by Wade Ebeling
Allen’s mind quickly found its center. Training for all those years never really left; it just sat dormant until called upon. He needed it now. Continuous watches were going to be needed. Maggie abhorred guns, and she would be busy with Danny anyway, excluding her. That left only the two of them, Allen and Jason. Two was not enough to stand a constant vigilance.
Allen’s training had driven home the need for at least three people to be effective. Rotating eight hour watches allowed for each person to get eight hours for cooking and general maintenance of gear and fortifications, and eight hours of dedicated sleep time. Four or more people allowed for shorter stints as lookout and longer down times. It also made alternating the dreaded early morning watches all the more easier. Allen knew where to get two more armed compatriots; crazy though they were.
“You going to help me move all this crap up? What is that stuff you got there anyway?” Jason asked, snapping Allen out of his own thoughts by motioning with his head to the bin and bags beside the door.
“Oh, just some back rent from A5,” Allen laughed, hoping to cover his concern about what Jason might say about his stealing from tenants. “They skulked away a little while ago…So…I thought…I would go see if they left anything good behind,” Allen laughed again, a little more sheepishly this time.
“Get anything good?”
“Not really…a little food and some blankets,” he said dispassionately. For some reason Allen did not want to mention the toilet paper; that was for Maggie.
“Good thinking. That reminds me…I want to go talk to that old lady upstairs,” Jason declared, letting his armful of boxes tumble back into the van. “You got your keys on you?” he said, patting down his pockets. His own set of keys still dangled in the ignition of the popping, cooling van.
“Ms. Pearl? Why do you need to talk to her?” Allen asked inquisitively. “I know she’s not behind on her payments, so what is it?” The relief he felt over Jason’s quick dismissal about stealing items from tenants had made the concern he tried to convey come out sounding fabricated.
“I’m kicking her ass out,” Jason said flatly, holding his hand out for the keys.
“What? She’s the one that helped me start the garden. Why would you kick her out?” Allen voiced true concern now, “Where is she going to go?”
“I don’t care. Hell, you can help her move her stuff over to an empty apartment if you care that much,” Jason laughed, chiding Allen. He obviously really didn’t care what happened to her.
“Well, why are you kicking her out then?” Allen asked, his temper setting itself to stand-by mode, as he dropped the keys into Jason’s “come on” motioning hand.
“Listen, this is my place,” Jason warned, looking and pointing all around, “I have too much shit in that one already.” He pointed to C2, the easternmost apartment above Allen’s. “I am taking that one to live in. She can go quietly or not. But she is going,” Jason finished, talking drunkenly loud, now pointing fiercely at Ms. Pearl’s C3 apartment.
Allen relinquished immediately. There was really only one way to play this safely. The choice between making his family move over defending some lady that he hardly even knew was no choice at all. Her kindness did not occupy a spot it the equation. “No worries, Jason. You gonna knock a hole in the wall like I did?” he asked, hands in mock surrender, wearing his best interested face.
Jason would most likely not have tried to kick the Moore’s out. In any event, Allen would not have left, and he would make that clear to Jason soon enough. But it was best not to cross those bridges until absolutely necessary.
“There you go!” Jason said, knuckling Allen’s shoulder a bit too firmly. “Yeah, I want to join them like you did. Gonna need to tear down a couple of walls, too. The way they are laid out…won’t work for me. We’ll just pitch all the junk out the windows on the other side.” Jason paused half way up the stairs, turning to look at Allen with a sideways smile, before starting to climb the stairs again. “I think I might have a little present for you. In here,” he called over his shoulder, as he unlocked C2; postponing Ms. Pearl’s fate. “C’mon in,” Jason waved.
Allen followed him into the dim, box-filled space. After a few blinds had been spun open, Jason had just enough light to lead them into the back bedroom. He twisted open the venetian blind on the south facing window, letting Allen see why they had come here first. In the lone bedroom, there was an empty, glass-faced gun cabinet and two large, white plastic crates, each with a smaller, but otherwise identical, crate on top. Allen had helped Jason move the extremely heavy, larger crates up here, but he had never seen the smaller ones before.
“Here we go,” Jason stated, opening the smaller crate on the left, the one closest to the gun cabinet. “I bought this for Mason…Not sure if I will get a chance to give it to him now,” he said sadly, pulling out a hard, black gun case. “Here, check this out. I have to get you a couple more things,” he declared, backhandedly handing the gun case to Allen. He kept tearing through the open white crate while Allen squatted down, flipping the gun case right-side up to open it.
“Damn, Jason. You sure about this?” Allen asked, with an appropriate amount of awe. He pulled an unblemished AR-15 from the case, making it safe by checking the breach. The gun’s styling was very familiar to him, and he marveled at the aftermarket accessories attached to it. Adorning the rifle were high-end collapsible battle sights and stock. The center piece being the collimating, fiber-optic and tritium illuminated, 3x30 red-dot scope.
Jason finally turned around, having found everything that he was looking for. “Here you will need these, too,” he said, handing Allen a pile of empty rifle magazines that lay atop a black, m.o.l.l.e. style combat vest, which had four, two magazine capacity holders on the front, each with a pistol magazine sleeve stitched in front. The vest also had a folded dump pouch on the back and large, zippered mesh pockets on either side.
