What had happened to his jacket? He couldn’t remember. Had he taken it off in the truck? Had someone taken it from him?
All he had on was a sweatshirt, which now seemed pitifully thin and inadequate for the climate.
So, fighting against the pain that ran through his entire body, he marched onward. It didn’t matter which direction. He just picked one and kept going.
For a long, long while he didn’t even seem to know what type of area he was in. He didn’t seem to be on a road, but he couldn’t be totally sure. And there weren’t houses around, but he also wasn’t in a wooded area. There weren’t any trees, were there?
He didn’t even know. He couldn’t tell. All he could do was walk, walk through the pain.
The minutes were slow. He gritted his teeth and pushed through.
This wasn’t fair. This shouldn’t have happened to him. Those were the thoughts that ran through his head.
But they were useless thoughts. Pointless ones. Or, even worse, they were a poison, something that would only keep him from getting where he needed to go.
It seemed to take forever, and it seemed that each step was all he could possibly manage, fighting through the pain. Then, somehow, he’d manage another step. And another.
Suddenly, he found himself standing in front of a house. A typical house for this part of the country, completely unlike anything he would have seen in Florida.
James supposed it might have been called a Victorian house. What he did notice were the pointed roof peaks, and the battered, stained wooden tiles that barely seemed to be holding on. The house seemed to reach high into the sky, looming ominously above him.
These sorts of houses had always given him the creeps.
But what choice did he have?
He was so cold he didn’t know if he could continue any further.
He knew that by going up to the battered porch, he was risking his life. He was just putting his life in the hands of others and he didn’t know whether they would want to hurt him, help him, or just leave him be.
He remembered hearing a story from a campus friend who was from Alabama. The friend used to go running back home. And when he’d get tired and thirsty, he’d just knock on the first door he saw and politely ask for a glass of water. It had always worked without fail, and he’d never seen anything odd about the behavior. Well, he’d tried the same thing his first week of classes up here in the northeast. He hadn’t been met with the same enthusiasm, to put it lightly.
James swayed as he stood on the threshold of the battered porch steps.
It was risky to go up them. Risky to not.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something else. Some friendly lights.
What was it?
A nearby shop.
How had he missed it?
It was a squat little building. Purely concrete. Basic in construction. A couple windows. A faded sign that made no sense. Your typical corner store.
Maybe they would help him.
Worth a shot.
He couldn’t take much more of this cold
Before he really knew what he was doing, he’d made it to the door, pushed it open, and burst through into the well-lit and warm shop.
A noise of surprise from someone.
A yelp.
Words spoken in some language James didn’t understand. Had he lost his ability to understand English?
James collapsed to the floor. The pain was too much for him.
He remembered thinking that maybe his ribs were broken. He remembered wondering whether it would hurt to hit the floor. And he remembered wondering why the lights were on, when they were off everywhere else?
It seemed like he woke up only a moment later.
Everything hurt.
He opened his eyes.
An unfamiliar face looked down at him.
“How are you feeling?”
The man spoke with a strong accent. Maybe Indian? Southeast Asian?
“Where am I?” said James. It hurt to speak.
“My store. Corner of Seventh and Chestnut, to be exact.”
“How come the lights are on? They’re off everywhere else.”
“I have a generator. It was stored in an old metal shed, which apparently functioned as a makeshift Faraday cage, protecting it from the electromagnetic pulse.”
“The what?”
“The EMP...” The man went on to explain in some detail the technicalities of electromagnetism. He also explained how he’d strung up lights normally used for outdoor activities like painting and construction, since the EMP had apparently fried the electrical system of his store. James, glancing around, now noticed that the light had a harsher, whiter quality than usual.
“How do you know all this stuff?”
“I was a doctor back in my country.”
“Like a medical doctor.”
“Yes, but our schooling is different. I studied many things, including physics.”
The man’s accent was strong, but his words were quite understandable. James supposed he might have been here for quite some time, considering how good his English was.
“You took quite a beating, it seems.”
James nodded.
“You’d better let me take a look.”
“Why aren’t you a doctor here?”
“There are different licensing requirements here. I’d have to go to medical school all over again and I don’t have the money for that. But I can assure you, in my country, the doctors are quite good.”
“Where are you from, anyway?”
“Sri Lanka.”
James nodded, although he wasn’t quite sure where that was. Somewhere near India? He didn’t want to sound dumb by asking.
“So can I examine you?”
James nodded. “Thanks,” he said.
The man turned, speaking to someone that James hadn’t noticed before, in what must have been some Sri Lankan language. It was a woman he spoke to, probably his wife.
She was pretty. Beautiful, even, with long black hair that hung below her shoulders. She stood behind the counter. And now, she sprang into action, reaching below the counter, grabbing some supplies, and rushing over.
