by Kurt Gepner
Hank stood and started toward the cart. Glancing back, he saw that Salvador had found his feet and was picking up his dropped bundle. Hank asked Dale for the pistol and then went back to stand before Salvador, who was shouldering his load. The two men regarded each other for a moment, grave concern etched on one face, pain and loathing on the other. Hank offered the pistol to Salvador, who considered the gesture for a moment. He took the weapon and looked at his father-in-law. Hank’s eyes spoke volumes before the big man turned and again took up the lead.
PART TWO
Playing Chess
CHAPTER ONE
They walked quietly up Broadway Street to Twenty-Eighth. The setting sun stretched their shadows for yards before them. It was Chance who first noticed and commented that the sky had cleared. The men turned toward the low, bright orb and saw the edge of the blood-red clouds peeling away from a hazy crimson horizon. They all stood, mesmerized, until the last glimmer of sun winked out of sight.
"We better hurry," Dale said, still facing the western sky. "People are going to worry about us."
"Yeah," Hank concurred. "Let’s go."
As they walked home through the neighborhood streets of Vancouver Washington, they saw the wreckage of a world full of gizmos and widgets. TVs, stereos and computers, digital picture frames and alarm clocks, microwaves, smart toasters, networked refrigerators and margarita blenders, video players, shampoo-dispensing audio players, and cappuccino machines, infant mobile-projector/white-noise-makers, outlet fragrance dispensers, virtual pets, smart phones, all of the devices and conveniences of the modern age, plugged-in or powered-on at the moment of a massive surging electrical backlash; they arced and exploded and caught fire or just ceased to be, all at once. And now, five men walked through the still-smoldering wreckage of all that accumulation, victims of the same calamity.
They came upon a brick house, its shell standing pristinely, with no roof. Smoke and steam still belched from its cavity. A woman sat on the steps leading to a heat-blistered forest-green front door. Her arms lay across her knees and her mousey blonde hair spilled over her bare shins. Beige shoes matched her beige skirt and her small purse dangled from fingers with nails painted a deep cabernet red.
Hank called out to her and said, "There’s a house just a few blocks down the road. A few people are there and we’re bringing them food and blankets."
The woman looked up at him. Her red-rimmed eyes showed pain, her face engraved with loss. She pursed her lips to keep them from quivering. Beneath her beige blazer she wore a salmon-pink blouse and a black scarf. She asked the men, "Did you see a little girl with short blonde hair?"
Hank shook his head and the woman went on. "She’s about five feet tall, with blonde hair." Her voice quavered and tears welled from her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "She had that flu that’s going around, so I kept her home from school. But I had to go to work, because I couldn’t take any more time off." The woman crossed her arms on her lap and began slowly rocking forward and back. "Her name is Jaclyn and she’s eleven years old. Did you see a little girl like that?" Hank shook his head. He was blinking back his own tears, but the woman went on. "Jacky, I said, you just lay here in bed and watch movies all day. I’ll be home at six-thirty and we’ll order pizza for dinner. She was so sick, she didn’t even smile. But I didn’t have any more time off…" She said, forlornly.
Hank set down his load and went up to the woman. He reached down and took her hand. Pulling gently, he stood her up and coaxed her to the road. "Salvador," he said, with a nod toward the house. Salvador didn’t hesitate. He dropped his burden and ran up to the house. The lock was a, now-dysfunctional, keypad. Without power, the woman couldn’t gain access to her own house. Salvador had to shoulder the door twice to force it open. He was inside for only a minute before he came out. Dismally looking down at Hank, he shook his head.
The woman had watched with the slightest glimmer of hope. When she saw Salvador emerge as he did, she crumpled like a rag-doll, unconscious in Hank’s arms. Salvador ran down as Hank lowered her to the ground. He straightened her out and tucked one of the blanket rolls under her head. With a sigh he said, "I should have thought to bring some rope."
Eddy asked, "Why? You want to tie her up?"
Hank chuckled sardonically at the perverse question. "No. I want to tie all this stuff to the top of the cart, so I can carry her."
"I can carry more," Chance offered.
