The Nightworld

by Jack Blaine

  Tank, who’s been lying at my feet, erupts into snarling barks and launches himself out of the room. I run after him and find him leaping against the front door. I don’t want to yell at him, partially because I don’t want whatever’s out there to know I’m in here, so I just let him bark. I step up to the door and listen, trying to see if I can hear anything. At first there’s nothing, but then I hear what sounds like a car running. I peer through the peephole, trying to ignore the B movie scenes that come to mind where the person who does that gets an ice pick to the eye. Through the fishbowl lens I can barely make out the shape of the Subaru, sans headlights, backing out of the Holzers’ driveway.

  Chapter 12

  “Shit!” I unlock the door and run out onto the driveway without thinking. Everything I have is in that car—everything I need to survive. It’s hard to tell, but it looks like there are two people in the Subaru. The driver sees me running toward them, and he starts to back out faster. I can hear Tank right behind me, barking like crazy at the car. I keep running. I don’t know what I think I’m going to do—throw myself on the windshield? But I can’t just watch all those supplies drive away.

  The passenger looks like a young girl, no older than me for sure. As the car swings out onto the street, she looks straight at me from the passenger-side window. At first she just shrugs at me and shakes her head in response to my screaming, but then, when I get closer to the car, she rolls down the window and sticks out a gun. Without a single second’s hesitation, she shoots at me. The sound of the gun scares me almost as much as the bullet I feel whiz past my face. I am frozen to the spot, and I see her point the gun again, this time at Tank.

  “Tank!” I yell as loud as I can, and between the split second Tank hesitates and the forward motion of the car, the bullet misses. The Subaru speeds down the road and away. The last thing I see of it are the taillights as it turns onto the main road.

  I’m not sure how, but I end up on the ground. Tank is licking my face and whining, and all I can do is hold my head and try to stop the ringing in my ears from the shots. I feel completely defeated. I have no idea what I’m going to do now.

  “Best get inside, boy. They might be comin’ back.”

  I’m back on my feet in a second, although I almost fall over trying to get my balance. An old gray-haired man is standing on the sidewalk in front of the Holzers’ house. He’s holding a gun down at his side with one hand and ruffling the fur on Tank’s head with his other. Tank abandoned me as soon as he saw him.

  “You’re a good dog, Tank, always have been.” The man turns to go, then swings back to me, his reluctance clear in the way he has to force his body to switch directions.

  “Listen, you got enough to eat in there?” He doesn’t look like he’s going to wait long for an answer.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Doug’s dad.”

  When I shake my head, he nods toward the house next to the Holzers’. “Doug Gannon. He lives in that house with his wife and kids. I was on my way to come visit, see the grandkids, when all this shit came down. I got here and they was already gone.”

  An engine roars on the main road. The man shakes his head. “No time to talk right now. People’s crazy out there, and gettin’ crazier. We shouldn’t be out here in the open. Listen, let me get a couple things and I’ll come by. I’ll knock the SOS code so you’ll know it’s me.”

  He hurries away, and I hear the door to the house shut. The engine revs again in the distance, and I realize I’d better take the old man’s advice and get off the street.

  “Come on, Tank.” Tank looks back in the direction the guy went and whines. But he follows me back to the front door of the Holzers’. I lock it and turn the deadbolt, but it doesn’t seem like enough. So I drag the buffet from the dining room into the living room and shove it up against the door. It’s pretty heavy; it might buy some time if someone were trying to break in.

  I slump on the couch, absently scratching Tank’s head while I try to think. What the hell do I do now? My whole plan to get to the city is screwed, all of my food supplies are gone save what’s left in this house, and people with guns know I’m here.

  My backpack is leaning against the couch half open, and I see a folded scrap of pink paper inside. I know what it says, but I unfold it anyway. Just her address, and that little heart she drew. Lara. She might need help. And I’m going to get to her, somehow.

