Fear: The Quiet Apocalypse

by T M Edwards

  Even as I concluded my train of thought, I laughed. What a crazy idea to think that I, Deidre Helene Scott, one of the most fearful people on the planet, might be one of the few unaffected by this quiet apocalypse, not simply in spite of my fear, but because of it. How insane to contemplate that the battles I fought inside my head every single day had given me weapons to fight this otherworldly fear, weapons that the unafflicted didn’t have. It was ridiculous. It couldn’t possibly be true...or could it? I was so used to fighting this war that sometimes I did it without thinking. But others wouldn’t know how. And they would crumble under it, just like I did on my worst days.

  Once I finished my breakfast, there were no dishes to wash because there was no water. I threw the paper towel in the trash, wiped down the table and the counter, and then swept the floor. There wasn’t much else to do. I’d already bagged up or eaten everything in the fridge and freezer. It now lay rotting out by the road, where it would lay until the day trash pickup started running again. Or until it all decomposed into nothing but dirt and plastic.

  Finally, there was nothing else to do but make my last trip to the grocery store. I rummaged through my closet and found my biggest backpack and a couple tote bags. I dressed in good shoes. I wasn’t quite sure why, but it seemed the best thing to do. I felt a little like I was stepping into battle, even though the only enemy was my brain and its obsessive insistence that I do the right thing and not steal, even though there was nobody else to eat it and I was going to go hungry or thirsty if I didn’t.

  I got into my car and drove. There was only static on the radio, and the only other sound was that of the engine and my heartbeat. I barely remembered the last time I’d made this drive. I’d been so upset that I had driven almost by instinct rather than really paying attention to where I was going. I was lucky I hadn’t crashed.

  The grocery store was completely dark and deserted. No cashiers, and only one car was left in the parking lot. It had a flat tire and a hail-shattered windshield.

  I found a cart and began to roam the aisles. They looked like they hadn’t been touched since last time I was here. Those that hadn’t been ravaged were packed with enough food to last me for years, but unless I wanted to walk 10 miles each way, I wasn’t coming back. I hunted down all of the things that packed the most calories into the smallest amount of space. Peanut butter, trail mix, jerky, nutrition bars. I loaded the bottom rack of the cart full of gallons of drinking water. Then, once there were no more bags of almonds or granola bars to add, I moved on. Cereal would last, as would chips, so those went in as well.

  Eventually my cart was full and I pushed it out to the parking lot, where I loaded everything into the trunk of my car. Back inside, I gathered more drinking water and more packaged and canned foods. Out in the parking lot again, I filled the back seat, then the passenger seat. Finally, there was barely any more room, and large portions of more shelves stood bare. I wandered the aisles, looking for any little thing that I could use for survival: matches, lighters, and a few bottles of alcohol for disinfecting and fire starting. In the camping section, I found a hand-cranked weather radio. I grabbed it, figuring I could check the airwaves every few days for other local people. On an impulse, I pulled down a little 2-person tent and took that, too. Even though I refused to consider having to permanently leave my home, some instinct told me that it couldn’t hurt to have a plan in case I was forced to move on.

  After throwing in a few bottles of vitamins and a couple of pillows and blankets--more because they caught my eye than the fact that they had any practical use-- it was time to go home. As I loaded the last few items into the car that was now packed to the ceiling, I turned back to look at the grocery store. I had so often dreaded having to come here, and now...I would almost miss the place. I felt like I owed it some gratitude for providing me the means to survive for longer than I would have otherwise.

  Day 19. October 5th.

  I had enough food to last me for months, if I rationed it. This was my chance to finally force myself to lose some weight. Not that I was morbidly obese, but I definitely wasn’t the slim little thing I’d been in my teens.

  Water was a bit more of an issue. I kicked myself for not having hunted down some water filters or purifying tablets that would have allowed me to use water from unsafe sources. I had nearly 40 gallons, which was enough to last for at least a couple months if I only used it for drinking and brushing my teeth, less if I took sponge baths.

  My car was officially too low on gas for me to risk going much of anywhere without a good chance of getting stranded away from home. And as utterly, insanely lonely as I was, I wasn’t yet ready to become a survivalist nomad. Where would I go, anyway? Even here in the southeastern part of the US, winter was coming. It was chilly at night, and would soon be cold in the daytime too.

  After breakfast and doing what little cleaning I could (no one ever thinks about how the apocalypse means you can’t vacuum!) I decided to try the radio. 5 minutes of cranking for 15 minutes of working time. Sounds great, right?

  5 minutes of cranking a tiny little handle is a LONG time.

  Finally, it was ready, and I turned it on. I twisted the dial at a rate that was painfully slow, volume turned up, ears strained for any hint of a broadcast. Just static. No music, no news, nothing. I gave up about halfway through, convinced that spending another 10 minutes on it wasn’t going to help.

