by Ison, S. A.
Lumberman and Wilter had agreed to shoot the pair before they finished, thereby sparing them the agony of waiting for death. As Lilly and Mike haltingly said the Lord’s Prayer, Lumberman nodded to Wilter, and both men pulled their triggers. The simultaneous pop dropped the two, neither the wiser for their interrupted prayer. They lifted each body gently and dropped them over the railing to the water below.
The wind shifted, and the agitated screams of the passengers reached their ears. They turned and went back into the cabin. Heading to the bridge, both men kept their silence. There was nothing to say. It would be getting worse soon, and neither man wanted to contemplate that.
Two days after the power had gone, Matt Connelly, a petty officer, and Lumberman had stood staring bleakly out the window, watching the passengers below. Most lay on the decks, and they’d had very little food or fresh drinking water. Many drank from the pool. Malory had put boxes of dried food stuffs outside the hatch that led to the Palm deck. They had given food in small quantities, hoping to extend the food as long as they could.
As they watched, several men rushed the door, but it was slammed and the hatch was dogged before they could reach it. Other men rushed for the boxes of food and a fight ensued, dry food scattering along the deck. Women screamed, trying to gather up scraps for their children. The children lay, listlessly crying, in their mother’s arms. Only two days, Lumberman had thought, still dazed that the people had gone completely mental. Even as he had expected it.
The refrigerated food had rotted fast, the heat below decks intolerable. No one felt like eating, so it had been decided to put the boxes of dry goods, fruits, and wilted vegetables out for the passengers. Each time the food was set outside the hatch, fights would erupt, people beating each other for a scrap of food. Connelly turned away, clearly unable to watch.
By the end of the second week, the children were dying. The mothers screamed their agony as the small bodies were dropped over the side. One man had tried to take a dead child to eat, but he was beaten to death by several fathers. Clearly, the children were not to be touched. Some of the people did begin to eat the dead adults. Others refused, and soon began to die.
No one on the bridge looked out the window to the hell below any longer. No one wanted to see the grizzly effects deprivation and starvation. The lifeboats had been raided in the first hours after Quinn had been killed. The passengers had tried to lower the lifeboats, but without power, they were going nowhere. Some passengers had taken their families and jumped to their deaths hours after the announcement. Some had waited days in hopes of some kind of rescue, then when none came, had dived off the side of the ship. Those that were not killed instantly by the fall floated helplessly, calling and crying from the water.
Washington D.C.
The White House was surrounded by armed men and women. Many of the guards and agents had deserted their posts to find their families. Many had stayed. President Blake and his wife had been ushered toward the interior of the White House in the first week after the Ebola virus had hit, and had been under guard since, until an assessment could be made. When it was learned that the pandemic was spreading like wildfire, more people began to slip away.
President Blake could not blame them; he would give anything to see his children and grandchildren. But they were all the way in California. The vice president, Jeffery Cleary, was dead, as well as his family. They had been sequestered at Baltimore Medical. The Ebola virus was so swift, more so than anyone had anticipated. Most of the congress and senate members had fled or died.
It had been two weeks since the computer virus had taken down his chances of leaving the city. All of D.C. was in chaos, as he suspected most of the country, and, for all he knew, the rest of the world, was. The computer virus had infected every aspect of their communications, equipment, and transportation. The generators had given out last week. There was nowhere safe to go to. Reports came back, sporadically, that there were tens of thousands of displaced and angry people clogging the highways, heading toward DC.
President Mike Blake had been preparing to evacuate to the underground fallback when the computer virus had struck and taken everything down. They’d resorted to shortwave CB radios to communicate, as well as walky-talkies. Several attempts to remove the president from Washington were met with violence and civilian attacks. The entire area around the White House was a boiling, outraged mass of humanity. Thousands upon thousands of people.
They were down to a few marines now, many having been killed by snipers along the fence. Secret Service bodyguards had also given their lives to protect their president. Looking over the sea of angry humanity outside was frightening. It reminded him of a writhing human wall.
Gangs roamed the streets, periodically testing the perimeter around the White House, and the nights would erupt in sporadic gunfire. The marines and bodyguards roamed the interior, watching out the large windows. Their food rations were dwindling fast.
What in hell was he supposed to do? He couldn’t feed all those people outside. He could barely feed the people protecting him and his wife. The last time they had tried to drive out, two of his bodyguards had been dragged out and beaten to death in front of his eyes. It had only been thanks to the brutal rush of the car plowing down those behind them as they went back into the fenced area, and cover from the marines, that they’d made it back alive at all. He could still remember the feel of the car driving over bodies, and the sound of a head exploding under the front tire.
Each day more people came, edging closer to the White House, many of them bloody and sick. Many crying for his blood! They blamed him. Him, for Christ sakes! He was as much a victim as they were. He had no idea who’d set the viruses loose, and he would never know.
President Blake walked to the window and looked out over the lawn. As he watched, a woman was thrown down by three men. He turned away, his stomach turning. He could not, would not, watch rape. He shook his head, sadness making his body heavy. There was nothing he could do to help them. He could not even help himself.
