911: The Complete Series

by Grace Hamilton

  Crouching into a modified Weaver stance, Parker shuffled through the door and put his back to the archaic refrigerator to sweep his light around.

  “Ava?” he repeated.

  There was still no answer. As he played his beam around, he inspected a tiny living room area. Battered futon couch, beanbag chair, and a small old TV on an Ikea coffee table. No garbage, no piles of filthy laundry, no empty food wrappers—everything tidy.

  She is definitely not her mother’s daughter, he thought. He remembered the naked leering woman with missing teeth and hair like a Halloween witch. He suppressed a shudder.

  Off to one side, opposite the couch, there were two closed doors. A bathroom and a bedroom, he assumed. Both doors were closed. Cautiously, he moved deeper into the house. He didn’t call out Ava’s name again, though. If she’d been here and able, or willing, to answer, she would have done so already.

  Moving into the tiny living space of the single bedroom apartment, he began picking out items that gave indications of Ava’s personality. A bookcase filled with nonfiction titles on a variety of subjects. A Monet reprint, and assorted scented candles placed around the apartment in artful configurations.

  His light came across another coffee table and stopped. He frowned and looked closer. On the table sat both an Apple laptop and an iPhone. That wasn’t right. According to her parents, she worked as a barista, and her apartment was near the university, so she was what? Twenty-two? Twenty-four? What twenty-four-year-old went anywhere without her phone? He turned to look at the short hallway containing what he presumed to be bathroom and bedroom doors.

  First things first. He needed to clear the house before he got down to his sleuthing. He walked carefully down the short hall. As they were set directly opposite each other, he chose at random and opened one of the doors. Weapon up, he leaned around and quickly swept the room. It was a tiny bathroom. The sink sat directly in front of the door and there was a mirror mounted on the wall above it. His flashlight beam fell on the glass and immediately reflected back at him in a sunburst.

  He grunted in surprise and pain as his eyes reacted to the unexpectedly brilliant flash. He stepped back, trying to blink the glare out of his eyes. In that instant, though, the door behind him opened and a figure emerged from the dark. He tried to turn, but he’d been caught by surprise at the most inopportune of moments.

  A screaming body leapt onto him, and tiny but extremely hard, little fists began pummeling him in an ineffective frenzy. He turned away from the blows, hunching up a shoulder towards the strikes to keep them off his face. Even as he took the hits, he sized up the scene and realized his attacker seemed to be a scrawny young woman, maybe not that long out of her teens. He hoped it was Ava, but his hands were filled with his flashlight and handgun, neither of which he wanted to drop or strike out with.

  A compact little baseball of a fist clocked him in the nose and he saw stars. In the next instant, he felt a hot, slick coppery rush of blood run down the back of his throat. The pain caused a flood of adrenaline and he reacted instinctively. His arms, long and heavy from days of working out back in the time when he’d still cared about things like that, swung out in a wide sweep and knocked the girl flying.

  She flew back and bounced off the hallway wall, squeaking in shock and then grunting with the impact. She recovered quickly, and went to her hands and knees. Regaining his composure, Parker backed up, keeping his flashlight trained on the girl’s face—he couldn’t quite bring himself to think of her as a woman... a symptom of his age, he assumed.

  “Stop!” he barked in his cop voice. “Stop, goddamnit!”

  She froze, bringing a hand up to defend against the glare. Parker moved the light slightly to ease the shine on her eyes. She had an obviously Asian cast to her features, and she looked furious.

  Though she be but little, she is fierce, Parker thought. He felt a certain grudging admiration for her courage. He held out an olive branch.

  “Hey, easy,” he said. “I’m not a threat.”

  “Just a thief?” Her voice was about as spunky as he’d imagined it would be.

  “You racially profiling me?” he asked. He made a show of putting his weapon away.

  “I’m not the one breaking into someone’s apartment with a gun! And I would never racially profile someone; I’m a democrat.” She paused. “And half Korean,” she added.