  Tank leaps up and runs toward the sliding door. I hear a tapping, fast, then slow, then fast. I get up and go to the door. The tapping happens again, fast, slow, fast. I sure as hell hope that’s Morse code for SOS. I go to the far end of the door and peek through the curtain. The old man is standing by the handle getting ready to knock again. He’s got a bag with him—one of those soft leather briefcases.

  “’Bout time,” he says when I let him inside.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. I’m not sure why he’s here anyway. I back up to let him get farther into the room and lock the sliding door. I wonder if I should have hidden the gun that’s on the end table, or better yet, if I should be holding it right now.

  “So you’re not a Holzer, right?” He eyes me, squinting in the dim light.

  “No. I’m Charlie’s best friend.”

  “That their kid?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They gone too, huh?”

  I nod.

  “So why you here anyway? Where’s your family?”

  “I just had my dad, and he’s . . .” I can’t finish.

  The guy says nothing for a long time, just watches me. Then he looks around the room. “You going to offer an old man a seat?”

  “Uh, sure.” I gesture toward the dining-room table, since the couch is covered with sheets and a blanket. We both sit, but I stand right away.

  “I have some Coke in the fridge. Want one?”

  “Got any beer?”

  “Actually, yeah.” There’s a six-pack of Budweiser in the fridge. I’ve been eyeing them since I arrived, but I figured it would be better not to have any. I get a couple of bottles out and bring them to the table. We twist our tops off and watch the vapor drift out of the bottles.

  “Beer fog.”

  “Huh?” I don’t get it.

  “We used to call that little bit of smoke that comes out of the beer bottle fog.” The guy laughs a little and shakes his head. He holds up his bottle. “Here’s to your family, and to mine, wherever they may be.” He takes a long swallow of beer. Then he looks me in the eye. “Now, what’s your plan?”

  Chapter 13

  I take a sip of my beer. “I don’t really have a plan anymore. My plan just backed out of the driveway.”

  “Ahh.” The guy nods. “Well, the car wouldn’t get you too far anyway, I bet. Haven’t you been watching the news? Almost all the freeways are blocked with abandoned vehicles. Pretty sad state of affairs in terms of the potential of the youth of America if that’s all you had up your sleeve.”

  The last thing I need right now is a lecture. Especially from some old fart who’s probably just here for my beer. “What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Name’s Gus. You?”

  “I’m Nick. You have a better plan, Gus?”

  “Nah.” Gus shakes his head and takes another swig. “Not for me, anyway. I figure I’m staying right here.” He stares at the tabletop for a long minute before he looks back up at me. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice catching just once, “where my boy went, or whether he plans to come back here. It’s a wide world out there for sure, and I figure the best thing I can do is to wait for him here. I don’t even have the first clue where I’d head if I were to start off looking. But you—you obviously thought you had a place to go in that car. Am I right?” He waits for my answer.

  “I guess. I thought I’d head into the city, see if I could find a friend of mine.”

  “The city.” Gus sits back, contemplating his bottle. “The city sounds rough, from what they say on the television.”

  “Looks t
o me like it’s getting pretty rough out here,” I say, but I know what he means. The news coverage is all flaming storefronts and roaming gangs.

  “Well.” Gus sets the leather bag on the table and pushes back its flap. “I brought some things that might be useful to you. I figured I could make a trade for some food, if you have any to spare, but I’d actually just take beer if you have any more.”

  “What if I didn’t have anything to trade?”

  Aw, hell, then I’d just give you the stuff. Not like I’ll be needing it.” He pulls some maps out of the bag, and a ring with two keys on it.

  I don’t see what good any of it will do me. But I’m starting to feel bad for the guy. “I have more beer. You’re welcome to it.”

