by Javan Bonds
He stepped over the threshold and walked down the short flight of steps and into a short concrete hallway that led to a similar door. He knocked twice and heard “come in” from the other side.
Pushing the door in revealed his father standing with his back to him at the large reloading table in the corner. Jeff rested the shells that were in his hands on the bench, spun around to make his way to the table in the center of the room, and gestured for Jackson to do the same.
They simultaneously reached for chairs on opposite sides of the table, and Jeff said before either of them sat down, “I don’t see any holes in you.”
Jackson chuckled and decided he should start his story at the point of leaving the pawnshop. “Yeah, well, I didn’t even get shot at…that much.” Jackson took a pack of Big Red gum out of his pocket and popped a stick into his mouth as his father settled back in his chair for the story. Jackson began again. “Remember that truck that drove by the shop before I left? It was those guys. When I got in my truck, I figured I’d go to the store and get a Mountain Dew, so I went down Gant Road to came up behind the store and saw Redstone sitting on the ground behind his truck in the parking lot. So I just stopped and watched for a minute.”
Jackson paused and then continued with his story. Once he had finished telling it in the greatest detail possible and filling in holes as his father peppered him with questions, Jeff ended this part of their conversation with, “Well, at least you made it.” The Pikes had never been an emotional family, and Jackson knew this was his father’s way of saying, “I love you, and I’m glad you’re alive.” It didn’t bother him; he would have shown no more emotion if he and his father had exchanged roles.
“Mr. Kennard came in the store to talk to me, and we didn’t hear nothing,” Jeff began as he pushed himself up from the table. “If we had, we would have come up there, guns a-blazing.” He stepped away from the table and stuck his thumb in the direction of the hallway, saying, “Come on. I got something to show you.”
Jeff grinned maniacally at Jackson’s curious look, but the younger man rose and began to catch up with his father. They moved down the hallway on the far wall, directly opposite the main entrance. The main room had a table, reloading equipment, and a lot of maps on the four walls, and the hallway had rooms on each side. Designed similar to the house, only underground and made of cement, the entire bunker resembled a large basement.
The first room they passed on the left as they made their way down the hall was primarily a bathroom, complete with a working toilet that drew water from the well and an industrial-looking tub. The room directly across from this housed an enormous amount of food. Jarred, canned, and dried food lined the walls, accompanied by bags of salt, sugar, cornmeal, and flour, followed by what Jackson would have called a “shit ton” of liquor. Jeff never drank, and Jackson drank only socially, but they both knew that alcohol would be worth more than gold after everything went to shit.
The final room on the right contained a ridiculously huge collection of firearms. The walls were lined with every caliber rifle and carbine Jackson could imagine. There was a rack against the far wall with at least one of every gauge shotgun from 10 to .410. There were a few stubby tables to the right of the entrance with dozens of pistols on each. The majority of these guns remained unloaded, with the ammunition in the large walk-in closet that would have been in the same layout position as the closet that contained the entrance to this bunker in the big house. Jackson had been in this ammo room. He had an extra key in one of his safes and knew the combination to the locked door.
Directly opposite the gun room lay a large room almost half the size of the main room, which Jeff referred to as simply “my room.” This room contained a simple queen-size bed; a massive safe holding cash, jewelry, important papers, and several other nonexpendable items; several bulletproof vests; helmets; web gear; a complete library of survival guides and DIY books; and, lastly, two stainless cabinets, one full of medical supplies and the other stuffed with heirloom seeds of more vegetables than most people knew existed. Jackson knew all of this was there despite the dim light leaking in from the hallway to illuminate only a little of the room.
He stood right inside the entrance. His father flipped the switch, and the bright fluorescent bulbs flickered on above them to remove any visible shadow. Jackson scanned the room as the lights brightened, and, as his head swung to the right, he noticed a large shape in the corner, covered with a white sheet.
Jeff noticed his son turn to face the shape in the corner and simply said, “Yep.” He walked toward this new, out-of-place thing. Jackson tried to discern what was under the sheet as they both moved closer. It was mostly square, from what he could see, and other than a few undefined indentions in the sheet, it seemed to merely be a box.
Dumbfounded, Jackson asked his father as they neared it, “Did you build a time machine?”
“Nope, but it’s that great. Remember what you said we’ve been needing? Well, ta-da!” Jeff shouted as he jerked the sheet away to reveal a still.
After a brief second of inspection, Jackson realized what his father had made and exclaimed, “Hell yes! It’s about time, Daddy. Are you sure it works?”
“Well, yeah,” his father said with exaggerated exasperation. “If it didn’t work, I wouldn’t show it to you.”
With a cocked eyebrow, Jackson warned, “You didn’t try it in here, did you? That’s probably not very safe.”
Jeff looked at his son with feigned hurt. “Of course not! I started assembling it in the shed about a year ago. Fired it up the other day, and once it worked, I just brought it down here to keep it for whenever I need it.”
