Being hard-working and muscular, Rick could clear out an area of buckthorn by himself in the morning and go to his class showered and shaved in the early afternoon. He made good money, but he was concerned about how many jobs he would be able to find when autumn and then eventually winter came around. We all felt his anxiety and wondered ourselves where we would get that extra two-hundred a month if he came up empty.
Another perk of our living location was its proximity to school. I walked to and from class every morning, getting in my exercise of the day. It took about twenty minutes one way and I sometimes had to jog to make it in time to my eight-forty-five Web Programming class. I would arrive sweaty and slightly light-headed, which only served to remind me of my typically meager breakfasts. At least I could get my fill of water at the school. I often carried empty plastic bottles with me and filled them in the bathroom to take back home to the gang. I wasn’t alone. Lots of students had started hoarding water, and the school was starting to take notice.
“Do not fill more than one water bottle at a time at the water fountain,” the administration said. “Do not take more than one item out of the cafeteria, i.e. one apple or one cookie.”
Students just started to get smarter and sneakier. We’d go to the bathroom - the method of hoarding I had chosen - or simply travel from water fountain to water fountain in all the different buildings so no one would notice we were actually carrying five or more bottles in their backpacks. We’d wait till the cafeteria workers were busy and then casually gather around the fruit baskets, stuffing food under our shirts. Girls would purposely wear baggy T-shirts and hide apples in their bras.
So far, the school hadn’t caught on.
The morning the electricity went out, it was difficult to pay attention in class. I kept thinking about Tyrsa and the electric bill. She usually stayed pretty positive about hiccups in our bills and what not, and was able to convince the companies we owed to give us a few more days. We may have not paid on time, but we did always pay. I was quiet in class, distracted. I doodled donuts in the corner of my notebook.
Hungry, I thought.
I was always hungry. I had planned on eating on campus that day and using one of the few meal swipes at the cafeteria, but decided to grab something to go and track down Rick and Lawrence to make sure they got the cash for their cut. There were a lot of people in the student center where both the cafeteria and campus grill were located. The day was warm, at least in the 70’s, and being packed in the way we were didn’t help with the sweating situation. I was counting the bills in my wallet and doing some quick math in my head when I heard some kind of ruckus at the card counter.
“You need to stand back!” a woman’s voice shouted. “One at a time!”
I stood on my tip-toes, craning my neck, and saw that the cafeteria worker who swiped our IDs was being herded by students. They had begun to push their way in, shoulder to shoulder.
“Security is on its way!” she cried.
Things started to escalate. People began to push harder, throw elbows, and raise their voices. I was jostled back and forth like I was in the mosh pit of a concert.
I gotta get out of this, I thought, frantically searching for an exit.
I made a break for an opening and took shelter against the wall, where some benches were. I stood on one to see better, still holding my wallet. The crowd had moved like a swarm into the cafeteria, bypassing the card scanner, and intimidating the cafeteria worker into silence. Security was nowhere to be seen. From where I stood, I could see that the crowd had begun to raid the food stations. They jumped over the grill counter for packaged salads, sandwiches in plastic wrap, and takeout boxes which they threw to the crowd like rich men in olden days threw gold.
In the cafeteria, these boxes were piled with pasta, crammed with pizza slices, or torn apart in the chaos by shouting, spitting twenty-year-olds. Campus security guards stormed through the doors and immediately looked powerless and overwhelmed. There were only six of them, armed with tasers. They faced a wall of students, who -though moments earlier had been fighting amongst themselves for food- now united against a common enemy. The few of us who had joined in the fray but stood against the wall watching with bated breath glanced at each other, unsure of what to expect. A bullhorn appeared and the lead security guard shouted into it.
“Everyone needs to clear the area now! If you do not disperse, we will use force!”
He said something else, but the noise swelled to a deafening chorus. It took me a few seconds to realize they were all shouting a chant.
“We want food! We want water! You can’t stop us, we are stronger!”