  Finding out that the radio had a little plug in the side for a charger, I ran and got my dead phone. I plugged it up, waited until it was at 5% and the radio was threatening to turn off, then unplugged it. Again I cranked the radio as the phone turned on.

  The phone loaded...and nothing. No messages, no emails, nothing.

  Right when I was about to turn it back off, it buzzed. It was another one of those emergency alerts. I almost turned the phone off anyway, when I realized that this was different. I hit “okay, and let the message fill the screen. I caught my breath as the all-caps words appeared.

  ALERT

  ALERT

  ALERT

  THIS IS THE FINAL BROADCAST.

  ANY SURVIVORS, PLEASE TUNE YOUR RADIOS TO CHANNEL 105.5 FOR A MESSAGE REGARDING THE METEOR

  WE DO NOT KNOW WHEN POWER, WATER OR EMERGENCY SERVICES WILL BE RESTORED

  ALL SHELTERS NOW CLOSED

  ALL BUSINESSES, GOVERNMENT OR OTHERWISE, CLOSED

  PLEASE REMAIN IN YOUR HOMES IF AT ALL POSSIBLE

  ALL CONSEQUENCES SUSPENDED FOR ANYONE DEFENDING THEIR HOME WITH DEADLY FORCE

  GOD BLESS US, AND SAVE US ALL

  THIS IS THE LAST BROADCAST

  I feverishly began to crank the radio again so that I could tune to the station. After an agonizing wait, the first bar of the battery indicator was filled, and I was able to start scrolling through the frequencies again.

  When I finally found the station, it was so quiet that for a moment my stomach sank and I thought it wasn’t there. But when I turned the volume up until the static was buzzing madly, I could finally hear at least part of what they were saying.

  “Object crashed near Vegas...alien origin...radiation affecting brain patterns...cause of panic...anyone out there...please join us...search for...solution. Address follows...keep tuned for directions from interstate. Survivors, please join us. Please help us find a solution. The entire country has gone dark. We don’t know how many, if any, people are still left alive. We know that many thousands perished...irrational panic...drove into ocean...drowned. Others from dehydration...looters...accidents. Survivors, please join us. We need your help. Help us find… more information, stay tuned...broadcast loops every 5 minutes. At least until power…” the broadcast faded into static, and then started over with the part about the object being crashed near Vegas.

  I switched the radio off to conserve the battery. For a long time, I just sat in my chair and stared at nothing in particular, trying to process. People had been so afraid that they had just driven into the ocean to try and escape their fear, or tried to s
wim across it. “Many thousands”...so many souls, just gone. No graves, nobody left to mourn them because they’d probably taken their entire family with them. My country, decimated by something that was entirely inside their heads. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. It sounded like something out of a movie. It couldn’t possibly be real.

  I have to try and help stop this. I have to. Nobody else should have to die.

  Vegas is a REALLY long way from here. And your car is out of gas.

  Isn’t it better than just sitting here and waiting to die?

  You’ll die a lot quicker.

  And maybe I can help them fix this, and I won’t die at all.

  That’s a lot of maybes.

  Well, if I stay here, there’s no maybe about it. Once my water runs out, I’m dead in under a week. Or, at the very least, I have to leave my home anyway.

  But...danger! Storms, illness, infection, cold, other people…

  You got a raging infection trying to cut a damn avocado, Deidre.

  My brain had a point.

  I sighed. Well, I could start putting stuff together, but I didn’t actually have to decide right this minute. I could always unpack it later if I changed my mind. Right?

  So, for the next few hours, I worked. Even if I didn’t go, at least it was something to do. At least I’d be ready if there was a moment when I decided I was brave enough. They always say to set yourself up for success...well, here I was, making it so that I only needed a couple minutes of courage to pick up my bags and walk out that front door.

  I laid my backpack out on the table. It had belonged to my dad once. It was one of those big, 3-day military backpacks with the million pockets and the indestructible stitching. He wasn’t military, but he believed in being prepared. If only I’d been more like him.

  At least I could remember some things from the “survive the apocalypse” checklists he’d sent me. Every pound matters. Only take necessities, but make sure you don’t forget anything, because you can’t just stop by the store and buy it.

  In the bottom, I rolled up two changes of clothes. Two flashlights, batteries, a knife, a few small candles and matches. A generous collection of menstrual supplies in case nature continued along as normal. On top of that, I laid the first aid stuff.

  Then I packed the food. I examined everything, looking for the highest ratio of calories to weight. Energy bars and trail mix were at the top of that list. I filled the main compartment until it would barely zip, then continued until all the pockets were full.

  Next, I hunted down the old sleeping bag in my closet, and secured it with the ties on the bottom of the pack. I found my best pair of running shoes, which were practically new. I hadn’t done much running in years, but I always kept them around in the hope that one day I’d wake up with the motivation to exercise.

