have sparked a frenzy. Authorities weren’t expecting,” the news reporter said over the radio. “An instant gridlock of traffic trying to flee the city has brought the remaining evacuation attempts to a halt.”
No, shit, I thought.
I was tense. My hands gripped and released the wheel. As I sat in bumper to bumper traffic not three blocks from my home.
I hadn’t moved in hours
I pulled out of the parking spot as soon as midnight hit, feeling confident until I hit the turn for the bridge. That was the problem with Pittsburgh. When you resided in an arm of the town, like I did in Bloomfield, you had to cross a bridge to really get anywhere. If I wanted to head north, I needed a bridge. My destination was south. I thought about going through Shadyside then Oakland, but I knew that would be worse. It was worse when there was a crisis.
I opted for the Bloomfield Street Bridge, the only problem with that was the route encircled the downtown area.
When I left at midnight, I thought I’d be clear of the city by then. As I sat in traffic with twelve hours to go, I worried. I couldn’t move forward, backwards nor to my left or right. I was boxed in there.
Cars beeped their horns as if that was going to move traffic.
I switched the radio to try to hear something else. They talked about how there were no negotiations with the terrorist, and the governments were confident they’d crack the virus.
Russia assured the president they were taking measures to manually dismantle warheads, but no one really said how that task was going. I thought of it as a way to appease the public. Really it couldn't be easy to do that.
In my mind, the stubborn heads of state, unwilling to give in to the terrorist, were sitting cozy in a bunker somewhere.
They didn’t want to give up power or land, but in a sense, they were.
Macy was asleep in the back seat, leaning against the door.
I looked around at the cars and trucks around me, the drivers like me, sitting there, all with the same expressions.
Every now and again, you’d hear the crash of metal as someone tried to push their way through.
Another switch of the station.
‘Port Authority transit and several school bus providers are dispatching more evacuation vehicles. Civilians are urged to use the buses as a means to leave the city. All available police and emergency personnel have been recalled and will be clearing a single lane for evacuation buses only in hop
es to move traffic. The less civilian vehicles on the road the easier things will move along. They are asking people to be patient while they remove abandoned cars.’
They went on to name locations.
I understood the logic.
Get cars off the road, open it up to buses and things would flow.
That’s was great in theory.
But would it work, and would it work in enough time?
It was a rotation of the same information. How to leave the city, evacuation stations, and what to do if you stay behind.
I had no intentions of staying behind. I was on my way out. I would get across that bridge.
Those dreams of escape were soon crushed when I noticed a family walking.
After them, more people walked.
At first, I couldn’t figure out where they were coming from until I realized they were leaving their cars.
Just leaving them in the middle of traffic. Everyone behind them was unable to move any farther, and I was one of those people.
I knew at that moment, I had no other choice.
If I wanted out of the city and into some sort of safety zone, me and my daughter, like those in the line of traffic ahead of us, would have to also abandon our car and walk.
The car had already been in park, and I simply shut it off. I grabbed my backpack from the front seat, opened the passengers’ door behind me and reached for the duffle bag.
“Mace,” I called out to her.
She lifted her head.
“Come on baby.” I held out my hand.
“Are we here?”
“No. We’re still near home. We’re gonna head to an evacuation station.”
“We’re just going to leave the car?” She grabbed my hand.
“Yeah, we are. We don’t have a choice.
Once she locked her hand in mine, I made sure the duffle was adjusted over my shoulder, and I helped her out of the car.
It was crazy looking out into the sea of non-moving cars. It felt dangerous, like walking in traffic.
I needed to get us to one of those evacuation centers, it was my only option. Walk and pray that the crisis would be over.
I expected maneuvering through the cars with my daughter and belongings to be difficult, I didn’t expect for people to get so angry and mean.
“Get back in your car!”
Beep. Beep.
“Thanks a fucking lot you bitch!”
They shouted horrible things at me and Macy, along with others that walked.
I kept her close to me as people grew ugly.
A man opened his door into me, hitting me in the side. Another inched his car our way.
“You okay?” A man asked, he was with his wife and two daughters.
“Yes. yes, thank you,” I said.
“Follow us. Ignore them,” he told me.
“We weren’t getting off that bridge,” his wife added. “They’re clearing lanes for buses. That’s the best bet.”
I agreed, but didn’t say anything. I just nodded.
I focused on walking in between the cars, I could handle being hit by a door, I could protect Macy from that. I just hoped no one shot at us or worse.
The man and his family moved at a quicker pace than us. They zig zagged in between cars, while Macy and I stayed straight.
“I’m scared,” my daughter said.
“Me, too.”
I wanted to shield her. I felt like we were in some sort of public stoning ceremony, where instead of rocks, they threw words and other items they could find.
“Almost out, pretty soon ...”
I saw it.
I didn’t want to, it wasn’t intentional, but I was watching the man and his wife.
The sights and sounds happened at the same time. A slight bang of metal against metal, that sounded like more of a fender bender, followed by a woman’s horrifying scream.
I guess the wife inspired some sort of road rage as she tried to make her way between two vehicles.