“Grab the other side of this would ya? All the ammo is in the bottom...”
Allen went around to the left side of the stacked crates, helping Jason lift the top one off and down in front of the larger crate. He also noticed that an identical gun case and kit sat on the floor, which Jason had obviously gotten out for himself.
“You got the same gun? What make is this? Never mind, I see it,” Allen said, trying to sound grateful, as he was seeing the man in a whole new light. Then he joined Jason in pulling an ammo can out of the now exposed bottom crate; there were 23 more inside. He quickly did the math, and whistled appreciatively.
“Same style flat-top receiver as that one…Just that mine has a nicer scope on it,” Jason said, pulling the rifle out, which had a scope on it that looked twice as expensive as the gun.
“Damn, man. Thanks for this. Maggie’s gonna shit when she sees it, but oh well.” He fondled the gleaming assault rifle, trying to shake the feeling that he was somehow cheating on his wife. “You sure you want to give me all this?” Allen asked, still stunned and slightly giddy over the gift.
“Well, think of it as a loan. If I ever find that bitch again, and Mason, you will have to give it back. But, as you can see, I got a few others that you could have,” Jason said kiddingly, but his eyes were not joking.
The rest of the guns sat swaddled in towels within the crates, but Allen knew the bundles held hunting rifles and shotguns. Even though the rest of the guns were all high-powered, they were nothing compared to the amount of firepower that he held right now.
“This thing sighted in?” Allen asked.
“Yeah, of course, man. Took it to the range one time and sighted both the battle sights and the red dot right in at a hundred and thirty yards. If you want to pop off a few to check it, go ahead,” Jason said magnanimously.
After an assembly line of loading magazines, they both donned their vests and filled them up. The weight and feel of the gun and gear transported Allen back in time. A shutter of anticipation, laced with a dose of fear, raced up his spine. Jason let him pick through a few sli
ngs, and he settled on a basic one with a small foam pad on it. He had never grown to like the single point or three point sling systems during his time in the “sand box”.
Allen had always preferred to wrap his front arm around a standard sling, using it as a shooters brace. From this position, he could free his dominant right hand for other things, and yet still be able to keep a sight picture. It also helped to steady standing and kneeling shots, improving his accuracy more than just a little.
Jason broke the gleefully rising mood by saying, “All set? Let’s go talk to that old bag now. I wanna do this quick. I need another beer…”
“Alright, let’s go. But after we do that, we need to take a short drive to go see…some people. We are going to need some more help to defend this place. If…we are all on our own, like you say,” Allen informed Jason.
“Who the hell are we going to go see?” Jason shot back, seeming a little hurt as he asked this. To him, it appeared like Allen was questioning the information he had shared.
“Hey, we can’t watch this place by ourselves. We are going to need some help…at some point. Need to make some fortifications, and keep constant watches. And, if we can convince those two to come here, you will have lots more free beer drinking time,” Allen said smoothly.
Allen needed to have Jason understand that he might own, and think, he ran this place, but it was Allen that was going to keep it for them. This alone made him far more valuable.
“Are you talking about those crazy brothers that I met? That one time at your poker party?” Jason laughed, just happy that Allen trusted and believed him.
Seeing that Jason understood at some level, he continued his advantage by just saying, “Yep! You know you love ‘em!”
……..
The large culvert had been built decades ago. It was meant to control the amount of water runoff from heavy rains falling onto the massive buildings and parking lots of the auto industry, which kept overflowing the area’s creeks and streams. Shortly after its completion, it was covered over to accommodate the booming growth that followed in the area. It had been built to last, and so it did. Decades of uninterrupted working order had kept it out of sight and mind. The only people that knew of it currently were a handful of Detroit Water and Sewage workers, along with some locals, prostitutes, and graffiti vandals. Unerringly straight and miles long, it had taken on a kind of lore. Used as a rite of passage for the youth living around its outflow; seeing who could go furthest into its depths before running back to the safety of the light.
It was by using this tunnel that the remaining members of the State Street Slayers gang planned to avoid the chocked roadways and escape Detroit. There were only ten members left after a drone strike decimated not only their ranks, but hundreds of other civilians forced to walk north out of the city, who were engaging in an angry protest of the new conditions being forced upon them. The eldest member of the gang was twenty, the youngest member was a thirteen year-old girl. Most carried a cheap flashlight, and a few had an even cheaper pistol.
Murda was carrying a battered AK-47 clone that he had taken from the hands of his dead older brother. His brother had once led the gang. Now, eighteen year-old Murda did. Food, water, and the prospect of escaping a nuclear nightmare, they hoped, awaited them at the other end of the tunnel.
Chapter 12
Thursday, August 25 - 2039
Daniel Moore awoke on numbed legs with a numb mind. Stiffly leaning back onto the stairs to pull his legs out from underneath, brought about a second bout of mourning. His eyes were already red and nearly swollen shut, so few tears fell. He laid his head down on the third step while his legs tingled back to life. The darkness of the early morning hour, and the deep tiredness that permeated his entirety overcame him. He slept without knowledge of time passing.
