by Wade Ebeling
Corinne had inherited a slight trepidation of crowds, born from all the time living alone with Daniel. She had never felt this peculiar creeping fear during the entirety of her childhood, which was spent growing up in the overcrowded communal areas. However, she felt now that a taste for crowds would have to be relearned. Looking at the panic-stricken room, Corrine knew that today was not the day to test her resolve in this matter.
Waving off the proffered spot in line ahead of Marisa, who had just waved a hurried good-bye to a lanky Bob Donner as he turned into the southern hallway toward the emergency services garage, Corinne walked around most of the chattel in her way. She was bumped and jostled as she tried to make her way over to the west side exit; to the same door that she had entered through only an hour and a half before.
In an oddly calm way, everyone started forming lines. They all still expected to be given something and anybody holding a ration card from Social Services split into a separate queue from those trying to get up the stairs in to the Bank. Fuel backed the city’s municipal stipend program and ran its vehicles and generators, without fuel the city was as good as lost again.
By making a cut-back across the lobby, Corrine made it around the thickest concentrations. Everyone in the room, except her knew that something was starting to go wrong at the head of the lines. The shouting was growing steadily louder.
“What did he say?” the crowd mumbled behind her.
“Why did this have to happen to me?” Corinne’s mind demanded.
“I don’t want to deal with this shit.” This she said aloud, but only after reaching the hollow acoustics and solitude offered by a vestibule near the back stairwell and elevator. The small act of breaking the law by swearing inside City Hall seemed outrageously unfulfilling.
Failing to stalwart herself, Corinne mumbled curse words at the world the entire way to her car. The thought of going home gave her even more grief. There was really only one place else that she could go, and she was looking at it from across the street.
Thoughts of the life spent with her mother came out of waiting, which then morphed into laughable visions of a miraculous reconciliation. This was followed by harrowing thoughts of moving back into the Warehouse. Still, she had not fully accepted what was happening all around her yet. Corinne heedlessly charged ahead with trying to come up with a plan, without reaching out for Daniel’s or her mother’s help.
“Maybe I should just wait here for a while. Let the line die down a bit. It would save me a trip back…How much pay do I have coming?” The torrent flowed, letting the willful ignorance well back up into place.
Counting the days backwards, Corinne came to the total of four. Four days’ worth of pay was worth thirty-two stipends. She did the math several times just to be sure, and to postpone the next thought from forming.
“What should I buy?” Corinne worriedly asked the warm air inside her car. “Mayor Jackass said the Warehouse was closed, right?”
Her procrastination had managed to slow the thought, but it could not be stopped indefinitely by just wishful-thinking alone. In the end reality cannot be shooed away so easily. The brutally honest perception of exactly where she was in life hit her with all the force of the worst case of cramping ever. It was all over.
Panic coursed through her limbs, making them start to itch and shake. It felt like bugs crawling all over her skin.
“I have to get home.” This fully resolved thought was not said calmly.
The two things that Corinne thought about while driving away was the way Chief Campbell had said ‘my police personnel’ and the amount of burnt or empty houses that encircled their home.
“What neighbors, huh? Tell me that,” she laughed, in nervous humor.
……..
While still wearing a grease-streaked, white lab coat and protective earmuffs, Frank Keller was dumped into a freshly-dug hole and covered over with loamy soil. Frank had been the head civil engineer in charge of the Powertrain Warren Power Plant. He had also stopped answering the hails coming from the military-style radio.
A small contingent of D.o.C. troops, part of Project Overwhisper, the 2nd Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, was sent overland in two LAV-25s and one M915A5 line-haul tractor truck from the Selfridge Air National Guard base to reclaim the tanker of fuel that kept the “Plant” operational. The squad had to call in for new orders when they arrived to find the generator still operating. Frank Keller was summarily executed for not turning off the power on Sunday night. He had been directed to do so by the Department of Continuance. Issued directives from the D.o.C., after all, were not suggestions.
The power plant itself was a four kilowatt generator, housed inside a windowless, soundproofed building within the same industrial complex as the Warehouse. The power plant formerly supplied backing power to the square mile of the General Motors Technical Center. It now supplied power to the small grid that contained the Warehouse, pump house, and City Hall.
Nine years ago, when the Department of Continuance first arrived in New Warren, they held a large meeting. Anyone and everyone who crammed themselves into the Warehouse remembered that day. It was when easy hope was promised.
With the full backing of the Federal government, as men and materials poured through town to begin the unenviable task of cleaning up a nuclear disaster twenty five miles away, transformers started to get replaced and dozens of trees were felled to make room for new transmission lines. A quick electrical grid was relinquished from the remaining infrastructure by driving in new power poles where needed or putting metal bracing upon the poles that were still in decent shape. This new power grid, however small, was connected to the large substation at the Plant, which was hooked up to the fuel tanker that had been trucked in.
The power was back on. At least, it was back on for those who willingly submitted to their new benevolent rulers. The water system, when compared to the work that went into restoring the power, was the hardest part and took far longer to complete. The town had boomed with the influx of free supplies, and people flooded back into the abandoned corner of the state looking for work.
