Grant Us Mercy

by D C Little

  “See you in a few. Looking forward to some good freeze-dried breakfast when I get back.” He winked at Kris who rolled her eyes. “Hey, I haven’t eaten a home-cooked meal in a year. Give a man a break.” He laughed, albeit forcefully, but it still felt good.

  “I’m hungry too.” Tucker rubbed his belly.

  “Family breakfast when I get back then.” Blake smiled at Tucker before turning the handle on the door. If he didn’t leave now, he never would.

  The handle creaked as if it wanted to let the world know it opened. Blake pulled out his handgun and covertly scrutinized the open area at the bottom of the stairs. Nothing stirred. No movement. No sounds. Just the hollow echo of his breath.

  He glanced back in the bunker, met his son’s eyes, and nodded before closing the door behind him. The stairs took off the left side of the door, giving it a ninety degree turn. How that would stop radiation from getting into the bunker, he didn’t understand, but it was what the builder had told him.

  He stepped lightly on the grated stairs, careful not to let them echo and announce his ascent. At the bunker door that would open in the midst of a group of granite boulders, he laid his hand on the cold steel. Listening closely he heard the patter of rain bouncing off the reinforced door.

  Blake pulled his hood up, took three steadying breaths, and pushed up the door just far enough to peer out. Once he assessed the area was clear, he quickly squirmed through and shut the hatch quietly. The coded lock clicked. Thank goodness Kris hadn’t changed this lock during her tirade.

  From the protection of the boulders, Blake scanned the area. Nothing stirred besides the rain crashing down. The house lay three hundred yards to the west and the solar panels, at an angle, lay in between. With his right arm holding the gun out and his left supporting it, he eased into the cleared woods and into the opening between them and the house.

  His first idea of potential problems was the converter. Had it fried during the CME and the batteries had just enough charge to get them through the night? He could fix most things, but electricity did not sit easy with him.

  As he approached the solar panels, something about the converter box caught his attention. A few steps closer, and he realized it stood open, the connector hanging limply from it. The hair on the back of his neck rose. His senses heightened even more. He quickly studied the area further, but he could not detect any evidence of another’s presence.

  Filing through his memories he checked and double checked that he had closed that box door, that he had hooked that connector securely.

  In front of the box now, he knelt while staying aware of every single movement around him. He hooked the connecter back up, wiggled it to ensure it held tight, and then shut the door, twisting the tab to lock it. The actions felt familiar, and it made him look warily around him once more.

  His gaze fell to the wet ground around him. No grass grew due to the extended summer. Only pine needles and madrone leaves carpeted the otherwise clean landscape. As his hand brushed the ground, looking for broken brittle leaves, the rain eased and then stopped.

  Blake stood and pulled his hood back, constantly watching the tree line and edges around the house and trunks of the trees. That prickly, uneasy feeling coursed through him as he battled with returning to the bunker and his family or checking the perimeter.

  Habit took precedence, and he eased his way into a perimeter check, starting with the house. He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been there and tampered with the solar panels. The idea of him being careless enough to have forgotten such a vital component did not sit well with him. Not well at all.

  Each new room he entered in the house left him more stressed. There was no sign of entry by anyone, and yet it felt off. Different somehow. He grabbed a few last minute items from the house and checked the lock three times before covertly making his way to the outskirts of the property.

  The fire’s presence made itself known with that wet, smoky scent that only wildfires smelled like after a rain, or when he wetted a burn pile while he cleaned up the property. He missed that work. Seeing the wild forest become tame and yet still natural, and hard work that made him sweat from exertion and not stress, made him feel like all was right in the world. He craved that feeling right now.

  Just as he had suspected, the fire had made its way only a few feet into their property before smoldering out. Satisfaction made his chest puff out. His insistence at hiring the landscaper, and clearing it in the first place, paid off. He would try not to rub it in the fiery face of his wife though. A small smile tilted his lips and eased his nerves.

  That brief reprieve almost sent him into a heart attack when he heard the distant gunshots. They came from the south, from the direction of the highway. Instinctually he started at a run toward the altercation, but stopped at the end of the private road.

  His family waited for him in the bunker. They had everything they needed to live for six months to a year if they rationed. He didn’t need to go play hero. Besides, who would he be protecting? It was life for life now. People, even neighbors they had known for the last ten years, could no longer be trusted. They fought for survival. Everyone did.

  Distant shouts traveled on the breeze only to be silenced by two more gunshots. That settled it. He would return to the bunker and hope that in a few months the rioting would have settled and it would be safe to exit once again.

  The fire would no longer be a threat. The destroyed power grid would not stop him and his family from surviving, but now the real danger they faced would come. The danger of their fellow man.

  He jogged to the solar panels once again and double-checked the locks. Uneasiness sent a chill down his spine while he scanned his surroundings one last time before slipping into the group of boulders.

  With what may be the last lungful of fresh air for the next several months, Blake said goodbye to the sky and slipped into the bunker, latching and locking the door above him.

  ~3~

  Kris breathed in a sigh of relief when she heard the rhythmic tapping on the bunker door. She shook out her hands, barely registering the bandage that still wrapped one, as she took the few steps to let Blake in.