"So can I," said Dale.
In a few moments, Hank’s bags had been redistributed and he was carrying the woman over his shoulder. They wound their way to the house where Len and others from the neighborhood had taken refuge and gave the woman into his care. The explanations were brief and, in a way, didn’t really matter. Now more than thirty refugees had taken up residency under its roof. They were all scared and feeling loss. The woman would be cared for by them.
Hank left them with three gym bags and four backpacks of food; enough, by his reckoning, for three days. He gave them most of the blankets and one toothbrush each. To Eddy and Chance, he gave a carton of cigarettes as payment for their services. Then, along with Salvador and Dale, Hank left the refugees in the bungalow.
They were still three blocks away when they heard the distinct cough-cough-cough and roar of Hank’s pick-up truck. He and Dale looked, wide-eyed, at each other. Salvador asked, "You want me to go check it out?"
"Nope," Hank drawled, "it’s my truck."
"That’s your truck?" Salvador asked incredulously. "You mean we could have just driven down there and got everything we wanted?" Salvador’s tone was a clear demand for explanation.
Hank winced and shook his head, slowly. "Didn’t even think it was an option. Figured it was fried like every other car seemed to be."
"Why didn’t you check?" Salvador pressed the issue.
"The thought didn’t materialize." Hank shrugged. "It just didn’t occur to me."
"What else hasn’t occurred to you?" Salvador’s voice was climbing in pitch and volume as he harangued his father-in-law.
A crooked smile crept onto Hank’s face. "You know, Salvador, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m not in good humor, I’d laugh my ass off at what you just said."
Salvador growled, "What’s so funny?"
"It struck me as hilarious," Hank said soberly, "that you would ask me what hadn’t occurred to me?"
Salvador’s anger percolated beneath an uncomprehending expression. Hank looked for an ally in his neighbor, but found only a passive face there. Finally, rubbing his chin, Dale said, "I guess that is funny, when you think about it some."
Salvador scowled and said, "Whatever. I’m not in a laughing mood. Let’s go."
"Yeah," Hank said to himself. "Me neither." He signaled the dogs to walk, as they had obediently stopped with their master. When they neared home, however, they both lurched into an excited, but restrained trot. The truck revved a few times more and then went quiet.
A heavy breeze pushed thick clouds of smoke from the smoldering homes toward the west. The pungent and acidic odor of burnt plastic and polyester and shingled roofs rode hodgepodge on the air currents that blew across their path. The brief twinkle of levity that had sparkled through Hank left a dark void as it dimmed into the swirling eddies of ash and debris.
As the charming brick cottage on thirty-second and Jasmine Street came into view, with its white picket fence and somewhat skeletal cherry tree waving cheerfully from the corner of the lot, the screen door opened and Evie stepped out to the front porch. She quickly descended to the street where she crouched in the middle with her arms out, ready to embrace her approaching dogs. Upon seeing their mistress beckoning, Reggie and Kodie abandoned discipline and launched full tilt into her open arms; a trail of bulging bags and loose goods tumbling to the road in their wake.
Evie squealed with joy, praising her furry children with cooing voice and stroking fingers. As the canines lavished Evie with an abundance of love, their tongues lapping happily at her fa
ce, the screen-door opened again. A woman with long, honey-brown hair stepped out and looked down the road. "Valerie," Dale sighed, his voice full of relief.
Dale lurched off toward his wife, not quite able to jog under his encumbrances. Val flew down the steps and ran to her husband. Jeremy and Patty ran out of the house next. Dale set down the bags he was carrying and laid the rifle on top. When he stood, Val was in his arms. Seconds later, their children were between them.
Moments after the children were clear of the steps, Norah emerged from the house and rushed down the stairs and into the street. Salvador looked astounded as his wife ran past her father and fell into him. She kissed his cheek and buried her face in his neck.
"We heard a gunshot," Norah said, taking his hand. "Mom and I thought it was Dad’s pistol."
Salvador’s eyes shifted to Hank. His father-in-law was picking up a can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew and chasing a rolling can of Campbell’s Tomato Soup. "Uh. Yeah," he stammered. "It was a warning shot. Because, you know, a bunch of guys were threatening us."