Their voices rose louder and louder, drowning out the bullhorn. There was stomping and clapping. It seemed this was organized.
Hesitant, the security guards looked at each other, unsure of what to do. One of the students near to me, who wasn’t involved, made a move to try and leave. He startled one of the guards. Out of fear and heightened adrenaline, the guard struck out with his fist and sprayed a shot of pepper spray straight into the student’s face. The crowd erupted. The wall surged forward, sending the guards back, flailing their arms, zapping tasers at anything that moved.
Holy shit! I thought, looking for an exit that wasn’t crammed with punching, screaming bodies. They’re going to tear each other to pieces.
I remembered there was an emergency exit at the back of the cafeteria. I just had to find a way to reach it through the swarm. Everyone was moving forward, pushing towards the front doors. I jumped from the bench and climbed over the grill counter. In my focus on getting out, I didn’t even think about grabbing food, a decision I later regretted. Instead, I crossed to the other side of the grill, hopped the counter there, and maneuvered my way through the crowd towards the exit. I wasn’t alone in my thinking. People were already filtering out that way, arms full of take-out containers, eyes flickering around like raccoon’s.
Outside, the sun was blinding. I raised my arm to shield my face and heard police sirens fast approaching. We all took off, scattering, eager to avoid whatever bloodbath was in store. I ran towards home, passing other students, and saw that groups had broken off from campus and were sieging stores. The artisan cheese shop was overrun. It looked like there were older people there, too, non-students. Still, the majority were young people, running from the store carrying blocks of expensive cheese and wine bottles. There were police everywhere, but they were overwhelmed, as if unsure where to go first. The cheese shop, market, and pharmacy were all under attack. Within mere moments, a relatively quiet late summer day had transformed into a riot zone. When I heard the gunshots, I ran faster, my feet pounding on the pavement. I didn’t dare look behind me.
My lungs burned when I finally stopped running outside the apartment. My backpack was heavier due to the water bottles I had filled, and my head spun from hunger. I leaned over to catch my breath, heart pounding, and felt relieved. It appeared all the chaos was limited to where the businesses were. I didn’t even see anyone out in the more suburban-area; everyone was either at work or school or out rioting, I guessed.
As I caught my breath, I examined the outside of the apartment building. It was old and had once been a large, mansion-type house that the current manager/owner had converted into apartments. Besides our suite, which was the largest available unit, there were only four other tenants: two students who shared a one-bedroom unit (we assumed one of them slept on the couch), an elderly woman who had lived in her unit for twenty-five years, and a single woman, probably in her early thirties, who we rarely saw. We were the only unit on the first floor, which we shared with the manager office. We were pretty vulnerable. I thought about the fierce eyes and manic, grabbing hands I had seen in the campus cafeteria. That fervor was bound to spread out to the suburbs in some form or another.
Rick and Lawrence were the only ones home when I entered the apartment. Because there was no electricity, they had opened all the blinds to take advantage of the natural light. Ri
ck was sitting on the floor in a lotus position, laying out thin piles of bills and coins. Lawrence, whose hair looked like he had just woken up, was lying on the couch with his arms crossed, dozing.
“Hey, Morgan,” Rick said when I came in. “I’m just trying to get the cash together for the electric bill.”
“We might have bigger problems, guys,” I said, letting my backpack slide off my shoulders and hit the floor.
I tapped Lawrence’s legs. He sat up, giving me space, and rubbed his eyes.
“Why? What’s up?” he mumbled, coherent enough to have heard me.
“There was some kind of organized riot at school,” I explained. “Everyone started looting the cafeteria, and then all the shops. The police were totally surprised. I even heard shots.”
“Holy shit!’ Lawrence exclaimed, widening his eyes.
“I heard something like that might happen,” Rick said darkly.
Lawrence and I both looked at him. With a swipe of his hand, Rick gathered up his bills and put them into an envelope he had lying next to him.