Today, the generator was clicked back off and drained of all fluids once it had cooled down. The power would not be coming come back on. The Mayor and the Council members were the only people in New Warren who knew this fact with any kind of certainty. The work was completed in Detroit and New Warren was still technically inside the quarantine zone, The Department of Continuance, while receiving positive press for finally securing the Fermi II Nuclear Generating Station, clearly no longer had any vested interest in the area, and were pulling out to assist in other efforts.
Chapter 4
Daniel awoke to the sound of pattering, tiny feet. Rebecca was heading his way, failing at her attempt to hold in a belly full of laughter. He looked at his watch with the kind of unfocused laze that only early morning could bring to one’s eyes.
Nine thirty-something the glowing hands told him. Not so early after all.
He hardly remembered anything about getting up after Corrine left. There was nothing beyond the foggy memory of lying down again after putting the brace back in place on the front door.
Rebecca entered into the bedroom, giggling quietly while trying to sneak up on her father. “Daddy, someone is at the door,” she said very quickly, the words almost unintelligible. Completely unconcerned and no longer able to contain herself, her laughter bubbled over, oozing its way out of her mouth as she made her way to his side of the bed.
That’s when Daniel heard the hard knocking at the front door for the second time. He had still been partially asleep when he heard the earnest rapping before, misconstruing the noise to be part of Rebecca’s footfalls. Rocketing into an upright position and flipping the blanket away, he swung his legs off the side of the bed.
His mind started to race, ‘Where is my pistol? Who could that be?’
A third and more forceful banging inked some clarity back into him. Standing and reaching up into the high
est shelf of the darkened closet, his hand zeroed itself right onto the butt of the compact black pistol. The relief was short lived, but it was still nice to find it where it was supposed to be.
“Excuse me, Rebecca,” Daniel called out, as he half-leapt, half-shoved his daughter out of the way. He was suddenly fully awake and very conscious of the fact he was only in his underwear, while at the same time brandishing a firearm and charging down the hallway.
Turning into the front room turned library, he skirted left of the front door and short half-wall that penned-in the small entryway. His intention was to try and steal a peek of the front porch through the large three-paned window that faced the street, which was covered by heavy, woolen drapes of the dullest gray. He was interrupted before the slow arc had led him close enough that he could poke a finger through, gaining a view of whoever was at the front door.
“Fucking open the damn door!” a female voice shouted.
“Is that Corinne? Why is she home?” Daniel asked the ether.
Complete clarity now.
He rushed to the front door and hastily removed the 2 x 4 that was wedged in its hangers. He would always remove the brace before Corinne got home, as she could not enter the house through the locked garage, or open the heavy rolling door if it were left unlocked.
Seeing that the door handle and deadbolt latch had already been turned into the unlocked position, he pulled the door open. Corinne looked as if she had been crying, and she shakily bumped into the door jamb, almost dropping her keys, as she crossed the threshold.
“Are you alright? What happened?” Daniel stammered, quickly shutting the door behind her and locking it. He did not, however, replace the brace out of fear that it would just piss her off more.
“You won’t believe…I don’t believe!” Corinne managed to get out between sucking breaths.
“What’s going on, Babe?” Daniel asked slowly. Wanting to ease her distress, he placed his hand gently on her shoulder, trying to lead her into the dining room.
‘Maybe just get her to the couch,’ he considered morosely.
Corinne shrugged off his hand, continuing to move forward of her own accord. Crying out, “Ahh! I am so screwed!” as she went.
She stomped right past the hallway and a shocked-looking Rebecca. Daniel paused just long enough to ask their stunned little girl, “Will you go downstairs and play for a bit, Honey?” his tone implying that it was not a request.
“But it’s dark down there…,” Rebecca reasoned, keeping him from turning and following behind Corinne.
Daniel tried to placate her quickly, “I’ll go light your lantern for you, alright?” He then added for Corinne, “I’m sorry, Core…Just give me a second. I’ll be right back. Okay, Babe?”
Corinne waved him off, still heading for the living room.
‘Yep, she’s heading for the couch,’ he thought sullenly.
He reached down and grabbed Rebecca’s hand, because her eyes and attention were following her mother the other way. “C’mon, Bugs,” he said as soothingly as possible. This wasn’t very much given the palpable upheaval of emotions that Corinne radiated. They could both see and sense that something had gone terribly wrong.
Daniel escorted Rebecca downstairs, getting her set-up with the brightest of the oil lamps, which he hung on a rubberized hook screwed into the ceiling above her table. He got all of the paint and brushes out, and three large pieces of paper that only had water damage along one edge. There was no way of telling how long Rebecca was going to be needed to stay down here, so he also got out a bowl of chips and a pickle for her to munch on as well. Daniel headed back up the stairs to the sound of his daughter humming contentedly along to a song in her head which had no discernable melody.
His imagination went into overdrive, working at a pace which threatened to freeze him in a panic.
Why is she even home? What won’t I believe? Did the Council fire her? Is that why she’s all upset?