Los Angeles, California
Jake’s hands shook as he held the jerky and bottle of water. Looking over at Larry, he was grateful he wasn’t alone. It was damn scary out there, and people were going crazy, just like in the TV shows. It had been all fun and excitement, watching those from the safety of a safe life. Now, it was horrific and terrifying. He had never thought people could act like that. It just didn’t seem real.
When darkness had fallen, they’d moved out. Now it was nearing the end of the night. They had been traveling steadily up and east for three days. Several times, they’d nearly been caught. Fear and hunger were taking their toll. Jake’s metabolism was higher than Larry’s, and he’d always been thin, but now his ribs were beginning to show. They were burning calories they couldn’t afford to lose. Rationing their food only made sense, but making sense didn’t ease the hunger pains he felt.
Looking back, all of Los Angeles burned, from the tallest buildings to the low-lying neighborhoods. Smoke lingered over the entire city like a dark, gloomy blanket. The air up in the hills was cleaner, but they could still smell death and smoke, though thankfully it wasn’t as cloying.
Because of moving only in the dark, the two men had made their way from the city very slowly. Larry had said that they would start traveling during the day once they were far enough away from L.A. that he felt sure they wouldn’t run into many people. Jake hoped that would be soon; his body ached from falling over rocks and branches.
“Man, I’m so hungry. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry in my life,” Jake said, trying to eat the meat slowly.
“I know. All I can think about is food. I try not to, but I can’t help it. I hope we can find a house soon. I don’t want to think about running out of food,” Larry said, nibbling on his jerky.
“I can breathe easier up here, and the stench isn’t as bad, thankfully.” Jake wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“I know, right.” Larry leaned again
st a tree. It wasn’t long before his body began to slide down the tree until he sat, legs stretched out in front of him.
“Too bad we can’t light a fire.”
“I wish we could too, dude, but someone would see us easy up here. Better play it safe and stay dark.”
Jake nodded reluctantly; he didn’t want to tell Larry he was afraid of the dark, so he kept quiet. He was getting sleepy. It had been a long night of walking. If he had to guess, it was about 3 a.m. It would be light in a few hours. They would stay put here for most of the day.
Each man made a bed for themselves, sleeping back to back. It was a cool night, and as their bodies beginning to cool down from their exertions, they began to feel chilly. Jake pulled his jacket out of his pack and put it over him like a blanket. He then laid his head on his pack and closed his eyes. He could feel Larry’s back, and felt comfort in it, and warmth.
Topsfield, Maine
Tim lay on the makeshift pallet; he could see the leaves wavering through the tent window. He felt so incredibly weak. The last week and a half, or so, had been a blur. Kelly had helped him from the outhouse after he’d stabilized from the heavy diarrhea. She had spent hours pouring the honey and lemon concoctions down his throat, feeding him the broth and rice. His teeth still felt loose, but at least he didn’t taste blood any more.
He wasn’t sure if the world had ended while he’d been ill, or if he had been delusional when she’d told him about the airplanes and her phone. He did know that his dog was dead, and his heart nearly broke once again at the thought. He’d found Chance on the side of the road several years ago, along with two litter-mates. They’d already died, but Chance was hanging on. He had taken the pup and nursed him. He’d been a good dog, and he missed his presence terribly.
He could hear Kelly chopping wood. She hadn’t left the property except to go for feed for the horse. Her old truck ran, so perhaps the world hadn’t ended. He tried to sit up, and a groan escaped. The chopping ceased, and Kelly’s head popped into the tent entrance.
“How are you feeling?” Concern puckered her forehead.
“Like shit, but a lot better today.”
“Good,” she grinned. “Hungry?”
“I could eat,” he admitted, and grinned back.
Crawling into the tent, Kelly helped Tim to sit up, taking the extra pillows and putting them behind to support him. She looked at his face, assessing. “Your color is a lot better.” Placing the back of her hand against his forehead, she nodded. “No fever. Good. Let’s get you a little food.”
Exiting the tent, Kelly went over to her fire. There, off to one side was a cast iron pot with a lid. The pot was hot, but not directly on the fire, so it was easily handled without mittens. As he watched, Kelly ladled out chicken broth, then added a little rice to it. Going to her work table, she opened a wooden box and took a spoon out.
Inside the tent, Tim made use of the homemade urinal, a 2-liter plastic bottle. After screwing the top back on, he set it aside and readjusted the quilts around him. Kelly ducked under the tent flap and came in with a bowl and half a pack of saltines.
“Chicken broth, courtesy of Ethel and a little rice,” she grinned.
Tim reached out with shaking hands, then dropped them back in his lap. “I think maybe you better do the honors or I will be wearing that broth.”
“Yeah, think I’d better.” She sat cross-legged beside him. Carefully, she spooned the broth mush. Between sips, Tim nibbled the cracker, his stomach grumbling all the while.
Kelly paused a moment. “Any nausea?”
“No, none. I feel weak as hell, but that’s it.”
Nodding, Kelly fed him more broth. “I’ve not left this place since going to get grain for Butter. I don’t think I will until you’re up for traveling. I don’t know what’s going on out there, but I think that once you’re up to it, we should go and check the lay of the land.”
