by Jf Perkins
The breakfast was more oatmeal and granola bars, which had my dad talking to himself about food. He regretted that his rampage through the Wal-Mart wasn’t a little better planned. At least we had food. It didn’t mean much then, but it became more important every day.
When we finished eating, Dad gave Mom the shotgun, and told her to fire it in the air if anyone approached. He reminded Kirk to leave the assault rifles alone until there was time to learn how to use them. He and Arturo made their way back across the field, carrying Dad’s original rifle and two handguns. They talked about carrying one of the captured military weapons, but decided that it might draw more trouble than it was worth. If things were bad in the schoolyard, the plan was to retreat back to camp and rethink the plan. We watched until they faded into the woods closer to the school. Once they were out of sight, we settled down to play with little Jimmy, while Mom and Kirk kept a watch for anything threatening.
We talked around in the camp, speculating on what had happened, and why, and what the future might hold. In the end, we knew almost nothing. All hell could have been breaking loose five miles away, and we wouldn’t have a clue. Eventually, I got tired of throwing rocks and scratching games in the dirt. I decided to do a little exploring. Mom warned me not to go too far, which normally would have earned her an eye roll and an exasperated sigh, but not on this day. The world itself seemed to crackle with a new sense of danger.
Luckily, I found a nice old sugar maple about 120 feet from our camp. I jumped to clasp my fingers over the lowest branch and kicked my feet up to wrap my ankles around it. I hung there for a few seconds before I decided my next move. I shimmied out the branch until I reached a fork and used the twin limbs to lever myself up into the tree. Once I had the first branch mastered, the tree offered a million good options for climbing. Like any young boy, I immediately headed upward to get as high as I could go. I was thinking that I might be able to see what Dad was doing if I climbed high enough, but that was not the case. When I reached the highest point I could, I wedged myself into another forking branch, and pushed the leaves out of the way. All I could see was the next grove of woods, and the very top of the school roof. The chimney from the school’s old coal fired furnace extended well above the roof, and from my perch, looked like it was trying to blend in with the trees. Oh well, it was a minor disappointment compared to the triumph of climbing the tree. As a bonus, my mother was probably freaking out, expecting my limp body to come crashing down any second.
I started looking in other directions, and noticed some dark pillars of smoke rising into the sky. I didn’t know it then, but I was watching Manchester in full meltdown mode. There were other, smaller columns rising here and there, and a general dark haze in the opposite direction from Manchester. Mostly, I heard the kids talking below, and the breeze causing a flutter through the leaves, but occasionally I could hear the faint cracks of distant gunfire. Once I had that realization, the tree was no longer the supreme retreat I thought it would be. It was just another way to watch the Breakdown in progress.
I was about to start the climb down when I heard the unmistakable rumble of our station wagon from the direction of the school. I immediately tried to climb just a little higher, and when that didn’t work, I tried to extend my neck like a snapping turtle. That didn’t work either. Just as well too, because the engine stopped in about 15 seconds. What the heck?
There was no way I was giving up my observation post. If the car started, then something was going to happen. Nothing did. I waited. My disappointment was getting heavy enough to bring me down from the tree. I was almost halfway down when I heard the engine start again. I listened hard, expecting it to stop, but it revved a few times and sounded like it was starting to move. I scrambled back up the tree, reaching the top just seconds before the car rounded the other patch of woods and rolled straight across the field, into the woods below.
The family burst into animated conversation, but I couldn’t really hear it as I descended the tree at breakneck speed. As I dropped off the bottom branch, I could see the old green station wagon sitting just outside our camp. Something about seeing the car there made me feel secure, like everything would be just fine. I ran over and slapped both my hands on the front fender, convincing myself that it was real, and by extension that everything was back to normal. Half of that was true.
Kirk was asking rapid fire questions. “How did you get it started?”
Dad answered, “Well, I think it was about twenty percent scrounging parts, and eighty percent luck. It was easier than I thought.”