Norah drew a shocked breath. "Are you okay? Was anyone hurt?"
"Yeah," Salvador said as his face bloomed crimson. "Why are you so stressed? You never got like this before."
For a brief moment, Norah looked deflated, but with a roll of her shoulders, the look vanished and she said, "It’s not like you can get rushed to the hospital if you get hurt now is it?"
"Well, no..." Salvador admitted.
"And if you’re hurt, or worse," Norah said pragmatically, "what would happen to your girls?"
"I’m sure they’d be fine," Salvador said, his voice etched with consternation.
"How, Salvador?" Norah’s voice climbed to a new plane. "How will they be fine without their daddy? If you get killed," she said as she scanned their surroundings with an exaggerated flourish of her hand, "it might be a long time before I’ll see a Social Security check, or life insurance. You know, Val said all of the cars at the dealership just started smoking. And the cars on the highway just quit running. All of the computers just burned up and one guy has horrible burns on his face because his phone shot lightning from it."
"So you just care about me," Salvador asked, "because you’re afraid of what might happen after I’m dead?"
Norah looked squarely at her husband. "Yes, Salvador! I’ve always been afraid of what might happen if you died. But today it’s different. There’s no more backup system. You are my husband! You are my security!"
"Just get off my back!" Salvador shouted without restraint. "Why don’t you bitch to your dad for all the stupid things he does? Huh? Why don’t you ask him why he ran back into the store, when we already had more than we could carry? Why don’t you ask him why we went in the first place?"
Norah briefly hesitated, fighting the urge to look at her father, to seek his denial, or explanation. In that moment, the features of her husband’s face changed from defensive anger to righteous victory. Norah felt her spirit wilting as Salvador won dominance in their argument.
As a last effort to make her point, she meekly said, "I’m married to you, not him. Your choices matter to me." She saw that her husband was afflicted by her words and pressed on, more confidently. "If you don’t like what my father did, then you ask him why. What I care about is you and how your actions will impact our daughters. That’s what marriage is about."
"Just leave me alone," Salvador lamely retorted. He bent to pick up a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup. Norah spun and stormed back to the house. Salvador looked at the can in his hand. It’s red and white label seemed so cheerful he needed to smash it. With all his might, he hurled the can into the wreckage of a collapsed, burnt out house. Unsatisfied, he snarled and stomped back to his dropped load, grabbed it up and trudged to the house.
Evie was guiding the dogs through the front gate, where she unharnessed them. Norah stamped up the steps and Evie began to ask, "Could you help me…"
"Not now, Mom!" Norah growled, throwing up her hand. "I’m not in the mood." The screen door slammed in punctuation of her point as she vanished into the house.
"Okay..." Evie said to herself. She grabbed a bag from the top of the heap and hauled it up the steps. Inside, the house resembled a playground. Several children, including Abby, were playing a variety of games in the living room. The whirling, clamorous horde of giggling tykes was an unsettling contrast to the charred, hushed twilight that had descended on the outside world.
Sitting in Evie’s favorite chair supervising the children was the daycare provider, an aging German woman named Bertel. She ran a daycare out of her house a couple blocks down the street. Candice sat in Hank’s chair and the two women had obviously been conversing. Bertel looked up when Evie came in and said, "Is something wrong with Norah?" Her accent was thick, but did not obstruct her English in the least.
Candice scoffed and said, "Yeah. She obviously can’t handle her husband."
Forcing a smile, Evie replied, "Nothing serious." She scanned the carpet of children and glanced outside. Taking a breath, she said, "You know what, Bertel? Hank and the boys just got back from their little adventure and they’ve got a lot of stuff to bring in. Maybe we should move the kids down stairs."
"Ya," Bertel said. "What have you got for light?"
Evie’s smile suddenly became real. "We’ve got tons of candles and a couple of lanterns down in the pantry."
Salvador trudged in at that moment, but when he saw the ladies and all of the children, he retreated and dropped his load on the porch. Following his packages, he dropped himself into one of the ornate, cast iron chairs on the porch.