Soft tendrils of light stretched down, stair by stair, to rouse him. Dulled senses became his armor against what must be done. Pain formed in his feet and spread upwards as he stood trying to adjust his eyes to the poor lighting. He shuffled agedly across to the bed that had seemed so safe just the night before. Muscles screamed in protest as he stooped to pick up the pink, fuzzy blanket from the bed. Clutching his daughter’s former security in his right hand, he pulled the larger grey comforter along behind with his left.
Daniel spread the comforter out beside Rebecca’s body. He cradled her up to his chest, carefully securing her head from swaying. He gently placed her in the center of the warm comforter and gave a last kiss to her forehead. He tucked Rebecca’s hair behind her ears before loosely placing the small, pink blanket over her. She had felt impossibly cold, and Daniel hoped wrapping her up in the layers helped ease the chill. He shot Corinne’s body a steely look before leaving the tiny bundle behind. He slung the heavy rifle and trudged up the stairs.
After two hours had past, and after numerous blisters had formed and burst, a larger than needed grave was dug next to the snap peas just outside the garden beds. They had been Rebecca’s favorite snack this year. Daniel used all of his ebbing effort in suppressing his rage as he carried up the light roll containing his daughter. He was shamefully tearless as Rebecca was lowered and covered over. His sorrow was so well sated that it would not come for him again for some time.
Daniel’s anger grew weary of being patient. The plans made for Corinne’s disposal required all of its seething power. He needed the strength it possessed, and he gave up control to it willingly.
Daniel pried the shotgun from Corinne’s legs and cast it aside. He pushed Corinne over with his foot to expose her back. Hooking his arms under her armpits, he started to drag her body toward the stairs. The dead weight hardly slowed his progress up and out into the garage. Corinne landed face down inside Rebecca’s plastic wagon. He wedged the jerry can of gas in behind her.
Daniel aimlessly pulled the wagon between the two vehicles. Corinne’s foot gave off a sickening squeak as it rubbed against the exposed metal of the truck. He pulled the unwanted load down the street to the conspicuously untouched pile of bodies, made up of the father and his sons.
He spent a little time gathering wind-felled limbs and branches to throw over the pile. Daniel tossed Corinne’s body on top of those and doused the whole heap with gasoline. He didn’t care if the previous night’s marauders burned completely; he had only made the effort to ensure Corinne’s obliteration.
The mound lit with a whooshing sound, which sucked the air in from all around him. Pulling the wagon, with the half-empty gas can jittering inside, back within the garage, Daniel shut and locked the door.
……..
Sunday, July 19, 2029
Allen Moore watched Ms. Pearl’s convulsing body finally come to rest. He felt strangely detached as he watched it lurch, and oddly giddy, too. Jason looked up at Allen from where he had knelt down beside the head of the old woman. The two began laughing slowly at first, then uncontrollably.
They had stood arguing with Ms. Pearl for several minutes outside of her locked door. Jason, finally reaching his breaking point, just unlocked the door, kicking it open when the small chain hampered his progress. Ms. Pearl kept them at bay for a while longer by wielding a large bread knife. The pair quickly tired of her unflinching refusal to leave her home, even with the offer of help, so Jason cracked the frail wrist of her blotched arm, which held the serrated blade, with one strong blow from his rifle barrel. Allen watched Jason as he picked up a heavy, leaded glass vase, but did not stop him.
The old lady had slouched to the floor holding her broken wrist back to where it should be. Jason calmly walked around in back of her, as she screamed in horror and agony. A brutal, side-armed strike with the vase ended the pointless argument.
Allen knew that the sirens would not sound their approach. No one had come to help the old woman live through these hard times, so no one would come around seeking vengeance for her death. Jason had been right about what the loss of the local police meant. They had to fend for themselves, becoming the sole protectors of
whatever would help them live for another day, week, month, or year.
The nervous laughter had served its purpose. It bonded them together in their crime, and lessened its effect upon them. Neither man had killed before. At least, Allen had never done so in cold blood; those other two had been shooting back. Strangely, both men found it easier than previously thought. There were no sustaining thoughts of survival of the fittest, as that kind of tripe no longer mattered now. The food stacked in Ms. Pearl’s panty, and lining her cupboards, would provide an extension in this new world for Allen and his family.
Allen knew that this had been an act of pure selfishness. The altruism inside him was all but dead. If he would do anything for others now, it would only be done if it happened to benefit his family also. The world, in such a short span, the blink of an eye really, had become about who could stomach more, who could shuck of the ingrained niceties first and do what it takes to stay one step ahead. It was survival of the meanest, survival by embracing the worst ways as the best ways, the only ways.
Maggie charged into the knick-knack adorned room. There, in amongst the small porcelain cherubs and penguins frozen in impossible poses, lay the body of Ms. Pearl. Crimson blood matted her shock-white hair to her head and began pooled around one side. From where she stood, Maggie could just make out the legs of the body between the sofa and coffee table. Allen stood near the body’s feet and Jason was kneeling over her head, both were still snickering. She quickly noted that the men had large black rifles slung over their backs and military looking, bulky vests on.