  “Daddy!” Tucker shouted, bouncing up and down. He had been pacing the room like a miniature version of his father for the last half hour.

  Turning the lock and opening the crank as the door groaned inward sent chills up her spine. She wanted to go out there, breathe the fresh air and see the expansive sky. It hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hours, and she already felt closed in.

  When Blake’s head came through the opening, his eyes met hers. The unguarded contact left her knees week and heart pounding. His hand lifted as if he would reach out and caress her cheek like he used to. Before he made contact, Tucker ran into his legs and wrapped his arms around them.

  “I knew you’d come back.”

  “Of course. I’m not going anywhere Champ.” He picked the boy up into his arms and hung him upside down.

  Tucker squealed in delight and the moment had passed, leaving Kris questioning if it had even happened. He carried the boy upside to the battery box. After setting Tucker down, he focused on connecting cords and flipping switches. Sure enough the air filtration kicked back on with a hum, and then he flicked the overhead lights on. Blake beamed a smile towards her before erupting in a tickle fest with their son.

  Kris shook her head and went back to finish cooking breakfast: freeze-dried eggs and bacon cooked over the alcohol burner. It took a little getting used to, but the couple times they had been persuaded to have sleepovers in the bunker, she had also been urged to try out the cooking. As she stirred the mixture that looked and smelled pretty close to the real thing, she realized that knowing how everything worked had relieved what could have been one more added stress to an already overly stressful situation.

  She groaned, hating that Blake had been right again.

  “You okay?” Blake’s voice vibrated behind her so close his breath teased the t
endrils of hair on her neck.

  “Yep, breakfast is just about done. Grab the plates?” She purposefully kept her eyes on the eggs.

  “Sure.” He bent down to sort through cupboards and drawers, loudly closing each one and banging stuff around.

  “Don’t get in a tizzy. They’re up here.” She pointed to the cupboard to the left of the sink. He had packed this place. How did he not know where everything was?

  “I’m not in a tizzy.” He smiled.

  Maybe she just didn’t remember how loud he was. The slamming and jamming noises seemed angry and loud to her. Yet, being in such close quarters with noises that echoed off metal walls could definitely be attributing to that.

  She carried the scrambled eggs with bacon to the small table that Blake folded off the wall. Blake set out the plates, and she dished everyone a good sized portion.

  Blake eyed the plates and then her.

  “What?” Kris asked, all too familiar with the look he gave her.

  “We’re going to have to ration better.”

  “We expended a lot of energy yesterday. We need to refuel.” She tightened her lips in a hard line.

  Blake opened his mouth, but closed it without saying anything.

  Kris nodded. At least he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Later today she would have to do a closer inventory of exactly how much they had stored. Right now the bucketed freeze-dried food seemed endless. She swallowed her first bite, pleased with the flavor. Yet, it would all depend on how long they would be stuck down here.

  “What was it like out there, Daddy?”

  Kris was thankful Tucker asked the question. She wanted to know too, but anger at being lectured over cooking too much had kept her lips sealed.

  “Wet. It smells like a campfire after we douse it with water.”

  Tucker closed his eyes. “I remember that smell.”

  “What about the fire and our house?” Kris couldn’t stop the question that shot out.

  Blake met her eyes. “Our house is untouched. The fire barely made the edges of our property, at least out front. I didn’t go to the back forty. The most important acres are cleared out though. We’ll be safe.”

  “So we can leave?” Kris’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. Hope rose in her chest. The thought of leaving relieved the weight that seemed to cramp down on her temples.

  That hope fell in a crashing heap, heavy in her belly when Blake shook his head.

  “There’s too much unrest. Gunshots and yelling fill the streets.”

  Kris immediately looked at Tucker. The boy’s eyes went wide and his face paled. She glared at her husband. “Blake,” she hissed.

  “He needs to know what we’re up against just as much as we do.” He straightened in his seat, the broad expanse of him seeming to fill the entire bunker.

  Heat traveled from the pit of her stomach up into her neck and cheeks. She squinted her eyes at Blake. The old argument came to surface with a roiling boil as if it had never dissipated. Tucker didn’t need to hear the harsh truth of this world yet.

  “It’s okay, Mommy.” Tucker laid his little hand on hers. “I got this. I can take it.”

  Her eyes misted as she watched her six-year-old son swallow his fear and put on a brave face. “How long until people start behaving again, Dad?”

  “Interesting way to put it, Tuck,” Blake said with a hint of a chuckle. “People are scared, and they’re trying to get what they need to survive. Most of them won’t stop for anything. I’m not sure how long it will take for people to work together again, if they ever can. I think a few months though should at least reduce the occurrences and let most of the people disperse or....” Luckily, he stopped there.

  “A few months?!” Kris blanched. Her gaze shot to the small two hundred square feet of space they were in. A few months in this small box with a rambunctious child and a loud husband? She shoved her half-eaten plate towards Blake, no longer feeling hungry.

  Blake watched her silently, his face expressionless. It made her feel like an experiment being observed by a calculating scientist.

  She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

  “Uh-oh,” Tucker whispered. “You better just be quiet for a while.”

