One Man's Island

by Thomas J. Wolfenden

  He released the button and waited. He got nothing but dead air. He should have gotten a reply. He tried again: “Whiskey Six, this is Whiskey Two Six, over.”

  He rechecked the time, date and scheduled radio frequency. Yep, all correct, but no answer. Unless…

  No, that couldn’t have happened. Not all over the goddamn world! Not everywhere!

  Okay, that was the Brigade frequency. Now he’d try the company level. He spent an hour and a half going through every known radio frequency for the Brigade, even the day before, and the next day’s listed frequency, and got nothing but dead air. At least he knew the DoD military communications satellite was up and running. Next he went back to his gear and retrieved his Army GPS unit. After the screen was lit, it also synchronized with the military geosynchronous satellites. They were built for the military in the first place.

  Shutting down all his electronic gear, he went to the wood stove to make sure the fire was properly banked, and donned his jacket again. Picking up the M3, he took four of the loaded magazines, slamming one home into the machine gun’s magazine well, and placed the sling over his shoulder. Heading to the truck, he quickly hopped in, started it and headed out. Even with the snow covering the streets the 4x4 made easy going, and it didn’t take him long to reach his brother’s house, off of Bustleton Avenue.

  It was one PM when he pulled into his brother’s driveway. He looked around and didn’t see any movement or tracks in the snow, save for some rabbit and other animal tracks. He didn’t hear any dogs barking either, nor did he see any cats. Looking at the front door he figured he’d have to break in here too.

  Trying the knob anyway, he found it locked, so he took the M3 and, using it as a hammer, broke out the front door glass. It shattered loudly in the quiet, and he looked around sheepishly to see if anyone heard him.

  Chiding himself for his silliness, he reached in and unlocked the door. It opened noiselessly, and he slowly made his way into the house. A chill ran up his spine when he found the house was as quiet as a morgue. He quickly searched the main floor, through the kitchen, living room, and den, and found nothing amiss. The house was cold from not having any power, and he could see his breath as he went to the bottom of the stairs.

  He stopped. He really didn’t want to go up there. He knew what he’d find. He steeled himself for a minute, and slowly took the stairs one at a time. When he reached the top, he looked left, saw the master bedroom’s door ajar, and looked inside.

  His heart fell when he saw the two forms of his brother and sister-in-law, lying next to each other as if they were still asleep. But he knew differently when he saw their faces in the dim light. The same redness, as if they had bad sunburn. And they definitely weren’t breathing. He backed away from the bed, not realizing he’d gotten that close, and went back into the hall.

  Next he went to what he found was the twins’ room. Ten years old, both boys, they were in bunk beds, in the same condition as their parents. He shut the door and went to the other two bedrooms, and found the other two kids just as dead. His brother had started a family late, as the twins were fourteen and the other two were sixteen and seventeen. Seeing all he needed to see, he went back down stars to the kitchen to figure out what to do. Tim had been raised Catholic, but had given up on Catholicism years ago. His brother and family were still practicing, and very religious. He really ought to give them a proper burial, but with the weather and temperatures, the ground was frozen solid.

  He looked into the refrigerator and spied a six pack of Miller and grabbed it, heading back out to the truck. He leaned on the front fender, cracked open a can of beer, and lit a cigarette.

  He remembered a conversation he’d had with Sean many years ago on a hunting trip up to Potter County. They were sitting around a campfire in the sub-zero weather, drinking beer and swapping cop stories, when his brother said; “You know what, Timmy? I want a Viking funeral when I die.” Tim smiled when he thought of that time. With that thought, he backed the truck out into the street and went back to the house carrying a five gallon jerry can of diesel fuel. He went through the front door again and stood in the middle of the living room. Uncapping the can, he poured the contents all over the furniture and floor, making a big loop in the room, until the can was empty. He recapped it and placed it by the front door.