  “Fair point,” he allowed, though he wasn’t sure the logic held up to scrutiny. “I’m looking for Ava. Are you Ava?”

  “Why do you want to know?” she challenged him.

  “You’re not Ava,” he said.

  She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “How do you know?”

  “Because, when I talked to her, she was a hell of a lot more frightened than you are right now.”

  The girl’s eyes widened in shock. Without a thought, she rushed forward and grabbed his arm in both of her hands. Parker stepped back in surprise at the sudden shift in her demeanor, initially mistaking her rush for an attack. It was how people got shot. He willed himself to relax.

  “You talked to Ava? Where is she? You said she sounded scared. Was she frightened of something? Was it that damn church? Why did she have your number? I’ve been her best friend for, like, years and years, and she never mentioned you! I—”

  “Easy,” he cut her off. “She was scared, scared enough to call 911, and I answered. What is all this I keep hearing about a church? Do you know where she is?”

  “You’re a 911 operator?” she asked. Her voice sounded patently dubious.

  Parker thought about Klein and sighed. “I hope so.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” she protested. She released his arm and backed up a bit.

  “It means I was a 911 operator until about eleven o’clock tonight when Ava called needing help. Then the EMP hit and I realized I was the only one who was going to help her, and my boss threatened my job if I left. So, I don’t goddamn know if I’m a 911 operator anymore, damn it. I have also had one hell of a night up to now, including almost getting stepped on by a freakin’ giraffe. So if you would answer my damn questions, I would very much appreciate it. Please, and thank you.”

  The girl looked at him. “No offense, but I didn’t think 911 operators responded to calls.”

  Parker sighed. Does she ever shut up? “They don’t,” he said. He realized his teeth were gritted tightly together. “But everything’s gone to hell, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m all she’s got.”

  The girl looked furious suddenly. “No,” she said. “She’s got me, too.”

  “And who the hell are you, half-pint?” he asked. “Can you at least tell me that before you start talking ten thousand miles a minute again?”

  She folded her arms across her chest and cocked a hip. She looked positively waifish. “Finn,” she told him. “Finn Meyers, and I’m only, like, Ava’s best friend ever.”

  “Good for you, Finn Meyers,” he told her. “As I think I’ve mentioned, Ava’s in trouble. You want to tell me where she is now?”

  “The Church of Humanity,” Finn said.

  “And what, pray tell,” Parker asked, “is the Church of Humanity?”

  “A church, like I said.”

  “Presbyterians are a church; I don’t know anything about this organization.”

  “Well...” Finn shifted from one foot to another and looked down. “It’s sort of a new church. One opposed to technology and the de-humanizing effect it has on our souls in today’s consumer-driven society.”

  “Like the technology that was knocked out when the event happened, for instance?”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  “Like all the lifesaving equipment in, say, motherfucking hospitals?” Parker offered. It took a little bit of effort to keep the frustration out of his voice.

  “I’m sure they’re not responsible,” Finn protested. “Where would they even get one of those EMP things you mentioned—Craig’s List?”

  She has a point, he t
hought. “All I know is that Ava called, terrified and in trouble. I need to find her. They’re near Stapleton Mall, right?”

  Finn looked as if she’d been slapped. “How’d you know that?”

  “I didn’t,” Parker said. “Ava mentioned it in her call. She thought something bad was going to happen, or had already happened, there.” He kept the part about her accusing the church to himself, as he didn’t need to spook her into another verbal tirade.

  Finn seemed suddenly defeated. “Oh, man,” she whispered. Parker saw her eyes get shiny as she fought back tears. “I was supposed to go with her, be with her when she went to the church, but I chickened out.”

  “Chickened out?” Parker asked. “Chickened out how?”

  “I couldn’t imagine not having my phone, or Netflix, or anything else,” she said. “At first I was with Ava because she was Ava. Then I thought it might not be such a horrible thing, living like the church wants its members to. Being with a group of caring people keeping to themselves.” She angrily wiped at her face as a random tear broke free and rolled down her face. “But even though living at home sucks sometimes,” she went on, “my parents aren’t like Ava’s parents.”