The driver of the brown SUV rammed right into her. His front end cutting into her gut and pinning her to the back of the other SUV.
Her children saw this.
I grabbed Macy turning her into me so she wouldn't see.
The woman cried in pain, screaming out over and over, blood pouring from her mouth.
The driver of the brown SUV stepped out. I thought he was going to help her, apologize, break down, instead he pointed at her and said, “You’re not going anywhere now, are you?” Then got back into his SUV. He backed up a little and her body fell limply. There wasn’t enough room for her to hit the ground, instead she fell forward toward the hood of the SUV that hit her.
The driver? He sat in the driver’s seat staring forward looking as if he was waiting in everyday rush hour and the woman was nothing but a hood ornament he had seen a dozen times.
The husband tried to help. The children cried.
Not a soul got out of their cars.
The bombs hadn’t even fallen yet and we turned on ourselves.
I didn’t want to think about what we’d become if the bombs did fall.
Keeping Macy’s face buried against me, I made my way toward the man. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I’m so sorry.”
He cried, trying to free his wife.
It was horrifying to watch, to know that those children would watch their mother die on a road, and people would just keep going.
I was just as bad.
I had my daughter to protect and for as much as I wanted to do something, there was nothing I could do but keep going and get Macy to an evacuation center.
Liberty Avenue was the main stretch of Bloomfield. It held most of the restaurants, including the one I worked. It had been sealed off a block from the intersection to the Bloomfield. When I drove, I had to take the side streets, which were jammed as well.
I imagined the reason for the blockade was traffic.
Six police cars were by the barricade, a couple had their lights flashing, a few looked abandoned.
My daughter seemed mesmerized by them and kept staring at the car.
“Mom,” she called my name.
“Yeah, sweetie.”
She said something like, ‘do they know he’s there’ I’m not sure what her wording was, I placated her and told her yes as I focused on getting to West Penn and trying to shed the image out of my mind of that woman pinned between the vehicles.
It was heartbreaking to see and I felt guilty for walking away.
But I had my child to worry about, and I had to get her out of the city.
To my surprise, not only was the street beyond the barricade free of jammed traffic, it was lined with buses.
I smiled and emotionally laughed in relief. People were lined up waiting to board.
This was it, so simple, just get on a bus. Or so I thought, until I approached a line.
A fireman was moving the line along.
“Do we just pick a bus and get in line?” I asked him.
Before he answered me, I realized the answer was no. Those boarding the bus were showing him slips of papers, their bus tickets to salvation.
“Excuse me,” I tried again. “Do we just get in line?”
“You have to get a bus slip at the hospital,” he told me, checking passes as people boarded.
I thanked him and continued walking with Macy, it was a few blocks. But I was hopeful. The buses were lined up, waiting to go.
We took our spot in the long line of people, while the evacuation person instructed people to ‘remain calm’ there was room for everybody.
They’d probably fill the buses, wait for the lane to be free and then roll out.
I truly felt less desperate, seeing the buses and the organization Where the sound of smashing cars should have been frightening, it was a bright spot because I knew it was the sound of them moving the abandoned cars and clearing a lane.
Just before six am we made it through the line and received our bus assignment. We walked ano
ther block down the road to ours. There were buses behind it as well. A full scale caravan of buses.
We took our spot in line, waiting to board, and that was when I spotted 2C. He was ahead of me and was looking around.
He made eye contact with me. “Hey,” he said.
I gave an upward nod of my head.
2C stepped from his place in line and joined me and Macy. “I thought you left a while ago?”
“Yeah, a lot of good that did. We couldn’t get over the bridge.”
“At least it sounds like they’re clearing it,” he commented.
“It does.”
“We saw a woman get smashed,” Macy blurted out. “Some guy just smashed her into another car.”
2C blinked a few times in his surprise over hearing that. “Wow, seriously?”
Macy nodded. She projected as if she wasn’t scared or fazed by it, I knew she was.
“It was horrifying,” I replied. “What ... what happened to our neighbor? I thought you were going with him?”
“I did. He’s on the first bus because of his age. Same problem as you. We were trying to go east, but there was no getting through.”
He tried to keep making conversation, I didn’t feel much like talking. I was exhausted and just wanted to get on the bus. Finally, they boarded us and 2C planted himself by us as well. I didn’t get it. Maybe because I was the only one familiar to him.
It felt like they were pushing the time limit, because we didn’t start to roll until ten-thirty. It was still four hours, but it felt like they were cutting it close. I thought perhaps something broke, maybe they cracked the virus and if they didn’t, surely, they had a clear shot of getting us out.
We rode incredibly slow, a crawl down the street, but finally we were moving. I could see it was more than just our caravan of buses. As we approached the bridge a line of buses inched their way onto the cleared lane.
That had to be the reason it took so long to leave. They had a lot of clearing to do. I tried to survey what was ahead, pressing my head against the bus window to see out, but I couldn’t.
Those on the bus went from chatty and relieved to tension you could feel as the bus barely crept along.
I kept telling myself, we’re moving, that was a good thing.
Nine Minutes Page 3