“Lift up your shirt.”
James did, and the man examined him.
“Hmm,” said the man, reaching over to take the odd thing from his wife. “You did take quite the beating, but I think you’ll be all right. We’d better look at your eyes though.”
“My eyes?”
The man didn’t answer. Instead, he shone a little light into James’s eyes.
“Just as I suspected.”
“What is it?”
“A concussion.”
“How bad?”
“Not the worst I’ve seen. But far from mild.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you need to be careful. You need to rest. Serious rest.”
“Rest?”
“A week at best.”
“A week? But look what’s going on. There’s violence everywhere.... my truck, I’ve got to find my truck.”
James knew that the man didn’t know the story, that he didn’t know what James had been through. But he felt his heart start to race and his thoughts begin to get frantic.
James knew in his bones that it wasn’t safe to stay in this area. Something was going on. Something bad.
If he couldn’t find his truck, he’d have to find another way down to Florida.
Where was that professor of his?
“You risk serious longstanding brain damage if you so much as walk right now,” the store owner was saying. “In cases such as yours, the common recommendation is immediate rest. That means not even walking. Any further movement can, what is the word, jar things? Shake them up. And we’re talking about your brain here.”
“But...”
“Trust me,” said the man. “There’s no reason to doubt my credentials. In many ways, the accreditation system is more complex in my country. And I
see it in your pupils... I’ve seen cases like yours before.... you may think you’re thinking clearly, but you’re not. You’re not yourself...but you’re too far gone to even realize it.”
James did realize that something wasn’t right. The store had been, he realized now, fading in and out of his vision for some time. Everything had a fuzzy quality to it and everything swayed back and forth, swimming like some shimmering haze before him.
He knew that it wasn’t an effect of the outdoor lighting that had been rigged up. He knew it was his own brain that was battered and not working properly.
But he also knew he couldn’t stay in Western Mass. And he definitely couldn’t stay in this store.
“I’ve got to go,” said James, abruptly cutting off the store owner, who was still speaking about the dangers of James’s condition.
“Listen, you can’t go,” said the man. He looked over at his wife, maybe out of concern, maybe for more support. “You’ve got a couple broken ribs. You’ve been badly beaten. Here, look at yourself in the mirror.”
His wife produced a hand mirror from somewhere and held it up for James.
James looked at himself.
He almost gasped.
It was bad. Very bad. And it only looked worse in the harsh lighting.
He already had black eyes forming and purplish bruises were starting to show themselves all over. There was blood that he hadn’t even noticed, much of it matted into his hair.
He looked terrible.
And the injuries looked serious.
There was something wrong with one of his ears. And there was definitely something strange about his eyes. Was it his pupils?
Whatever. It didn’t matter. James looked away.
He had to go.
He tried to stand up.
The man put a strong hand on James’s shoulder, forcing him back down into the chair.
“Seriously,” said the man. “You need to remain sitting. I can give you something for the pain, and that’ll make you feel better, but it’s not going to help your brain injury. Even if you don’t believe me, believe yourself, take a look in the mirror.”
“I believe you,” said James. “You seem like you know your stuff. And I’ve worked with guys like you who had degrees from somewhere else, but were stuck washing dishes here in the States.”
“It is what it is. I made the choice to come here.”
“That’s far from the point,” said James.
“And what’s that?” said the man’s wife, speaking in English for the first time.
She looked right at James. Right into his eyes. It was as if she were looking for something in his face, some kind of answer.
“What is the point?” she said again.
Both she and her husband were looking at James.
“The point,” said James, who was having some difficulty in finding the right words. His brain felt slow and clunky. “The point.... the point ... is that there’s...” He paused for what felt like an eternity as he waited for his damaged brain to catch up. “The point.... is that while you seem to understand precisely what an EMP is, you don’t understand the grave danger that we’re in...” The words were finally flowing. “I know I’m injured. I believe you know exactly what you’re talking about. And I believe you’re right when you say the prudent thing to do is to rest. But that’s what I’m saying, that the situation out there is more dangerous than you realize, and it’s only going to get worse. My brain’s not going to heal if I’m dead.”
“What are you talking about? The power’s out. But surely it’ll come back on.... sure, maybe you saw something crazy out there.... you did get beaten really badly.... but that was just the work of some criminals.... it was just bad luck on your part.”
“Surely things will come back online soon,” said the man’s wife. “Surely the authorities will know what to do.”
“It wasn’t some criminals who beat me up,” said James. “It was regular guys. Regular guys who thought they were doing the right thing ... and that’s exactly how chaos happens. That’s how it develops. And no, the authorities aren’t going to be able to contain this. This is big. Really big. And it’s only going to get worse.... the EMP is just the beginning.... it’s the chaos that’s going to get us.... it’s the chaos that’s dangerous.... it’s we ourselves that are dangerous to one another.... and then there’s the underbelly, those in society who wait for opportunities like this.... maybe they’re the most dangerous ones.”