“I was at the school gym like a week ago and some guys there were complaining about the price of the meal plans. One of them got real quiet and said something about a group that was organizing a protest.”
“And by ‘protest,’ they meant ‘overthrowing the administration,’ Morgan, yeah?” Lawrence asked me sarcastically.
“I don’t know what was planned,” I replied, “But it clearly got out of control.”
“God, I hope the girls are ok!” Rick said suddenly, raising his voice.
We all froze, panic surging. At the same time, we pulled out our phones.
“You call Tyrsa,” Rick said to me. “I got Beth.”
“And I have no battery left,” Lawrence added, tossing his phone in the air and catching it.
I waited anxiously while the phone rang. With each ring, the fear grew stronger. Finally, she picked up. I turned on the speakerphone and Rick halted his call. We all leaned forward to catch Tyrsa’s voice.
“Morgan?”
“Are you girls ok?” I sputtered. “Did you see the rioting?”
“Oh my god, yes!” Tyrsa exclaimed. “I was just going to call you. But we’re ok. Don’t worry. The manager locked the doors and we all went to the back, but they left the restaurants alone. It seemed targeted at retail, where they could just grab stuff off the shelves.”
“Is it over? What happened?”
“It all happened pretty fast,” Tyrsa said. “All these people just ran into the stores, grabbed what they could, and scattered. The police were here, so some people got caught, thrown down, that sort of thing.”
“Did anyone get shot?” Lawrence asked, raising his voice.
“Not that we saw. We heard some shots, but the police were shooting in the air to disperse the crowd.”
“Jesus…” Lawrence breathed.
We all sat back, relief just beginning to pierce the thick wave of panic that had dominated the last few minutes. I swallowed hard, feeling my heart slip back down to its proper place between my ribcage.
“Well, we’re all glad you’re both okay,” I said. “When are you coming home?”
“We wanted to stay, hopefully collect some more tips, but it doesn’t look like anyone is going to come out to this area, which makes sense. So in like the next thirty minutes?”
“Okay. Stay safe.”
“We love you girls!” Lawrence shouted.
We could hear Beth laughing in the background before Tyrsa hung up. We all breathed deeply. They were safe. Still, we all felt a little jumpy. We just wanted everyone together. That would keep us safe.
Chapter 3
“We need to secure the apartment,” Rick declared. “Once the stores and businesses are all empty, people will come after the houses and apartments.”
“Damn,” Lawrence said, shaking his head. “People be crazy.”
“People be desperate,” Rick corrected him. “It’s a little different.”
“Is it?” I asked.
I glanced at my phone. Tyrsa and Beth should be coming in about ten minutes, if they walked fast.
“Anyway, “Rick said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not interested in definitions right now. The point is, we need to get those planks Tyrsa had us find and nail them up on the windows. We’re on the first floor. Prime targets. People will break those puppies in no time and crawl in.”
“Joe isn’t going to like us putting nails and shit in everything,” I said, cracking my knuckles nervously.
“Screw him,” Lawrence blurted. “I’m sure he’d rather have a few nails in the walls than a bunch of looters stripping the place down.”
We all nodded. It would be in the manager’s best interest to put boards up on all of the windows, especially on the first floor. Rick suggested even asking him if he would pay us to help with the rest of the building, put a deadbolt on the office door, and what not. It was still office hours, so Lawrence and I went to go find him while Rick located the supplies we needed. Sure enough, the manager, Joe Luck, was in his office with his laptop, typing away and frowning at his screen.
“Crazy day, huh, boys?” he said as we entered. “You see any of the situation going down in town?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “A bunch of stores were getting looted. It didn’t look like the police were handling it super well.”
Joe shook his head.
“It’s a powder keg,” he informed us. “They’ll call in for more reinforcements, probably get some people killed. It’s ugly, but that’s what it takes sometimes.”