“Okay. I hope I can get up soon,” Tim said, flexing his shoulders, the orange T-shirt with chickens on it stretched over his broad, thin shoulders.
“The fact that you’re getting antsy is a good sign. Yesterday you didn’t want to talk, let alone walk. Before I do anything or go anywhere, I want you up and mobile.”
“Well then, fill me up with more of that Ethel soup.”
Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina
A small fire was in the pit, Nine people sat around it, all silent, all contemplating their future. Randal stood up and added another chunk of wood, and everyone watched the sparks fly up into the evening sky. They could hear the crash of the waves, and the breeze was blowing steady. Though the evening wasn’t cool, the fire still felt pleasant against her skin. Pearl liked the smell of wood smoke; it blended well with the smell of the ocean. Pearl sipped her sun tea; it was cool, but not cold. Her dark eyes looked around the circle of people; their nearest neighbors, some of them strangers to her.
Clive Bishop she knew; he was a widower and sixty-six years old. Roy and Laura Hicks, the young couple from next door, their daughter asleep in Roy’s young arms. She didn’t know Jimmy Hillery and Reed Pena, the couple who lived in back of Randal and Pearl’s home, separated by a large wooded lot. They were in their mid-40s, and their German shepherd was asleep at their feet.
She knew David and May Parks, in their late 70s. They held hands and huddled together. David sported a black eye, which was nearly yellow now. He’d received it at the hands of Dean Castle, who had gone into their home and taken food from their pantry. David had tried to stop the rotund man, but had been knocked to the ground for his efforts. Dean had walked out with a loaf of bread and canned goods. That seemed like a lifetime ago.
Pearl felt Randal shift, and she looked at him, smiled softly. She was so proud of her husband. He had been so brave through all of this, and he gave her hope.
“Okay folks; let’s get this meeting to order,” Randal started off. All eyes jerked to his face. “As many of you know or suspected, we are on our own. It has been two weeks, and no power, no activity, and not many cars moving. I can’t say what the future will bring, but I believe that if we don’t work together, if we don’t plan, then we’re dead.”
A shiver went through Pearl, and her hand grasped Randal’s. A murmur of agreement mingled with fear moved around the circle, heads nodding and eyes shifting from person to person.
“We are all we have, and we will more than likely have to fight to keep what we have. So far, no strangers have come, and our other neighbors have either left or refused to join us here tonight. In the coming days, I think people will come. Come begging for food, water, and protection. The thing is, we only have a little, and what little we have will have to last us until we are totally self-sufficient.”
Heads nodded in agreement. Randal continued. “Clive and I have talked extensively, and we have both come to the same conclusion: from here on out, we nine people are going to be our own community, our own private club, so to speak.” Questioning looks darted from several of the group. Pearl watched their faces, trying to gauge their reactions. “What that means is that anyone coming to us, no matter who they are—unless they are immediate family, say, if your children or grandchildren show up—we turn them away. No food, no supplies.”
Jimmy and Reed both let out shocked gasps. Roy put his arm around Laura and drew her in tightly.
“I’m sorry to have to say it, but it is the only way we can survive. It is going to be hard. Especially when people show up with children. But whatever we give away, we take away from our own families.”
“But the children? Couldn’t we spare something for them?” Laura asked quietly. May nodded in agreement.
“If we do, then the people will keep coming back, whittling away at our supplies. Then your own daughter will starve. And, not to put it too harshly, when push comes to shove, the parents will eat what you give for the child. You won’t be helping the child,” Randal said, not unkindly.
Pearl watched the young couple, knowing it pulled at their
hearts. She watched as Roy pulled his daughter tighter to his chest, his face hardening. He nodded in agreement.
“It is us or them. That is the bottom line. We all have to agree. We all have a say. But remember this: no one is going to save us, not the government, not the police, not our other neighbors. We will have to ration our food. We will have to catch our food. Save our resources.”
“I suggest we pool our supplies and cook communally. I’ve got some camping gear and utensils we can use,” Clive put in. Heads nodded around the fire. “That way, we don’t waste food or firewood. Also, we will have to agree on portion sizes, eat a little leaner for the canned things. But whatever we catch, fish and crab, we can eat in abundance.”
Pearl bit her lip, smiling when everyone perked up and nodded more enthusiastically.
“If we are careful, if we can grow our food, can it, and catch it, then I think we will be okay. It will be very rough, but if we can start to build food stores, I think we will be okay. We can pick blackberries, palm dates, raspberries, and so on. There are plenty of rabbits on this island, as well as squirrels. So we can diversify.”
“There are chickens a mile or so from here. I’ve heard a rooster, and seen a few hens. Maybe we can trade some canned goods for a few chickens? Then we can have eggs,” Reed suggested.
“Good idea, but when we go, go armed, just in case,” Clive suggested. Again, heads nodded.
For the rest of the evening, plans were made, and ideas thrown into the ring. Some were adopted, some rejected. Above all, there was hope. Hope for survival, and hope for a future. It lifted Pearl’s heart. They weren’t alone, and together, they could survive, and perhaps thrive.