  Taking out another book of matches, he lit one and placed it on the fuel soaked couch. Diesel wouldn’t flash like gasoline, but it’d burn just as well, with the velour sofa acting as a giant wick.

  The couch caught quickly, and he rapidly walked to the door, picking up the jerry can on the way. He walked down the driveway to the truck, lit another cigarette, and opened another beer.

  He toasted his brother and family, holding the can of beer up in salute. It took twenty-five minutes for the house to be fully engulfed. He stood for over two hours watching the house burn, windows breaking with a loud pop one by one. He could feel the heat from the fire, even though he was thirty yards away. All the snow melted around the house for a good six or seven yards, and the perfect green lawn his brother had taken so much pride in, was exposed. He half expected the Philadelphia Fire Department to come screaming up in their gleaming American Le France fire trucks and extinguish the blaze, but they never came.

  It was after five PM, and the sun was low on the western horizon when through teary eyes, he saw the last roof timbers fall into the blaze, leaving only the brick fireplace and chimney standing. He finished off the last beer and slowly got back into the truck, wiped his eyes, and drove back down the empty street. It was like he was in the middle of a nightmare, and he was hoping that he’d somehow wake up. But no, this wasn’t a dream, and he really did just burn down his older brother’s house with six bodies inside.

  Well, that sucked, he thought as he drove to the gun shop. He hated leaving like that, but what else could he do? He was still alive, and he wanted to keep it that way. Looking back, setting the house on fire wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, what if someone had seen it? There were still plenty of fires around, but they looked like they were burning themselves out. He pulled up to Jay’s Gun Emporium, got out and walked to the front door. A large metal cage was drawn down in front of the window and door. He’d have to breach that barrier before getting the ammo he’d need.

  He backed the truck up so the rear bumper was in line with the door then retrieved a thick nylon web tow strap from the bed of the truck. Hooking one end to the cage and door and the other to the pintle hook, he got back into the cab and put the transfer case to 4WD low. He gunned the engine, and the cage held. He gave the engine more fuel, and the cage and front door ripped out of the anchors like they were made of paste.

  “Very subtle,” Tim said aloud with a giggle.

  He hopped back out, unhooked the tow strap, and entered the darkened store. He looked around briefly and saw that all the gun racks were empty. He figured they probably had put everything into a safe in the back somewhere. He went over to a counter where the ammunition was conveniently stacked by caliber. Civilian .223 caliber was the same as 5.56mm military ammo, and he found several cases of it stacked on one end of the counter. He grabbed all the ammo that was there in that caliber and carried it to the bed of the truck, finishing well after dark.

  Taking one last look around, he spied a stack of 9mm Parabellum ammo and grabbed two boxes. Might as well get some rounds for the Luger. He hopped back into the truck, and headed back to his house.

  On the drive back, he went over what he currently knew. All the power was out for the entire area, that much was obvious. Everyone, apparently except himself, had died overnight, and by the conditions of the bodies he’d seen, almost instantly. Civilian electronics were fried, but not the military ones, and it was the same for the satellites. There were no dogs or cats either, but rabbits and other small animals were still around. He’d not seen any yet, but he saw plenty of fresh tracks in the snow. Maybe whatever happened had killed all the large animals? Was it a zombie apocal
ypse? He laughed aloud at that thought. He sure hadn’t seen any zombies.

  Whatever it was, whatever had happened, it had killed off almost four and a half million people in the city of Philadelphia in the blink of an eye. It was all too much for him to fathom right now. He wasn’t a stupid man by any means, but this was beyond him. He pulled into his driveway and quickly unloaded all his ammo into the house.

  After unloading, he went back to the truck to secure it for the night, and to top off the generator’s fuel. When he was done, he took a moment and looked up at the night sky.