The questions bombarded him as he made his way through the kitchen and dining room. Once down the step into the living room, he grabbed a colorful fleece blanket from the worn leather recliner. Wrapping the blanket around his near-naked frame, Daniel sat down on the arm of the couch near Corinne’s feet. Laying his hand on top of her stocking covered foot, he waited for her to speak, hoping that she would speak plainly when she did.
Corinne sat up and laid out most everything that she could remember for him. She repeated nearly everything said by Mayor Fouts and Chief Campbell with amazing clarity. However, she did omit the part about skipping the pay line (she didn’t need to hear his crap about it) and she decided to not tell Daniel about Troy Campbell asking for volunteers either. Daniel needed to be here for her, not running around playing cops and looters.
The two sat bound in fear together for a couple of tense hours, talking quietly as to not disturb Rebecca. Each were trying to console the other in their own way. Daniel did his part by telling lies about how everything would most assuredly be alright. Corinne did her part by telling lies that underestimated the problem at hand. Rebecca finally snapped the heavy mood by charging upstairs, hands on hips proclaiming that she was starving to death. Daniel got up to get dressed and make an early lunch.
His mind was reeling with all that needed to be accomplished. If everything that Corrine had said was true, this area was no longer safe to be in. He kept going back to the years that he lived in the house by himself. He hadn’t much minded it at the time, he was usually out gathering supplies or exploring new conquests most of the time anyways. Besides, most of what he ate came pre-cooked in a can or raw from a plant. Now that he had a family to take care of, losing the town seemed unbearable and frightening. He lost his appetite around about the same time he reached the half-way point of his still-expanding list of new concerns. This latest quandary seemed more than just another setback; at first glance, it appeared to be nearly insurmountable.
If the city had fallen, there would no longer be police patrols keeping the evils of the world at bay. Protection was no longer something that was just there. So, unable to admit defeat the first thing Daniel decided to do was install window shutters. This required rummaging through the large pile of lumber sitting alongside the west side of the house in the narrow portion of their yard boxed-in by fencing and overgrown shrubs.
The quantity of wood had grown over the years. Bits and pieces always found their way into the pile after Maintenance Department jobs were over. Several dirt-streaked sheets of ¾ inch plywood already leaned against the compromised, moss-covered privacy fence behind him. Daniel was now searching for the straightest, nail-free 2x4’s and 1x3’s that he could find within the shifting heap.
All of the super gangs had been wiped out almost a decade before. Still, Daniel did not want to be the test-piece for a new gang suddenly getting too big or dangerous that they garnered the ire of the D.o.C., Police, or National Guard. These seemed to be the criteria that would result in instant termination for pillaging mobs.
Daniel had no way of knowing for certain that the area would no longer be protected by the local police, or that the armored convoys of the D.o.C. were never to come through again. Suspicion about it though, made him come up with the plan to make sturdy frames around the windows, where plywood could be easily slid in and secured or removed to let light flow back in. Corinne was vehemently opposed to Daniel permanently covering over the windows. She had told him this after exclaiming it would make her feel trapped inside her own home.
It was past noon and the barely diffused light of the sun was pressing down on the two raised-bed garden patches that dominated one corner of backyard. You did not have to be part of the flora to sense the willing life that the sun gave off. His head raised and his eyes closed, face tracking the warmth like a newly sprung seedling.
Only as he had gotten older did Daniel realize what the sun coming back truly meant. Most certainly, he had gotten used to the cooler days when he was younger, working all those long hours out in
the open, multiple layers of clothing on as his only protection. Now, standing in unfettered sunshine, he felt his spirits lifting, worries dissipating. Of all the things that he had gotten used to missing, it seemed strange that he had never added this one to the list; especially since it had pushed the mosquitoes back into hiding. It was probably for the best that what he felt at this moment had not caused him additional sorrow in the past.
Finding just enough wood to complete the windows, Daniel walked the length of the cracked and pitted concrete patio, being very mindful of one particularly open and raised fissure that he had already twisted his ankle on twice in the past. Beyond the sliding door, he approached a 55 gallon drum sitting at the corner of the house, which served as one of the rain catches.
He had been standing next to a similar barrel while at the wood pile, but that one had a weighty lid and a circular hole cut into the side six inches from the top with a flexible gutter extension attached. This would lead any overflow away from the house so the basement didn’t flood. There was also a black barrel at the front of the house, which was rarely used, except in the worst of the dry periods.
The thick, white plastic barrel that he walked up to was raised 32 inches above the ground by four courses of 8 inch cinder block. An old house spigot a couple inches up from the bottom made filling buckets easier or, like he was doing now, attach a length of garden hose to.
The barrel was only half full; a result of two warm and rainless weeks. This meant that Daniel had to hunch over to get the water flowing out of the hose with enough force. Daniel tried to rinse away the dust from his modest assortment of fruits and vegetables. The ash, which did coat everything, seemed particularly attracted to the fragile plants. At first, it would just congeal, refusing to wash away. Copious amounts of rain water, eventually, made the grayish glop yield from the garden plant’s leafs and sprouts.