Jackson turned his head to gaze at the alarm clock beside the bed. “At least you finally got one. I’ve been telling you to for years.” Jackson paused as he took a step back. “I kinda had a rough day, so unless you have a howitzer in the bathroom, I think I’m going to head on to the house.”
Jeff grinned. “Nah, that’s all I got for tonight. I figure I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The two men exchanged their customary farewell of a handshake and a “see ya,” and Jackson started out of the room and toward the exit, followed by his father, who turned off the lights and locked the door behind him. “Your mama made zucchini bread!” Jeff shouted at his son down the hallway and halfway across the main room. Jackson had once said the stuff was better than any cake he had ever had, and although his mother never made it according to him, he knew he would have to get some before his dad devoured it.
As he opened the heavy door to exit the bunker, he exclaimed, “All right. I’ll take some home with me!”
CHAPTER 8
July 5
“COME THE HELL on!” Redstone exclaimed as he sat on his dusty couch, waiting for the electricity to come back. After Jackson had left the town hall, he had looked over at the bank clock and knew the game would start soon. So he ran inside, shut off all the lights, and locked the doors. Then he jumped into his cruiser and sped home. He had already decided if there was any traffic, he would flash blue lights to get through. When he made the unsafe turn into his driveway, he noticed there were no lights on in the trailer. It was then that he realized every house he had passed on the way home had been dark as well.
When he walked toward the front steps, he could hear his kids and the baby squealing inside. Opening the screen door, he immediately turned left and walked by the baby in the playpen, who was too busy with a toy to pay him any attention. In the recliner beside the playpen sat his wife, Whitney, reading some stupid vampire book by the light of the candle on the table beside her. He leaned over to kiss her on the forehead, and before he could ask, she answered, “It’s been off for about ten minutes.”
“But the game is about to start!” he whined and pouted childishly.
Whitney rolled her eyes and then unexpectedly and shrilly shouted, “Kids, your daddy’s home!”
Six-year-old Roland and his four-year-old sister, Hope, came running out of thei
r room toward Redstone, Roland chasing after his sister, playing cowboys and Indians. At least that was what Redstone thought, since Rolling Stone was wearing a plastic cowboy hat and clicking a fake revolver in his sister’s direction.
Either Whitney had honestly never realized or it just hadn’t bothered her enough to warrant any complaints, but Redstone thought—even at each birth—that it was so blatantly obvious that even his one-year-old was able to notice: his children and any future (planned or unplanned) offspring had names that could easily become nicknames akin to his own. He had named his oldest Roland, which easily became Rolling Stone; he had given his daughter the easily converted name of Hope; his third child and second son sported the name Faro, which became Firestone. If his next child was a girl, he was planning to name her Bridget, to be known as Bridgestone. And he was trying to decide whether a boy should be Fred, which would ingeniously change to Flintstone or simply Toombs, which didn’t need explaining. He was unaware of any severe brain trauma that his wife, Whitney (Whetstone), had suffered, so she must have found his name game entertaining—or, at the least, acceptable. Redstone would pay extra for a boy because he was a big Wyatt Earp fan!
Hopestone came to wrap her arms around Redstone’s leg while Rolling Stone decided his father’s simply seeing him was enough and headed back to the room, chased by the little redheaded Indian girl. Once they had gone, he turned to his wife and saw she had fallen back into her book, and he let out a long, exaggerated sigh as he dropped his gaze to the floor.
“Redstone,” she said as she looked up from her book, “just go listen to the game on the radio in your truck.”
He slumped his shoulders. “Yeah, but it ain’t the same.”
“Well, it’s all you got, so go on.”
Redstone started slowly to the door and thought his kids probably didn’t even know his name. Unless his mother was angry, even his parents and his wife called him by his nickname. And socially, the only person who always called him by his name was Jackson’s mom. With her it was never Cliff; it was always Clifford. It was the same with all of Jackson’s friends. She always referred to them by their complete names.
He was out the door now, unembarrassed to laugh out loud at his own thoughts. He had never realized that in all the years he had known the Pikes, Jackson’s mom had always been Mrs. Pike to everyone. And Jackson’s dad had simply been Jeff, never Mr. Pike.
For most of his life, both the Stones and the Pikes had been average-income families—until a few years ago, when Jeff had received that settlement. Some people believed that Redstone held animosity toward Jackson for being rich, but Redstone never really thought of his friend’s family as rich. Besides, the Pikes had helped his family financially, and Jeff had helped them become ready for the end of the world. Redstone knew there wasn’t much that could be done to make his old singlewide on the corner lot of his parents’ land disaster proof, but his family could always go to his dad’s reinforced basement, and that was perfectly reasonable to him.
He was so caught up in his thoughts, and with only the moon as his guide, he almost walked right by his truck. But he turned in time to make his mistake less noticeable. Man, I’m glad no one’s watching me, he thought as he opened the truck door and lifted the keys from his pocket.
◆◆◆
“The hell if I know, man!” Redstone yelled with frustration into his phone as Jackson asked questions.
“So WQSC said the power is out in most of the state. What about other stations?” Jackson knew if the power was out at least locally, the big radio stations would be running on backup generators.