  Tucker’s words squeezed her heart, but the fear overrode her ability to stay calm. She needed space, but the walls closed her in. She needed time to transition and to wrap her mind around their new life. A few months of living in the bunker, and it was only the first day.

  She opened her eyes and stood, almost methodically pushed her chair in, walked two steps to the tiny bathroom, and shut the door.

  Sitting on the lidded toilet with the wall just inches from her face did not help her demeanor at all. In fact, it only made it worse. She squeezed her eyes shut, took in a deep breath, and tried to calm the crazy whirring in her mind.

  The walls of the tiny bathroom closed in on her though, even with her eyes shut. She could feel the oppression. She stood awkwardly in the tiny space, opened the cupboards that occupied most of the wall space, and found a bottle of cleaning wipes. She tore one out and slammed the bottle back where it came from. Scrubbing each and every nook and cranny with her uninjured hand, she did her best to focus on the moment, to forget where she was and what was happening. Yet, every time she moved her elbow, shoulder, or knee hit something. She couldn’t even move without bumping into an object.

  With an exasperated sigh, she slid open the tiny door and walked back out into the room. After throwing what was left of the disposable cloth in the trash, she took a breath and looked at the two watching her from the table.

  Blake shoveled the last bite of his food into his mouth, and Tucker followed suit. The pan sat empty. She walked over and took the handle. Blake’s hand landed gently on hers.

  “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you try finishing your plate?”

  “Not hungry. You two eat it.” She resisted the overpowering urge to fling his hand off her. Instead, with her mind buzzing, she gently pulled her hand away. Just being touched made her skin crawl, not because she was angry, but because anxiety buzzed within her, feeling like an angry hive under her skin.

  “Why don’t you rest for a bit? I stashed some books for you in the bedside table,” Blake urged her, nodding toward the bed.

  Kris glanced at him, her eyes knitted. Was this really her husband? Offering to clean up after a meal? Thinking of her relaxation needs? Dazed, she shuffled to the bed on the far side of the bunker, not that you could call anything far in the ten by twenty space.

  In the storage next to the bed she sifted through the half-dozen or so books he acquired for her. A smirk tweaked her mouth as she read the titles: Survival Gardening, Life in a Bunker, Outdoors Woman, and a selection of other non-fiction survival type books. Of course, he had brought books she could learn from. No rest for the weary.

  She settled with the gardening book. Maybe seeing pictures of life and plants and skies would help her feel a bit better.

  Blake cleaned up at the sink. She should be grateful for one less chore, and for the running water and electricity. When Blake had insisted hooking the well up to the bunker, she had blanched at the price the second pump would cost. Now, though, with the water and the solar-powered battery system, they could almost live as normal. A shiver ran through her.

  She rested the book on her knees and hugged her freezing hands under her arms. Being underground meant a constant temperature, but almost twenty degrees colder than her perfect seventy-five degrees.

  Dishes knocked around with loud bangs. Each clatter sent a shockwave through Kris. The constant noise of her son zooming a car back and forth on all the walls and cupboards expounded the effect. She trembled with cold, sensory overload, emotion, and underlying anxiety that built up with every sound. The noises pounded into Kris’s mind, shattering the desperate hold she had on a semblance of sanity.

  Her mind rebelled against any attempt to quell the anxiety building up to an inferno inside of her. The book dropped
from her lap as she covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, yet the barrage kept attacking her.

  Her heart raced, its pulsing adding to the roar inside of her head. She blew out a breath and sucked it back in, feeling like the thick air couldn’t get into her lungs.

  The gentle touch on her arm sent her jumping and then repelling away from the intruder.

  “Krista, breathe.” Blake’s voice muddled into her consciousness, but she couldn’t hold on to it.

  The panic rose. She opened her eyes to find her vision still black as her body began to shut down. Her face tingled in that numb sort of way, and she knew she was on the verge of passing out. She quickly squeezed her eyes shut again. Sucking in another lungful of dense air, she gulped it down, frantic to get oxygen.

  “Not now, Tuck. Go read a book at the table for a few minutes.” His words fumbled into her subconscious, but she couldn’t figure them out.

  Large hands covered hers still over her ears. She didn’t flee from the touch this time. She clung to it as the only thread to sanity she had. The warmth seeping in combatted the crazy sensations coursing through her body.

  “Krista. Breathe. Breathe in one, two, three, four.” Blake loudly sucked in air. “Breathe out, one, two, three, four.” He audibly pushed his breath out. He continued this pattern in a gentle yet firm tone.

  About the fifth time through, Kris found herself following his breath. Her heart beat eased. The whirring in her head lessened. She dropped her hands from her ears, Blake’s hands following hers. His warmth seeped into her, easing the racing of her heart, breath, and mind. His voice soothed her frayed nerves and slowly brought her back to the room. To him.

  “There you go. You got this, tough girl.”

  She slowly opened her eyes to find his green gaze holding onto her as if he would never let go. Emotions swept through her as tears streamed down her face and throat clenched. She had missed her husband.

  He took her in his arms then, wrapping her in his protective embrace. She sunk into the one place she had always felt safe, the one place she could relax and know that everything would be okay.