  The sight took his breath away. Never before had he seen so many stars. On this moonless night, you could almost read a newspaper by the starlight. He could even see his faint shadow in the snow. He’d never seen a sky so clear. Even in the jungles of Central America or the deserts of the Middle East, far from any manmade city lights, he’d not seen this sight. He looked east and easily found Orion, the Sky Hunter, and one star near the constellation shone brighter than any star he’d ever seen. It was brighter than any of the planets he’d seen. Tim was an expert in land navigation, especially at night, and he’d never seen this particular star before. Maybe it was a key to what had happened.

  He entered the house and climbed the stairs wearily. Welcomed by the warmth of the wood stove, he walked over to it, took his jacket and shirt off and laid them on his bed. He tossed another log into the stove and returned to the kitchen to make something for supper. He decided on some chicken noodle soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. It was a good night for it.

  He’d have to go back to the grocery store tomorrow and stock up for a longer period, but tonight he was just going to stay at home. He lit some lanterns, then opened a can of soup and put it in a small pot on the camp stove to heat.

  He let his mind go blank until after he was finished eating and had everything cleaned up. He took a canteen cup, poured a liberal amount of vodka into it, and went to the refrigerator for orange juice. He tipped the bottle of OJ into the cup for a second, giving the four fingers of vodka an orange tint. After he replaced the bottle, he lit a cigarette, and went to his cot in the living room, extinguishing the lantern in the kitchen as he left.

  Sitting down on the cot, he took a big pull from the cup and sat it on the floor. He bent down and unlaced his boots, placing them neatly under his cot. He decided to shave in the morning. He was too tired to do anything more than finish his drink and fall asleep. Opening the stove door again, he tossed the finished cigarette into the coals, and added another log to the fire. He turned down the blankets, took his .45 and placed it under his pillow, downed the last of the vodka, and placed the M3 on the floor by his head.

  He was asleep in an instant, but the sleep wasn’t an easy one. The dreams came next, and they were unusually vivid. Someone asked him once if he’d believed in ghosts, and he had replied that he saw armies of them every night. The person who asked him didn’t get it, and never would. But now, once again, the phantom army marched into his dreams…

  He was on the tarmac of Port Salinas airport, lying prone with the butt of a M60 machine gun firmly tucked into his shoulder. A Cuban soldier jumped up right in front of him, and he let go a burst, hitting him at waist level, effectively cutting the man in half. As the body fell, the eyes bore into him…

  The next was Johnny, still in his jungle fatigues, holding an AK74. He had a huge, bloody hole in his stomach, intestines spilling out from the wound. He loomed out of a steamy jungle somewhere in Guatemala and looked right at Tim with dead eyes…

  The mist cleared and he was on Lehigh Avenue. It was a rainy night, and he looked right at the small black child lying in a filthy gutter with a single bullet wound to his chest. The child gripped his hand, and plead with his eyes, “Save Me!” as the life left him, the siren of the Fire & Rescue rig growing louder but already too late…

  Then he was in the deserts of Saudi Arabia, going through the wreckage of a gymnasium, finding bodies of the Pennsylvania National Guards men and women, who’d been caught in their sleep by a falling Iraqi Scud missile. They all seemed to be looking right at him with the same hollow, dead eyes…

  All seemed to be accusing him of something…

  They were accusing him of cheating death.

  They were silently asking ‘why, oh why are we dead, and you are still alive? What makes you so special? What gave you the right to live?”

  Tim woke with a startled shriek, bathed in sweat in the pre-dawn light. He looked at the luminous dial of his watch and saw it was barely five AM. With a shaking hand, he fumbled for his cigarettes and lit one, scratching his face. He stood and walked to the kitchen and put the coffee pot on.

  He used the toilet and flushed with a gallon jug of water, tossing the finished butt in the bowl. Back out in the living room, he pulled back the Army blanket he’d tacked up, looked out the front window. No footprints in the snow. He was still trying to make sense of it all, but so far had had no luck.

  The coffee was just about ready. Tim poured himself a cup, lit another smoke, and decided on eggs and bacon for breakfast. Maybe some food would get his mind working.

