by Harley Tate
Gunshots rang out behind them. Rat-a-tat-tat.
Madison couldn’t breathe. She hunched over in a ball, body squeezed down on the floorboard behind Tucker’s seat, crammed in with her pack. The tighter she wrapped herself up, the more in control she felt, even though logically she knew it was a lie.
In the span of twelve hours, they’d watched a man bust through a whole bridge full of cars, followed in his wake without stopping to help anyone, got accosted by an overzealous police officer who didn’t know the world had ended, almost got killed by a gang member patrolling his turf, and now they were fleeing. Again.
All while that cop stayed behind and risked his life. A wave of nausea hit her and she jumped up, rolling down the window just in time to heave over the side of the vehicle. She glanced up, lips slick with spit and bile.
Every house they sped past was dark. Not a light. Not a sound. The whole world was silent except for the sound of the engine and the tires rumbling over the road.
They could have been utterly alone or surrounded by a silent horde. Madison couldn’t see much beyond the rooftops, the sky barely lit by dawn.
“Is anyone following us?”
Madison twisted her head, the speed of the car whipping her hair around her face. She pushed it back and peered down the street, squinting to discern any movement in the dark.
After a moment, she fell back onto the seat. “I don’t think so. If someone is, they don’t have their lights on.”
“I didn’t hear a car.” Tucker pulled his visor down and looked in the mirror. “I think we got away.”
Brianna let out a whoop. “Man, what a rush. Did you see the tats on that guy? He’d spent a long time in prison, that’s for sure.”
Madison wiped at her face. Ever since Tucker had burst into the greenhouse the day before, she hadn’t really bought into the science. A little part of her held onto hope. Hope for a mistake, that it wouldn’t be as bad as Tucker claimed, that life would still go on and be normal.
Getting shot at and speeding down a dark road just before dawn wasn’t normal. Fleeing from a police officer and a gang member wasn’t normal. The world would never be normal again.
No more days spent in the warm cocoon of the greenhouse on the UC Davis campus. No more late-night study sessions with bad pizza and a two-liter of soda. She glanced over at Peyton. His dad would never get to launch that record label.
New music. Books. TV shows. Movies. Gone.
Hot showers with clean city water. Electricity piped in via wires and transformers. Stoves. Dishwashers. Garbage disposals. Gone.
Madison reached for the seatbelt and pulled the thick, sturdy webbing across her lap. Resources were finite. People would figure that out soon.
All the prep she’d done yesterday afternoon seemed so trite now. She hadn’t believed Brianna when she’d said to prepare. She hadn’t wanted to buy in to Tucker’s crazy theories.
But now she didn’t have a choice. They were on their own. Even if the government could mobilize, even if the military and police and medical personnel didn’t abandon their posts, how long would it last? How long could organized society possibly go on with no internet, no connectivity?
So many people prided themselves on the globalization of society. So many of her professors talked about how the world wasn’t one of nations anymore but of people and how eventually, the world would homogenize and there wouldn’t be anymore us versus them.
She glanced up at Brianna and Tucker and Peyton. All of that had been a fanciful dream. Now it was the four of them versus everyone else. They had to worry about their own survival.
Everyone else would do the same.
Madison closed her eyes and leaned back on the seat. She wasn’t the most religious woman. As soon as she’d gone to college, she’d grown lax in attending church and even praying. But now…
Please, God. Keep my mom and dad safe. Give them a way to survive. Tell them I’m coming. Just as soon as I can.
She blinked her eyes open just in time to catch the first ray of morning sun. She hoped wherever her mom was, that she was staying put. Staying safe.
Chapter Fifteen
TRACY
Sacramento, CA
8:30 a.m.
Tracy eased out of the garage, backing down the short driveway as she twisted back and forth to check the street. So far, everything seemed normal. Wanda sat in the passenger seat, hands in her lap like usual, staring out the windows with a vacant expression.
Did she always go about life in a cloud? Tracy couldn’t understand how the woman didn’t have more self-awareness. or at least a need for self-preservation. Maybe she just hadn’t been tested.
“Did you grow up here?”
Wanda jumped at Tracy’s question out of the blue. “Does Elk Grove count?”
Tracy frowned. That part of town had to be farm country when Wanda was young. “Was it built up like it is now?”
Wanda laughed. “Oh, goodness, no. It was us, the chickens, a bunch of alfalfa fields, and that’s about it. Our closest neighbor lived a few miles away.”
“Have you been down there recently?”
“Mm-hmm.” Wanda nodded in slow motion. “The farm we lived on is now an entire subdivision. One hundred and forty houses all on top of each other.”
“So did you grow up farming?” If Wanda knew how to tend to crops and animals, she would be invaluable in a future without power.
Wanda palmed her chest. “Me? Not a chance.”
“But you lived on a farm.”
“We just rented the house on the property. My dad kept the house in order and made repairs, but the big company who owned the farm did all of the work. They shipped in illegals every harvest and cleared that place in a day.”
Tracy’s hopes fell. “I wish I knew more about agriculture. Madison knows so much, but she’s been working on sustainable farming on a large scale. We don’t have a big lot. I don’t know how much I can convert to a garden or even how much we need.”