“Yeah….well, we were hoping to avoid some of that ugly stuff by possibly barricading the apartment a little bit? We’ve got the wood and nails and stuff, board up the windows, maybe install some deadbolt locks?” Lawrence’s tone was hopeful.
Joe looked up from his computer, one eyebrow raised. I did not take it as a great sign. Lawrence and I glanced at each other.
“...of course, we’ll do it for free. A service, for the apartment,” I added, hoping to sweeten the deal.
Joe still looked skeptical. He turned a little in his swivel chair, back and forth, and looked out his window at the street.
“I don’t know, guys…how about just the locks? I’ll pay you for those. I just think the boarded-up windows thing is a bit extreme, you know?”
“Hmm mmm.”
“But I appreciate it. The locks are a good idea, though.”
So it was a partial victory. When we told Rick what Joe had said, he rolled his eyes a little, but picked out a few of the deadbolt locks we had collected.
“We’re boarding up our windows. As soon as it’s clear things are getting worse, okay?” he said.
“Agreed.”
“Rick will probably change his tune on that, too.”
Having the most experience with handy work, Rick installed the deadbolt locks. Joe stood by and watched as Rick fitted them unto the office door, the door to the whole apartment, and our door.
“I’ll ask the other tenants if they want locks too,” Joe suggested. “They can pay you for the lock and work if they think it’s a good idea.”
“Thanks,” Rick said, softening towards Joe at the prospect of getting work. “Appreciate it.”
Rick had just finished with the lock to our unit when the girls returned from work. They appeared breathless with dewy faces, but unharmed.
“How was it out there?” I asked, leaping to my feet.
Tyrsa set down the plastic bag of leftover food that she always brought back with her and heaved a dramatic sigh.
“Better than before,” she said. “There were cops everywhere and yellow tape. Looked like they got things under control.”
“The street was full of glass!” Beth exclaimed. “People had been breaking windows.”
Tyrsa gestured towards the pile of wood Rick had gathered in a corner.
“What’s all this? Boarding up windows?”
“Not yet,” Rick said. “Joe just wanted the
deadbolt locks. We thought it was a good idea to fortify the place a bit.”
Tyrsa nodded, frowning. Lawrence peeked into Tyrsa’s bag and exclaimed happily at what he found.
“Is it ok if I have some of this?” he asked her, holding up a take-out box.
“Yeah, sure. I already ate,” Tyrsa replied absentmindedly.
“Wanna split it?” Lawrence asked me.
We busied ourselves with the hamburger Lawrence had discovered in the box. Beth went to her bedroom to change while Tyrsa went into the kitchen. I heard her open the fridge and close it without taking anything out. Rick went to join her and I could hear them murmuring together in tense voices. I didn’t catch exactly what they were saying, but I guessed it was about the unpaid electric bill. After a few moments of hushed arguing, Rick returned to the living room looking guilty. He counted the deadbolts in the box of supplies again under his breath. Lawrence and I had just finished the hamburger and were licking ketchup and mustard off our fingers when there was a knock on the door.
“Hey, guys,” Joe smiled, “I’ve got the news on in the office if you want to check out what’s going on. It’s pretty big.”
We all walked over to the office and looked up at the TV that Joe had atop a shelf. It was small and old - it even had an antenna - but it did the job. We watched with our mouths open as images of looting and rioting across Bloomington, Indianapolis, and other smaller towns flashed across the screen.
“A state of emergency has been declared for the Bloomington area,” the reporter said, standing in front of the police station where rows and rows of officers stood with guns across their chests. “Police officers from Indianapolis and other stations have moved in to support the overwhelmed Bloomington force. There are growing fears that these riots will escalate and begin to involve residential areas as well as retail. It is generally believed that the riots and violence originated among students upset with the price of food, before others in town - the unemployed, homeless, and similarly discontented - joined in.”
Joe scoffed, crossing his arms.
Undone: A Dystopian Fiction Novel Page 2