“How did you get it out?”
“No way we were going to get out the front, so we cut a big hole in the fence and drove it out the back,” Dad said with a grin.
Mom asked, “So we can go home?”
“No, Honey... For all the reasons we talked about before. Nashville is too dangerous,” Dad replied.
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Actually, I do. There are still people in the school. They told us the sheriff was sending men out in old trucks, and the deputy said that Nashville is in flames. Nothing but rioting and looting.”
“Oh.” That was all Mom could say. She sounded more like a small, distant child than our mother. She gathered herself. “What are the people doing?”
“Nothing. It looks like they’re just sitting in the dark and eating cafeteria food. I guess they’re still waiting for help. The sheriff’s men have actually been delivering some supplies to the shelter. Maybe it’s not the worst idea to wait for help. I doubt that it will last long, though.” Dad said with a faraway look. “Anyway, that reminds me...”
Arturo walked to the back door on the passenger side, opened it, and reached in to help an elderly lady out of the car. We couldn’t believe it. I’m sure, in our excitement I guess, that none of even noticed another person in the car. When she appeared in our midst, all of our mouths dropped open on cue. Arturo introduced her. “Everyone, this is the nice lady I told you about. Her name is Francine.”
We all said our chaotic hellos and looked at each other in turn. Dad made a classic Dad announcement. “Francine is the lady Arturo told us about, from the schoolyard. She has had an especially rough day, so let’s all make her welcome, and help her out.”
Mom gave him a weird look that I guessed meant something like, you gotta be kidding me. Then she held out her hand to the lady and walked her over to the campsite. Francine was completely passive. She seemed blank to me, but that’s just because I hadn’t put the facts together. I learned later that she was the lady on the see-saw with her husband. Well, apparently they sat on the see-saw until he died, sometime during the night. She went to check on him, discovered he was gone, and then went back to her side of the see-saw. She was still bouncing his corpse slowly up and down when Dad and Arturo found her.
“Ok, boys,” Dad said, in a tone that suggested we were going to Disney World, “Let’s get this car unloaded.” He opened the tailgate, and the back of the car was stuffed with cans and boxes of food. It looked like enough food for an army, but that might have been because it was food for the Army. We stacked the supplies between the tents while Dad quickly organized them, and Mom watched in amazement.
“Where did you get all that?” she asked.
“From the school. We tried to ask for it, but no one seemed to care, so we just started loading it up. Should be enough to keep us for a while.” Dad replied. “I guess those folks are shell shocked or something. They’re almost catatonic.”
The new pile of food seemed to lift the weight from Mom’s shoulders. She started looking at the labels and talking about her meal plans. Apparently, the granola and oatmeal from Wal-Mart was never enough to kick start her Mom-motor.
Dad added, “We may try to get another load, if we can. First, we need a safe place to put it.”
Lucy spoke up. “Daddy, Bill was climbing in that tree. Maybe we can put the food up there.”
“That’s a good idea, Sweetie, but I
was thinking it might be better to put us up there, and the food in the ground.”
“Eww! The food will get dirt and worms on it!” Lucy whined.
“Worms are good protein, so that’s no problem, and I remember you were quite the little dirt eater when you were three.”
“Daddy!”
Dad laughed. He loved to get Lucy worked up into her frequent fits of outrage. Then he turned serious. “Listen, Lucy. Things are going to be different now. We’re going to have to work to get food, and some of it won’t seem all that great. Domino’s Pizza is going to be hard to come by.”
Lucy put on her power pout and said, “Ok, Daddy.”
Kirk, Arturo, and I finished getting the car unloaded, and sat down with our backs against the big trees around the campsite. It had only been hours, but we were gradually claiming certain trees as our own. In any case, I found myself thinking wistfully about the family collection of folding chairs, back at our house.
Dad set the last huge can in place, and selected another one out of the stack. He spooned about a gallon of chili into a big aluminum camp pan and balanced the whole thing on both little stoves.