“You’re thinking of gardening?”
Tracy cast a sideways glance at Wanda as she pulled up to an intersection. The lights were out so she waited her turn. “We’re going to have to eat somehow.”
“Just go to the store. They’ll have everything you need.”
“How?” Tracy waved around at the intersection and the houses lining the street. “The power’s out.”
“It’ll only be a few days, Tracy. It’s not like we’ve been dropped back in the Stone Age.”
That’s exactly what it was like, Tracy feared. But Wanda didn’t see it.
“Remember that last time? I lost power for three days. So did everyone around me, but they got it back on.”
Tracy didn’t say anything. She wanted to ask, who is this they you keep referencing? The magical people who are going to come and fix everything lickety-split? They didn’t exist.
Wanda kept making her case. “When Hurricane Sandy hit, people were out of power for almost two weeks. But the Red Cross stepped in and so did FEMA. There weren’t any food shortages or riots. Everyone was fine.” She straightened up in the seat. “I heard a whole piece on NPR about it.”
A shout threatened to bubble up Tracy’s throat. Had Wanda not noticed? There wasn’t a radio playing in the background in the car. She’d tried it a million times and only got the same emergency alert about severe weather. But this wasn’t like a hurricane ripping through or a flood that receded in a few days. This was bigger. Much, much bigger.
She accelerated through the intersection and Wanda pointed up ahead. “See! There’s nothing to worry about. Everything will be fine.”
Tracy squinted. The gas station she’d thought about the night before sat on the corner, a line of cars already queued up down the street. Tracy pulled in line behind the last one.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to fill up.”
“Oh… All right. I guess I can wait to get home. It’s not like I have anything to do today.”
Tracy igno
red the comment and focused on the line in front of her. She counted fifteen cars. Already that many at just after eight in the morning. How long would it take for them to run out of gas? What would people do then?
The car in front of her crept forward and Tracy did the same, both hands on the wheel, eyes and body alert. Giant signs written on cardboard were taped up over the gas station prices.
CASH ONLY
UNLEADED $4.00
“Wow, that’s a lot.” Wanda stared out the window at the sign. “I wonder why it’s so expensive today.”
Tracy didn’t say a word. The longer they sat in line, the more it reminded her of the highway. If someone tried to break into her vehicle, what would she do? She didn’t have a weapon.
At least this time she didn’t have anything to steal in the back.
They inched forward, a car at a time, until only three cars separated them from the pumps. It had taken almost an hour.
Wanda fidgeted, checking her hair in the mirror, rifling through her purse, popping a mint in her mouth. Tracy’s stomach rumbled. She should have eaten more before they left, but she’d wanted to be done and back home by now. Every minute she stayed away from home and the supplies made her nervous.
A commotion up front caught her attention. A man stood beside his convertible, arm waving a credit card in the gas station employee’s face. Tracy cracked her window to hear.
“I don’t care that you want cash only. I don’t have any and I need gas. I’m running on damn fumes. You’re the only gas station open for forty miles!”
The employee, a middle-aged man with a beer belly and a stoic expression, crossed his arms. “The credit card machines don’t work. It’s cash or nothing.”
Mr. Convertible didn’t appreciate the response. He slammed the door to his car and stomped up to the employee before jabbing the credit card forward. He poked the employee right in the center of his button-down work shirt.
The man didn’t even flinch.
Tracy tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
“What on earth is the holdup?”
“The customer doesn’t have any cash.”
“Then he should pay with a credit card.”
“The machines are down. The gas station won’t take them.”
Wanda let out a pfft. “That’s nonsense. They’ve got power. The machines probably work just fine. He’s just being a jerk.”
Tracy kept her mouth shut. She didn’t need to argue with Wanda; she needed to keep an eye on the scene playing out in front of them.
A vehicle behind Mr. Convertible, one of those enormous battering-ram luxury SUVs, eased forward, horn blaring. The man trying to get gas flipped the driver the bird and kept arguing.
“Just take my damn card and give me some gas!”
The employee stood there, unmoving. A tremor of fear skittered down Tracy’s spine.
The woman in the monster SUV rolled down the window and stuck her head out. “Get out of the way, you asshole! We’re late for school!”
Oh, no.
“What did you just call me?” The man spun around before taking a step toward the woman.
“Are you going to move or what?”
“I’m not moving until this son of a bitch lets me buy some gas.”
Wanda looked over at Tracy. “Do you think we should offer to help? We could pay for his gas.”
Tracy frowned. “With the price so high, I don’t even think I have enough cash to fill up the tank. Do you have any? Maybe together we could—”
Wanda shook her head, cutting Tracy off before she could finish. “I never keep cash. Find it a waste of time, really. Everywhere takes cards.”
“Then I guess we aren’t offering anything.”
Wanda opened her mouth to argue, but Tracy faced the windshield. At this point, the man had turned back to the employee, but the soccer mom with a bad attitude just wouldn’t quit.
She laid on the horn again, easing her giant boat of a vehicle forward. She can’t be. Please tell me… Oh, no.
Tracy clenched her teeth together, bracing for the worst.