  “I’ve met them,” Parker acknowledged, his voice dry. “They’re a pair of winners. Go on.”

  “So I stood her up. I didn’t show. Then I couldn’t live with myself and I came here before the lights went out, hoping she was still here. But she wasn’t. Then the lights went out and I didn’t know where to go, so I stayed. Then you came.”

  “You know where she went; you know where she is.”

  “Yes,” Finn said. “I can take you there.”

  “I don’t need you to take me there; simply tell me the address.”

  “I’m going with you,” she said.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I can do this all day,” Finn said. “I mean, literally, I’ve done it before.”

  “I’m leaving,” Parker told her.

  “Fine. I’ll follow you. Besides—how does that even make sense? You don’t know where she is.”

  “I’ll go to Stapleton and then I’ll look around. How hard can it be to find a bunch of cultist kooks?”

  “I’ll follow you.”

  “Don’t follow me.”

  “Are you going to shoot me?”

  “I might.”

  “You’re risking your life for a girl you don’t know, but then you’re going to shoot me?” Finn demanded.

  “I’m complicated.”

  “I’m stubborn.”

  “I very much hate you right now.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  11

  Stapleton Mall was only two miles off, and Finn informed him that she and Ava hung out there a lot in between shifts at the Starbucks in the food court. Sometimes they’d see a movie or sometimes hang, talking about trying to get into Central Community College.

  “Ava’s, like, super-smart,” Finn informed him.

  “No boyfriends?” Parker asked absently, scanning the area around them for possible dangers. A block or so over, they could hear what sounded like quite a few people angrily shouting.

  He caught Finn making a face, which seemed odd. Maybe it was a feminist thing, that you didn’t ask girls in their early twenties if they had boyfriends. Probably aren’t supposed to call ‘em ‘girls’ either, he told himself. But the thought didn’t make sense. Your early twenties were prime relationship drama time, male or female. It was a legitimate question within the context of small-talk. That’s what he told himself, at least; he was a little far removed from the source material to know for sure.

  Despite himself, though, he was growing to like the lively Finn. Her verbal hyperactivity was infused with enough cynical observations that he found he could relate to her.

  When she still hadn’t answered, and seemed to think the look spoke for itself, he asked, “I say something wrong?”, looking to her as they turned left on a side street to avoid a cluster of people several blocks ahead of them.

  “No,” she said. Then she shrugged. “That’s not really my thing,” she finally said.

  Parker was confused. “Dating?”

  Finn looked at him like he was drunk. “The entrance exam for 911 operators must not be very tough.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I date fine, thank you very much. It’s the ‘boys’ part that’s not really my thing.”

  “Oh.” Parker blinked, absorbing the shift. “So, you and Ava are…?”

  “Best friends,” Finn said firmly. “She’s been my friend forever, like I said. Ava has plenty of guys spitting game at her. But she doesn’t trust easily.”

  Parker thought about the Talbot family house. He didn’t blame her. “Sure,” he said. “How about you?” he asked. “How’s your trust o’meter?”

  “I’m walking into a blackout with a man I’ve never met,” she said.

  “These are extraordinary circumstances,” he pointed out. “I was speaking more generally.”

  She sighed, and shrugged again. “My parents aren’t like Ava’s, if that’s what you mean. Though, in the beginning, hers weren’t that bad, either. They were never what you’d call typical,” Finn said. “Even when her dad was working as a welder, he was always getting into trouble. DUIs, fighting. Hitting her mom, stuff like that.”

  Parker nodded, showing he was listening. His eyes scanned rooftops as they walked, darting to doorways or the spaces between buildings. He was interested in what Finn was telling him, but he wasn’t letting his guard down. Not letting your guard down, being ready for anything, was the essence of what it meant to be a prepper. Situational awareness. It was a term widely used in the military as well as in law enforcement. It meant always knowing what was happening around you. Looking for a way out and paying attention to the shadows. It was a skill that was practically a necessity in this SHTF situation. Walking along while chatting or lost in thought was what got people killed in the real world—it was a death sentence in this dark land that bred evil by the minute.