  “That’s good news, son. Now listen up. If you’re going to go to the city, you’re looking at a journey. It’s not so easy, like just zipping in there in your car, now. You’d best stay off the roads, and I would say travel at night, but it looks like that won’t be required advice now. I dug up some maps for you.” He points to a well-creased map of the county. “And here’s something you might want to keep very safe.” He reaches into the back and pulls out a road atlas—the kind that’s bound with a plastic spiral. The words United States Road Atlas are printed on the cover in red letters.

  “What am I going to need that for?”

  “One never knows, son.” Gus takes another drink. “It looks to me like what we have here is an apocalypse. Do you know what that is?”

  It’s all I can do not to laugh. “Are you kidding me? I’m the generation who gets to hear it predicted every forty seconds on some news show. So yeah, I think I’m familiar.”

  “Fair enough.” He smoothes the cover of the atlas. “Knowledge will fade, wisdom will falter.” He shrugs. “I forget the rest of the poem. But you’ll need all the information you can get, and if the power goes, and people keep burning shit up, you better keep what you can close. This atlas might be one of the last ones that survive, depending on how bad this thing gets.”

  “Wow. You’re not serious, are you?”

  Gus just looks at me. “Why in the world would I be joking at a time like this? The world is ending, my friend. The things we take for granted now, like that atlas, they are going to be gone like that. In a wink of your eye.”

  We both take a big gulp of beer.

  “Now this . . . this is also important.” He picks up the key ring. “This will open a locker in the city, the contents of which could be helpful. I’ll write down the address for you.”

  “What’s in the locker?” I’m thinking maybe this guy has watched too many sorcerer movies.

  “It’s a bike. A very special bike, to me. Never thought I’d be handing it over to some kid.”

  I don’t know what to say. If Gus thinks some ancient ten-speed is going to help me out, I’m going to let him think it.

  Gus spends the next few hours reviewing my supplies. He adds a few things from his son’s house, like a hatchet and a small pistol. When I tell him I already have two guns, he says without the pistol he’ll still have five.

  “Can’t have too many guns, son.”

  He makes several trips back and forth between houses as he sees what I do and don’t have. He brings three half-full disposable lighters, four cans of tuna, and some rope. It’s stuff I know I can use, but I’m feeling a little guilty about taking it.

  “Don’t you think you might need some of this?”

  He brushes me off. “Not as much as you will, son. I plan to hole up and sit next to the fire, keep my toes warm burning that cord of wood my son bought for next winter. I have enough to get by for quite some time.”

  I can tell he’s just trying to make me feel better. I bet his son’s house is stocked about the same way the Holzers’ house is, which means he’s going to run out of food soon. I don’t have the heart to tell him the Subaru had enough supplies in it to keep us both going for weeks. I don’t want to think about how stupid I was not to put the car in the garage. Or whether the goons who stole it will come back to the neighborhood, looking for more. What will Gus do then?

  “What if you came with me?”

  He smiles at me, but he doesn’t make eye contact. “I need to wait here, son. I might have family coming back.”

  For a while, we just sit together, drinking our beers, thinking our thoughts. I don’t know what his are about. Mine are about my dad.

  I wish he were here. Gus reminds me of him, in some ways. My dad would help me out too, if I were a strange kid who showed up next door. He would try to make sure I was okay. He would give me supplies he could probably use himself. He was a good guy. No matter what his part was in the darkness coming, I know he didn’t mean to cause any harm. I know he’d try to fix it if he could.

  Chapter 14

  It’s eight in the morning, but it looks like it’s around ten o’clock at night. My backpack is stuffed with everything we could fit into it and I’m wearing a set of Charlie’s thermal underwear beneath my jeans and sweater, along with a down jacket that belongs to Gus’s son. Gus showed up really early today to cook me a huge breakfast of scrambled eggs and sliced ham and toast that he brought from next door. He’s a pretty good cook.

  For the last two days Gus has been helping me—showing me different routes into the city on the map, drilling me with facts: keep hydrated but don’t waste water, eat small meals all day while I’m walking, sleep well hidden from all vantage points, with my back against something like a wall or a rock or a hill if possible.