She heard the collision before she saw it, the crunching sound of bumpers buckling rising to meet her ears while time seemed to slow to a crawl.
The angry customer’s mouth contorted, his eyes screwed up, and his cheeks flamed. He watched as the SUV hit his precious convertible, the power roof mangling into a half-up, half-down position as the woman kept going.
He raced toward the car, throwing open the passenger door as the woman behind him backed up, ready to hit him again.
The gun went off before Tracy even recognized the black shape in the man’s hand. Mr. Convertible came armed to the gas station. His first shot missed the SUV completely, most likely due to his anger and not his ability to aim.
The woman screamed, bloodcurdling and loud, and punched the gas, sideswiping Mr. Convertible’s car as she tried to get away. He fired after her, one bullet piercing the back window and shattering the glass.
Other drivers began to move, some tearing out from behind Tracy in line, others backing up and trying to get away before the angry man turned his sights on them.
Tracy didn’t move.
“What are you doing? We need to get out of here!” Wanda shrieked from a crouch on the seat, her body contorted into a lumpy ball as she hid from the chaos.
Tracy didn’t panic. If anything, she hyper-focused, time slowing to a speed where she could process the whole scene. She turned to Wanda. “We’re not leaving. We need gas.”
“You’re insane!”
“No. I’m realistic.” She turned back to the front in time to see the employee emerge from the store, shotgun in his hands. He must have run back inside when the shooting started. He racked it and pointed it straight at the man holding the handgun.
“Lower the gun and leave or I’ll pump enough buckshot to turn you into a damn human doily!”
The man holding the handgun hesitated, whipping his head back and forth as he looked for a way out. There wasn’t one. He must have known the odds.
After a moment, he lowered the gun, muttering beneath his breath. He walked around the car and tugged open the driver’s side door before sliding into the seat.
“What’s happening?”
“Shhh.” Tracy couldn’t manage Wanda and the situation. She watched as the man turned on his car and revved the engine. He peeled out, bumping over the curb and scraping the bottom of his car as he hit the street.
In seconds he was gone and the whole incident was over. Tracy exhaled. She was the only car left.
She pulled up to the gas pump and turned off the engine. Wanda still cowered in the seat beside her, refusing to sit up and look around. Tracy got out and made her way over to the employee who still held the shotgun in both hands.
Holding five twenties out in front of her, Tracy smiled. “Hi, there. Can I get however much a hundred dollars will buy me?”
The employee’s face relaxed and he exhaled. “Of course, ma’am. For you, I’ll even knock off fifty cents a gallon.”
Chapter Sixteen
TRACY
Sacramento, CA
10:30 a.m.
Tracy tried the radio for the tenth time, rolling the dial up and down. Nothing but static. She clicked it off.
Not knowing what really happened… Not being able to contact her family… Not hearing a single word from any Federal, State, or local government… It all took a toll.
Instead of hunkering down and staying put, she’d driven across town to help a virtual stranger do… what, exactly? Check on her house? Get dropped off? She didn’t even know. She needed to set the record straight sooner rather than later. Wanda could stay with Tracy if she agreed to contribute, but she needed to face reality, and quick.
Soft-pedaling around the facts and trying to make Wanda comfortable would only hurt them both in the long run. Tracy rubbed her temple, fighting back a tension headache, as Wanda pointed ahead.
“That’s my compl
ex just ahead on the right.”
Golden Acres Active Senior Community.
Tracy glanced at Wanda. “You live in a retirement community?”
Wanda shrugged, her smile a bit sheepish. “They’ve got good amenities. A cafeteria, organized events. It’s nice.”
The Suburban eased over the curb and Wanda tsked out loud. “I hate it when they leave the gates open.”
Tracy almost volunteered the obvious comment about the lack of power, but she bit her tongue instead. Wanda still didn’t seem to have a grasp on anything approaching reality. Were other people as clueless as the head librarian or was she an outlier?
A man with a clipboard and a harried expression flagged them down. Tracy pulled into a parking spot in front of what looked like the manager’s office and rolled down her window.
The man couldn’t have been older than thirty, but the day-old stubble on his jaw and the bags under his eyes aged him a decade or more. He’d been busy.
“I know the gates aren’t working, but this is a closed community. Residents and guests only.” He glanced down at his clipboard. “Who are you here to—” He stopped mid-question when Wanda leaned forward and waved.
“Hey, Dave!”
“Oh, Wanda! Thank God you’re all right.” Dave exhaled, hand on his chest for emphasis. “I can take you off the missing list.” He flipped a page on the clipboard and made a note.
Wanda motioned for Tracy to turn off the car and get out. Part of her wanted to decline and leave Wanda to whatever she’d find at the apartment complex. But the good-hearted part of her couldn’t. If they needed help, she could assist for a few hours at least.
They both stepped out of the Suburban and Tracy locked the doors. She held out her hand. “Tracy Sloane. I work with Wanda at the library.”
“Dave Andrews.” He took her hand and pumped it up and down. “I’m the general manager. It’s been one hell of a twenty-four hours.”
“What’s going on?” Wanda stood next to Tracy, hand up to her eyes to shield them from the morning sun as she looked around.