  She’d paused, so he grunted softly to let her know he was listening and she went on. “He was in a motorcycle gang; only, he made everyone call it a club,” she laughed. “Such bullshit. All those dudes over at the house all the time, drunk or stoned. It was horrible even then.”

  “Which club?” he asked automatically.

  “I don’t know—not the one you always see in shows, the Hell’s Angels or whatever. I didn’t bother trying to learn. They had AOA on their jackets, though, I think.”

  “American Outlaws Association,” Parker said. “The Outlaws. They’re a one percent club. Bad news.”

  He’d known, and had even busted, Outlaws who studiously kept their biker lifestyle separate from their children. But there were plenty who didn’t. He thought back and tried remembering if he’d seen any MC tatts on Ava’s father, but he couldn’t remember. It’d been uncertain light and the guy had been decked out like a discount Hugh Hefner in that grungy bathrobe.

  “Once the Shelbyville plant closed,” Finn said. “He started dealing full-time. Then using. You know what? It didn’t even take that long for them to get that bad. You’d think something like that would take time—destroying your own life and all—but within six months of the plant closing, they were pretty much like you probably saw them,” she said.

  Barbarism is the natural state of mankind, Parker thought, and barbarism must always ultimately triumph. Out loud he said, “But your family’s not like that?”

  “Like strung-out bikers?” Finn laughed. “No, no. Not like that. Mine and I don’t see eye to eye on anything. My dad is a Seventh Day Adventist Preacher. Met my mom doing Ministry in Korea. My mom,” Finn said, voice rueful. “The stereotypical tiger mom.”

  “Seventh Day Adventists are pretty strict,” Parker admitted.

  “Yeah, the whole coming out as a carpet munch
er didn’t go over well.”

  “Did you explain it like that?” Parker asked, smiling at her. “With all the carpet munching parts left in?”

  Finn laughed. “Okay, okay, you got me. I was trying to see if I could get a rise out of you.”

  “What?” Parker protested, actually laughing out loud. “I can’t be woke?”

  “Oh God,” Finn moaned. “You sounded old as dirt just now.”

  “Kiss my butt,” he told her.

  For a few blocks, Parker allowed himself to be optimistic.

  It proved premature. What happened next happened fast, and escalated quickly.

  Parker and Finn were moving at a good clip and covering ground, Parker avoiding any large groups of people and keeping focus on reaching their destination. After the mind-bending ridiculousness of his last two encounters, it felt good to Parker to be on the move again, but there was a clock running in his head and he very much intended to beat it. Whatever tension soothing effect his small banter with Finn had been providing, the threat to Ava was an incessant metronome in the back of his mind.

  They cut down Evans Avenue, turned left on Goodman Road, and then moved in an easy jog towards the Ohio River. From this vantage, he realized he should have been able to see the lights of Louisville to the southwest, but where the city should have been, there was only darkness. He pushed the troubling implications from his head and moved on.

  They came around the corner of a laundromat in order to cut down an alley, and entered a little parking lot. He immediately recognized the vehicle in front of them as a police transport van utilized to transfer prisoners or inmates between incarcerated facilities. The corrections officer who’d handled this one hung out of the driver side door on the big, box-like vehicle, his holster hanging empty. His body hung limp and a stream of blood ran down his loose-hanging arm and dropped into a puddle on the chipped asphalt.

  Six men in orange jumpsuits were huddled in a group near the body, busily undoing steel shackles from around their ankles. They rose as one at the appearance of Finn and Parker. One convict held the officer’s service Glock and another his baton, while the rest held loops of chains that had been their restraints—all of the items now ready for action in their hands. With something like terror, Parker saw the guard’s pump action .12-gauge shotgun leaning up against the side of the vehicle and within reach of one of the prisoners.