“Lunch coming up,” Dad said, digging a box of Saltines out of Mom’s pack.
While we waited for the chili, Jimmy entertained himself by singing songs from his favorite cartoons. I wish I could still remember them. We all leaned back and enjoyed a show that would have felt tiresome and stupid only a few days before, but now it was a pure and valuable way to pass the time. At the time, it struck us as a truth that no matter how crazy life gets, it’s always a good time to sing. Then, it spurred the realization that all of our iPods and phones and computers and CD players were all fried. I wondered how long it would be before I could listen to music again.
Dad and Arturo were huddled up with Mom, on the other side of the tents, having one of those adult conversations that were too sensitive for young ears, but that was fine. We had little Jimmy. Tommy jumped up in the middle of the third song and decided to add his own strange brand of interpretive dance to the show. Pretty soon, we were too busy laughing and pointing to worry about anything at all, especially when Jimmy started smacking us on the head, duck-duck-goose style. When he tapped us, we were supposed to join in. This worked fine for me and Lucy, but Kirk refused to play, and when he did, Jimmy stopped singing. He refused to sing anymore. Then we spent our time calling Kirk foul names for ruining a good show.
I wasn’t tuned to notice at the time, but thinking back, I remember how odd it was that Francine, sitting on the far side of our camp circle, had not said a word since she got out of the car. She was not part of the adult huddle. In fact, she seemed completely oblivious to everything that was going on. She sat back against her tree and stared into space while our tiny world flowed around her.
Dad broke away to give the chili a stir, and went right back to talk some more. I watched, but all I could tell was that Arturo was doing most of the talking. He used a lot of gestures when he was talking in my Mom’s direction. I figured he was telling her things she did not want to hear. They were deeply involved in the conversation, so they did not notice when Francine silently raised her arm and pointed in the direction of the school.
I looked in the direction she was pointing, and saw four men emerge from the woods behind the school. From their position, it looked like they had come around the back side of the school from the right and they were using the woods as cover to circle the schoolyard. They must have seen our car, or our tents, because they turned their heads in our direction, and started walking our way. I slapped Kirk on the shoulder and pointed. He looked and didn’t hesitate.
“Dad!” Kirk called out in a stage whisper. “Dad!”
The huddle stopped talking and looked at Kirk, following his pointing finger, and when they had the picture, Dad looked at Arturo, who took charge.
“David, I’ll take the little ones and find a cover position. If anyone shoots for any reason, then you shoot any strangers still standing. Lucy, you and Bill take Tommy and Jimmy. You guys are with me. Kirk, you stay here with your folks. Francine...” Arturo paused and looked at her. “Never mind, Francine. You’re good.”
Arturo snagged one of the assault rifles and headed out. We followed him, stumbling and trotting to keep up. He told us to lie down behind a fallen log about fifty yards from the camp. We were looking at the camp from the side. The school, the car, and the approaching men were slightly to our left, and the tents just slightly to the right. It felt like everything was coming right for me. Arturo positioned himself behind a large tree right next to us, angling himself to be invisible to the men.
“Stay down and be very quiet,” Arturo told us.
Dad had his handgun, and Mom was holding the shotgun. Kirk was standing to the side and I realized with a shock that he was holding the other handgun. My first impulse was a little brotherly jealousy, but then I realized the danger and started to worry about him. Francine still hadn’t moved.
The men looked serious as they approached. Arturo crouched down and leaned out from behind his tree, just enough to watch with one eye. The men spread out as they entered our woods. They were thin, spidery and rough looking characters with wispy beards and dirty caps pulled low over their eyes. They could have been brothers, and they were armed with hunting rifles and shotguns. It looked like they had handguns on belt holsters as well. The apparent leader and another walked into our camp while the other two circled out to the sides. Even then, I could understand how that put my parents in a bad tactical position.
My dad said, “That’s far enough,” in that voice he used to stop us from doing something really stupid.