  After breakfast, and what would become his normal morning routine, he dressed and sat down on his cot to strip and clean the M4. When that was finished to his satisfaction, he did the same with the M16. Then he loaded each of the thirty round magazines with 5.56mm ammo. . He left the M16 leaning against the faux stone mantel next to the wood stove, but locked and loaded a magazine into the M4. He grabbed his jacket, picked up the M3 and M4 slinging them both over his shoulder, and headed out.

  Tim jumped into the cab of the truck and fired it up, smoking another cigarette while he let it warm up for a bit. It was still well below freezing, and even though it looked like it was going to be another clear day, there were no signs of it warming up. He thought of a line in a song from his youth: ‘Don’t want to spend another fall in Philadelphia’. Well, that’s what he was doing, like it or not.

  When the truck warmed up, he put it in gear and drove off with no clear idea of what he’d do. He did need to stock up on more food, but he decided to just do a little exploring. Go out for a little recon, so to speak. For hours he drove around the city, making it all the way to the Old City section, where Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell were located. The further he drove, the creepier he felt. The day old snow that blanketed the city gave no signs of anyone else stirring. There had to be other people alive, damn it! Each building he passed seemed to gaze back at him with the same dead eyes as the phantom army in his dreams.

  He broke into a hardware store the same way he’d broken into the gun shop and got some hand tools and a garden hose. He then stopped next to the Streets Department garbage truck after he had looked down at his fuel gauge and noticed he was almost empty. Using a section of the hose he skillfully siphoned diesel out of the truck and into his. When the tank was filled, he refilled the other two jerry cans. He took a circuitous route back to his neighborhood, still not seeing any signs of life.

  He pulled right up to the fire lane in front of the Pathmark store by his house, and went up to the automatic doors. He knew they would be unlocked because the store was open 24 hours, but he had to force them open on their tracks.

  Thankfully there were few bodies in view. The checkout girl who had served him the other day was nowhere to be seen, but a skinny teenager was in her place, slumped over the register. He gave a wide berth to the body, and quickly filled two shopping carts with all the canned foods he could, along with powdered milk, coffee and more eggs. He loaded these into the truck and headed back in to the meat department where he loaded up on as much pork, beef, packaged bacon and frozen fish that he could. His freezer wasn’t all that big, but if the temperature stayed below freezing, he could use his garage as one big freezer for the time being.

  Once he arrived back home, he unloaded his ‘take’ for the day. After he had everything put away in a neat and orderly military fashion, he set about fixing the broken pane
s of glass in both doors and changing the locks. Now he was really secure. He felt drained, and really didn’t feel like doing much else. He poured himself a stiff vodka like he’d had the night before, lit a smoke, and thought about his day’s exploration.

  There had been absolutely no signs of life. But the weather was bad, and if anyone else was still alive, he supposed they’d be holed up in their homes. There were still some things he needed to get, like a barbeque grill, several propane bottles, and more gasoline for the generator. That would wait until tomorrow. It had been a long day. He’d gotten enough food for a few months he reckoned, and plenty of ammo. He was beginning to think in the long term now. What would happen after winter? Right now, every house and building was a deep freezer, as good as the ones at the city morgue, but what would happen next summer? Just the thought of millions of putrefying bodies gave him the chills. It would really start to smell. He looked at the wall of the living room, and thought of his neighbor Phil and his wife, lying on the other side of the wall, deader than dog shit.

  “Yeah,” he said aloud to the empty room, “it’s really going to stink to the high heavens come summer.”

  He’d have to go somewhere else. He wouldn’t be able to stay here, that was for sure. For now, though, he’d just stay put, hole up for the winter. He just wished it wasn’t so quiet. He already missed music. He’d used to listen to classical music to relax. Some Brahms or Beethoven would be really nice right now. Or hell, even a little AC/DC or Led Zeppelin!