“This is a great country,” said the store owner. “I came here and made my mark. I worked hard, bought this store, and paid my dues. I trust this country and I trust the government here.”
“It’s not about not trusting anyone,” said James. “It’s about being realistic. Don’t you realize what’s going to happen when people realize the power’s not coming back on? When they realize that food isn’t arriving on the semi trucks? When they realize that they only really have a couple days’ food for their families, and maybe even less water? Where are they going to go?”
“To the stores,” said the man’s wife, a look of terror coming over her face as she realized what James was saying.
“Now I may be brain damaged,” said James. “My body may have never felt worse. But I know I’m right about this. You seem like good people. I want to help you out in the only way I can. And that’s by warning you. Don’t you realize that when people run out of food, they’re going to do whatever it takes to steal your food? Your wife is right. They’ll come for your store. And the authorities won’t be around to help you. Now I agree with you, this is a great country. I can tell you appreciate it. Like you said, it gave you a chance. An opportunity ... but things aren’t always pretty here.... it seems that every so often, something happens, and we need to fight to stave off the chaos.... my fear is that this time the chaos won’t be so quick to go away.”
“You’re so young, yet you speak wise words.”
“Not too bad for being brain damaged, right?” A little levity never hurt even the most serious situations.
“It’s really no joking matter. You may feel the consequences when you least expect them ... now about your point. Yes, this is a great country. I owe my life to it. My family’s life.... but that doesn’t mean I’m so naive as to always trust that others will take care of my problems.... back in my country, we can’t rely on the police for much of anything.”
“So you’re saying you have a gun?”
“A shotgun, yes.”
“And you know how to use it?”
“Of course.”
“But you’re going to try to stay and defend your store?”
“Of course. What choice do we have?”
“You could leave,” said James. “I’m heading back to Florida. At the very least, you two could get out of this store ... take what will help you ... leave the rest for the mobs that will come ... it’s not worth losing your lives over.”
James saw that the woman had a hand on her belly, her eyes looking up at her husband.
Maybe she was pregnant, although she wasn’t showing yet. Yes, they seemed to be about the right age, more or less, provided the man had gone to medical school right out of college, which was probably what had happened.
“We’ll be fine,” said the man. “You should stay with us. It’s not safe for you to leave ... not out into this cold.”
“I’ve got to go,” said James. “The sooner the better. Thanks for your help.”
“But we haven’t even done anything yet. Here, take this. It’ll make the pain more manageable.”
The man thrust a small bottle of pills into James’s hands. He handed James another pill, all on its own, along with a small plastic cup of water.
“What are they?”
“Pain pills.”
“I don’t usually take medicine ... definitely nothing strong.”
“Trust me, this is the time to start. You’re going to need it. Especially if you insist on walking out of here.”
Jam
es threw the pill back. Swallowed it.
“And here, take this. It’s cold out. You’re wearing barely anything.”
Next thing he knew, there was a thick jacket around his shoulders. He instantly felt warmer, and maybe the pill was already kicking in, since his body was feeling a little better. Some of the pain was duller.
“And here, some food.” It was the wife speaking this time, her voice soft and beautiful. She held out some food for James.
He took it without really looking at it, stuffing it all into his new jacket pockets. There was a bottle of water, as well, or maybe it was some sort of sports drink. Whatever it was, he was appreciative of it. He knew that more calories would mean more warmth. Even this heavy jacket wouldn’t keep the cold out forever.
“You’re sure you must go? You won’t stay?”
“I can’t,” said James. “And you shouldn’t either.”
“This store is all I have. We put everything into it. We had to start over once when we came to this country. We can’t do it again.”
“You can. You have to. You’re not going to make it if you stay here.”
For some reason, James felt more and more sure that he was right. And he was more and more sure that something seriously bad was going to happen.
Was it the brain injury talking? Or was it reality?
“We can’t.”
The man’s wife was looking at James, silently. Her look seemed to say, “Please, tell my husband we have to leave.” She had her hand again on her belly.
But there was nothing James could do.
People had to make up their own minds. They had to decide what they thought was right.
Who was James to tell them what to do?
They exchanged a few more words.
Neither side was going to convince the other of anything.
Before James knew it, the owner and his wife were stuffing a few more things into his hands and leading him out the back door, which they assured him would be safer. They gave him directions back to the freeway.
They were good people.
James hoped they’d be all right.
At the very least, they had the right idea, knowing that they had to defend themselves and not rely on others for help.
Now, out in the cold night, alone once again, James wished he had a firearm himself.
Constant Danger (Book 1): Fight The Darkness Page 15