"Oh look," Candice said, pressing her mouth into a contemptuous smile. "There goes a man who can’t deal with children or women." Bitter sarcasm swelled in her voice, "How unusual."
Evie and Bertel looked from the door into each other’s eyes. Evie gave a strained laugh. "It’s a marriage thing," she said.
"Ya. I can see that," Bertel nodded. "So let’s get these children down stairs."
"Okay," Evie said. "I’ll go get the room ready. Then I’ll come get you."
Bertel shrugged. "However you want to do it."
With a friendly nod to Bertel, Evie stepped over a giggling boy and said, "Okay, I’ll be right back."
CHAPTER TWO
Hank passed the Yost family who were still in the throes of reunion and casually followed his son-in-law to the house. At the cart, he scratched his head and readjusted his hat, while contemplating the situation. "Hey, Salvador. I don’t suppose you could give me a hand?"
Salvador didn’t look over. He simply stood up and sullenly walked down the steps. "What do you need?" he asked, flatly.
Hank blinked once and said, "I’d like to get this cart around to the back steps."
"You want me to push or pull?" Salvador's voice was lackluster.
Hank considered the angles. "We have to back it up and get it lined up with gate. Then we can…"
Again Salvador asked, "Do you want me to push, or pull?"
"Push," Hank answered with frustration. Then with a more conciliatory tone he added, "If you don’t mind."
The two men finagled the cart through the front gate and then through the side gate to the back yard. Hank steered it to the steps leading up the back porch. Upon his approach, a dog began barking from Theresa’s backyard, which was adjacent to his own. Hank curiously looked over the fence. The Yost family dog, Shelby, was viciously warning him away. "Hmmm," he muttered. "Evie must have rescued her. That woman can’t say no to any dog in need, but Shelby’s really aggressive. I wonder what we’re going to do with her."
Turning his attention back to his porch, he reached down to an innocuous, white-painted handle on the kick plate of the steps. Hank lifted the right-most three feet of the stairway. A rope on a pulley with a counterweight was attached to the second step and greatly eased the effort of raising the dual purpose trapdoor. A two-foot section of steps remained to the left of the opening, which allowed a comfortable enou
gh avenue, so long as a person wasn’t carrying anything. The lifted stairs-cum-trapdoor revealed a wide set of steps descending to a plain four-panel door with a loop handle and a swivel latch.
Exchanging his sullen attitude for one of curiosity, Salvador asked, "What the hell is that?"
Hank looked over with wide eyes and said, "It’s the bomb shelter."
"You’re kidding," Salvador replied.
Hank chuckled. "Yeah. I am kidding. It’s our cellar."
Salvador was no less impressed. "Norah never said anything about this."
"Hmmm," Hank frowned thoughtfully. "I don’t know why. She used to love hiding out down here." Hank shrugged. "Anyway, it’s nothing special, really. When I rebuilt the back porch, I decided to utilize the space underneath." Hank walked down to the small, graveled landing and opened the panel door. "It’s twenty feet long and seven feet wide. Will you hand me one of those flashlights, please?"
Salvador grabbed both flashlights from the cart and handed one to his father-in-law. Hank said, "The best part is what’s at the other end." He opened the door flush against the wall and dropped an iron finger, at the end of a long peg, over the door’s top edge to hold it in place. Igniting his light, Hank shone its beam into the belly of the cellar. The long, narrow chamber held floor-to-ceiling shelves on either side of a three-foot wide hall of sorts. The hall terminated at another door.
"Come check this out," Hank said with a beckoning wave to Salvador. Then he made his way to the back door. Salvador let Hank cross half the distance before he followed. As he observed how very large his father-in-law actually was, Salvador shook his head. Norah had said that he was six-four, but seeing the space he occupied, framed as it was, gave him a new perspective. Hank really was a big man. Salvador wondered what had made him think to chance fighting that beast. Sure the guy had a gut, but he moved like an athlete. All of the hard work and hiking he did made him a lot stronger than his mild nature let on.