The leader didn’t stop. My dad raised his pistol, and the man responded by stepping to the side instead of towards my dad. They didn’t seem afraid of Dad’s gun at all, and no one else had raised their weapons. The man was clearly looking the camp over, and when he had seen enough, he did stop moving. My dad lowered his pistol to his side.
“Looks like you folks is pretty well set up,” the leader said, sounding like a raspy weasel when he spoke.
“Well, we got kids to feed.” Dad replied in a deep voice.
“Don’t we all, Mister. Thing is, this here’s my land, and you’re trespassing on my land.” He smiled a sneering sideways smile, and spit on the ground. Then his face turned hard. “See, the law is stretched a little thin around here, so I reckon it’s up to me to enforce the law on my land.” Then he raised the shotgun towards my dad.
“What’s your name?” Dad asked the man.
“What’s my name? It don’t matter what my name is,” the man replied.
“If I don’t know your name, then there’s no way I can know if you’re the owner of this land,” my dad said. I couldn’t see his face from where I lay in the leaves, but I can imagine his face was set pretty hard by the tone of his voice. “Turns out, friend, that I know the owner of this land, and he doesn’t look a thing like you and your boys here.” Dad was lying, but he was doing it for a good reason.
“I said this here’s my land, and if you and your pretty wife there don’t want to be buried on it, you’re gonna walk away now, and leave all your stuff here.” The man was sounding a little anxious now. I guess he never expected anyone to argue with him.
My dad had another trick up his sleeve. “I’ll tell you what. Since this is your land, where’s your house? We’ll trade you some of our food if you have anything we can use at the house.”
“I ain’t trading nothing!” the man was getting upset. “I’m taking it.”
“What’s your address? I’ll send you the rent when I get home.”
“Rent? What the...”
“Ok, tell me this then. What’s the name of that road?” Dad asked, pointing towards the school.
“You son of a bitch! Just walk away!” The man was practically screaming now. His boys had their guns up, pointed in my family’s general direction, but not really aimed. They may have been confused by someone
who would not be intimidated.
“Not gonna happen. Like I said, I got kids to feed.”
I don’t know if Dad was trying to humanize us by referring to his kids again, or if he was just helping my mom to harden her resolve, but that part was working. She had her shotgun pointed squarely at the second man, and her barrel was rock steady.
The man took a look around, gauging the situation, and he suddenly sagged. “Well, shit. I had to try, right?” He laughed like the whole thing was a big joke. It was a crazy, dangerous laugh. No one was fooled. “Me and my boys will just be going now.”
The man half turned away, and then snapped back quickly, bringing his gun to bear. Dad shot him twice, and Kirk, with a second’s delay, hit the man in the hip. He crumpled instantly. In those two seconds, we jumped as Arturo’s rifle cracked twice in rapid succession, paused as he retargeted, cracked twice again. Somewhere in the middle was the boom of Mom’s twelve gauge shredding the second man. The intruders were all down without firing a shot.
The leader was surely dead, as well as the two outliers, but the second man wasn’t. His chest and lower face were a red meaty mess. He was writhing on the ground and screaming something I couldn’t understand. My mom took one look, calmly set her gun down, and threw up all over the ground at his feet.
We started to get up, but Arturo snapped at us, “Stay here until we tell you.” He was trotting back to camp as he gave a look that would have kept us rooted until we starved. Before he reached the scene, Kirk looked at the gun in his hand, looked at Mom, and then walked over to the man on the ground. He was facing the other way by then, so I couldn’t even guess what Kirk was thinking when he raised his pistol and shot the bleeding man in the head.
“Dammit, Kirk!” Dad yelled. “What are you doing?”
Arturo arrived at Kirk’s side, and asked him for the gun.
“No. It’s mine now.” Kirk said in a scary tone.
“Well, listen kid,” Arturo said. “If you’re gonna carry that gun, you’d better learn one thing. You don’t kill a disabled enemy until you ask him some damn questions!”