Redstone replied, “The ones that are even working are saying the same thing.” He just wanted to listen to the damn ball game, and the radio said it had been canceled due to lack of power. “Why does this have to happen to me?” He thought aloud.
Jackson’s immediate response was, “Huh?”
“Nothing,” Redstone said as he dropped his head. “Ask your dad if he can find out what’s going on,” he almost pleaded. And then he actually begged, “And do you think he will let me watch TV over there?”
Jackson doubted his father even knew the power was off. He received all of his electricity from solar panels and rarely watched TV, and his mother usually kept it on music channels.
“All right, man. I’ll call him and then let you know something.”
“All right, man. See you,” Jackson replied, and the call was ended. With every male Jackson spoke to, at least from Axton County, that was the traditional farewell, and it signaled the conversation was over. It was said not and as “see ye” but almost as a one-syllable sound: “see-e.”
By the time Jackson closed his phone, he had taken the short trip from the big house to his and had just stepped out of his truck after parking in the garage and remotely closing the door behind him. In the total immersion of darkness, he left the headlights on as he walked to the stairs and flipped the switch. Nothing happened as he tried it several times. Either the bulbs were busted, or Redstone wasn’t bullshitting, he thought as he walked back to the truck and fumbled for the remote that opened the garage door. Well, thank God that ain’t electric. As the door opened to allow residual light from the clear night sky to fill the room, Jackson started up the stairs and into his house. After discovering that the lights in his house were off as well, he opened his phone and called his father.
“Yeah?” was the greeting Jeff normally gave.
Jackson’s rapid question was, “Where you at?”
“In the bunker.”
“Well, go look at the news.”
Jeff walked to the door and exited the bunker. He asked as he closed the door behind him, “Why?”
“Because there’s some weird shit happening.” Jackson usually refrained from using profanities around his father but just let simple four-letter words go, since he was known to occasionally use those himself. Everyone—even Redstone, who rarely finished a sentence without cussing—made sure never to let an obscenity slip in the presence of Mrs. Pike. Even though they were adults, Jackson tried to cover all of Redstone’s profane exclamations when around his mother. Redstone would get out “son of a—” to a loud and dramatic cough from Jackson, signaling him to end the sentence with “biscuit.”
When excited, Redstone would sometimes shout, “Oh sh—” and Jackson would kick him in the foot, causing Redstone to finish the sentence with “stuff.” Jackson and his friends had never known why they were so cautious with their language around his mother, but that had always been the way it was.
Jackson pulled out and flipped on the small flashlight attached to his keychain and made his way to the kitchen table. He sat in one of the chairs, set his phone on speaker, placed it on the table, and waited for his father to catch up on the news. “Well?” He asked after several minutes of waiting and hearing the faint chatter of the television from his father’s phone.
“Looks like the power’s out everywhere in the state. They say there was some kind of ‘accidental’ explosion at most of the dams.” Jackson could hear the quotation marks around “accidental” “How did you hear about it?”
“Redstone called me. He was pissed the game wasn’t on and wanted me to ask if he could watch TV over there.”
Jeff paused so long that Jackson would have thought he had hung up if he hadn’t been able to hear the constant drone from the TV. Jeff finally spoke in a calm and serious voice. “Call Redstone, and then you both need to come over here. This could be it.”
Jackson knew exactly what “it” meant. Not a nuclear holocaust or worldwide apocalypse; this “it” meant things had changed and might never go back to the way they had been. “It” meant they needed to survive.
CHAPTER 9
July 5
AFTER PROMISING TO let Redstone watch TV at his father’s, Jackson knew his friend was getting his TV jitters when they both pulled up to the big house at roughly the same time. They met each other in the yard. Walking to the steps, they shook hands,
and neither found it necessary to give the customary greetings. They walked in silence toward the door, Redstone walking noticeably faster, obviously in a hurry to get to his precious ESPN.
Redstone turned his head and surprisingly broke the silence as both continued walking. “You said your dad wanted to talk to me about something? Well, I didn’t do it.”
“Yeah, he thinks the power being out may be more than temporary.”
Redstone slowed to a stop and asked with a concerned look, “Well, how long is that?”
“Hell if I know, man. He called me back when I got off the phone with you, and he said something about close to every dam in the state being breached.”
“Shit,” Redstone said with exaggerated emphasis. “That’s going to suck when football gets here.”
Jackson almost rolled his eyes at this and chided his friend. “That ain’t the only thing that’s going to suck.”
“Your mom!” Redstone immediately threw back. Jackson’s mom had, luckily, never caught him making that joke, but it was his favorite comeback to everything.
Jackson ignored the comical slight and turned back to face Redstone, as he was the first on the porch.
“What happens now?” Redstone asked.
“Don’t ask me. I reckon Daddy has shit planned.” Jackson turned back to the door as his friend came to stand beside him, and, as he reached for the doorbell, his mother pulled the door open. Dammit, he always forgot about the driveway alarms!