  The television is out more and more. When we check the internet, the stories seem even more dated than the ones on TV. I show Gus the notes Mr. Holzer scribbled and the Geothermal Systems site. I show him the last text I got from Charlie. All he says is that it sounds like a place to start.

  I hold the curtain back from the sliding glass door, staring out at the backyard. The grass looks weird—sort of limp and gray—and the dandelions sprouting in the lawn are a creepy white color, like plants that have been growing under a rock. They’ll all be dead before they form their third leaves. Some of the ornamental plants have already succumbed to the colder temperatures. The only things that look sort of normal are the pine trees; so far they seem okay.

  I don’t want to go out there. But it’s time for me to do just that. I don’t know if I’ll find Lara, but I have to try. If I don’t find her, I’m heading to Detroit. Maybe there’s something there—maybe Charlie’s there.

  Gus comes out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Make sure you stay off the roads like I said, son.”

  “I will.” I let the curtain drop. “Sure you aren’t coming?”

  Gus doesn’t answer.

  When I turn around, he’s staring at the tabletop, shaking his head. “I should, son. I know I should go with you instead of letting you face the trip alone. But I’m old. And if I’m going to die, I expect I’ll do it next door, waiting for my son.” He looks up and his eyes are shining in the dim light. “I’m sorry to let you down.”

  Part of me wishes he would come, because I am scared and I don’t want to be alone out there. But he doesn’t owe me anything. He’s tried to help me as much as he can. He could have shot me that first day and taken the supplies in the Holzer house for himself.

  “You’re doing the right thing, Gus. I’ll be fine.”

  He nods, a little too eager to agree. “I know you will be. Just stay off the roads, and keep one of the guns at the ready.”

  I pick up my backpack and shrug it onto my shoulders. It’s pretty heavy now, packed with everything we could think of that might prove important. I slip on some gloves and it’s time to go.

  “Well.” I’m not sure how to say good-bye. “Take good care of Tank.” I rub the top of the dog’s head. He’s been watching us all morning, getting my stuff ready to go. He knows something’s up.

  Gus doesn’t seem to know what to say either. He keeps his eyes on Tank. “He’s gonna miss you.”

  I slide
open the door to the backyard. One step, two steps, and I’m outside. I turn, and before I close the door behind me I take one last look: Gus and Tank are watching me with the same look in their eyes.

  “See ya.” And I shut the door.

  Before I even get to the back gate, the door opens. Tank flies out of it and runs to me, dancing around my feet and snuffling, almost panicked.

  “He wasn’t having none of it.” Gus leans out the door, tosses me a bag of dry dog kibble. “Probably for the best. I’d just have ended up eating him when things got tough.”

  I know he’s joking, or at least I think he is, but people are doing it. The latest news broadcasts—before they stopped altogether two nights ago—were brutal. One clip showed the head of a golden retriever, tossed in a gutter like garbage. There’s no food in parts of the country, and people are desperate.

  I raise a hand to Gus, in a final farewell. He nods.

  “Only one thing I know about life, son. And that is this: don’t ever give up. It’s always darkest right before the dawn.” He turns and disappears inside the house. The sliding door closes. That’s that, I guess.

  Tank is ecstatic, pushing his nose against my hand and leaning on my legs. I kneel and try to hold him still. I shove the kibble into my pack’s outside pocket. It’s not much, but I can share my food too.

  “Okay, Tank. But you better do what I tell you.”

  A peek out the gate reveals an empty street. I slip through and latch the gate behind me. And I’m on my way.

  We walk quickly, heading down toward the main road. Everything is strange looking. The bushes and grass all look like the backyard did—gray and flattened. It’s cold enough that I feel every breath I take as it enters my lungs. My eyes are tired within the first twenty minutes from straining to see in the dark. Gus said the best way to go would be to follow the freeway, as long as I just use it as a guide and stay off it.