  Finally, water. I stared at the full backpack for a good while, trying to decide how I was going to manage this. I rummaged through my cabinets for a couple of water bottles, which I attached to the carabiners on the front straps. I was just going to have to carry some of it in my hands, there was no way around that. And I was going to feel like a pack mule while doing it, especially since I was also going to be carrying my tent if I wanted any form of shelter.

  I spent the afternoon cranking the radio until my arms felt like lead. When the battery was full, I plugged my phone to it, and continued cranking. When my phone was about a fifth filled, and the radio was fully charged, I slipped the phone into the pack and hung the radio from another carabiner. I was going to clank around like Tin Man, that was for sure.

  Tin. Metal. A small pan was added to the last carabiner. I was no cooking genius, but just in case.It might rust in the rain, though. But no, I had a rain poncho that could cover both me and the pack. Gotta add that.

  There was no way I was going to add anything else without sitting on the pack to get it zipped. I filled a cross-body tote with a few books, some pens and paper, a pack of cards, and a couple of other things, figuring I could just leave it behind if the whole ensemble ended up being too heavy.

  I stared at the pile of gear that was sitting in my entryway. I was tired just looking at it. But I had a really long journey ahead of me if I decided to take it. And there could be entire days where I didn’t see cities, or find any places that might allow me to replenish my supplies.

  I can’t do this. This is nuts. I haven’t even walked around the neighborhood since last year.

  So you’re just going to sit here and hope somebody comes to rescue you?

  Seems like it would be a lot more comfortable.

  And what if there’s nobody else out there who’s still functioning? Or not enough? What if they actually need you?

  That’s dumb. I don’t have any special skills relating to UFOs.

  That wasn’t specified in the broadcast. Sounds like being “alive” is the best qualification right now.

  Walking 2000 miles might remove that qualification.

  You aren’t going to know if you try. And if you just sit here, you’re going to talk yourself in guilty circles until it consumes you. Maybe you’ll end up like that guy in the pharmacy, screaming and bashing his brains out against the wall. Is that what you want?

  No! Goodness, no.

  I sighed heavily. Well, it’s 5pm. Too late to start tonight, anyway.

  My arguing voice was silent, so I left the pile of gear alone and walked to the kitchen to make some dinner.

  Day 20: October 6th

  I woke with the sun, wishing fiercely for a shower. My heart felt a little lighter when I realized that I was leaving home behind anyway, I might as well use up some of the water that would be teeming with bacteria by the time I ever got back. So I got my shampoo from the bathroom, and washed my hair in the sink. The water ran brown from over a week of not washing. I wasn’t the cleanest person around (except when it came to other people’s germs), but that was still gross. Then I used a hand towel and some more water to help the rest of me feel a little bit cleaner. Thank goodness there was nobody around to smell me. One benefit of the apocalypse?

  I yanked a comb through my hair, and pulled it firmly back into a ponytail. It was going to look like a giant feather-duster back there, once my hair dried and the curls fully returned. Then I scrubbed my face with a clean cloth and a little bit more water, until my skin felt raw.

  I made a sandwich and choked it down. My throat felt dry and tight. I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this. Me, Diedre “Rampant Anxiety” Scott, who barely had the courage to step outside my door on a good day. I was going to walk nearly 2000 miles across the US, with just a backpack and my thoughts, to try and help some scientists fix this whole apocalyptic mess.

  Maybe it was all just a dream. My brain felt numb, like it often did in dreams. Dreams were the place I lived out all of the adventures that I wasn’t brave enough to live in real life. Yeah, this must just be a really long, really weird dream.

  There was no other good ways to procrastinate, so I walked to the entryway. I shoved my wallet into the backpack...you never know, right? Then I picked up my keys and my gear, and headed to my car. It would carry me until it ran completely out of gas, and I’d walk from there. It should at least get me to the convenience store on the other side of the neighborhood, where I could probably find a road map to get me to the interstate. I should have appreciated GPS while I had it. I’ll never take ANY technology for granted, ever again.

  I backed the car down the driveway, and I was on my way. The gas gauge hovered just slightly over an eighth of a tank. That would get me, what, 60-80 miles? And that was assuming it was accurate. I wasn’t the type of person to test the limits of my gas tank. I got stressed out when it went under a quarter full.

  The neighborhood, with its empty houses surrounded by knee-high grass, was soon behind me. I was headed into the city proper, and would pass through downtown before reaching the interstate.

  I stopped at the gas station. The door was locked, but I found a bric
k that had been used as a doorstop, and used it to bash in the glass. Then I reached in and unlocked the door, with my heart already pounding from the illegal act. I will never get used to breaking the rules like this, I thought.

  The gas station looked just like it might have on a normal day, except for the fact that none of the lights were working, and the apples and bananas in a basket by the checkout were brown and moldy.