Survivors

by Rich Goldhaber

  “I met my wife Gloria at school. We got married as soon as we graduated, and our daughter arrived two years later. I was in the injection molding business. My partner and I developed a process for manufacturing plastic cups. Actually, he was the one who developed the process. I was the business guy who ran the company. It’s funny, Bruce was a genius, but he had no idea of how to run a business.

  “Anyway, we sold the business last year. I got a little over twenty million dollars. A hell of a lot of good it’s going to do me now.”

  Jessie said, “So you know how to organize and plan things. That means we’re going to need your skills to survive. I’m going to be counting on you.”

  I thought about Jessie’s comment. She was probably right; I did have the organizational skills to help us survive. “Come on,” I said, “let’s find the other unlucky survivors.”

  We toweled off and walked back into the house. Jessie said, “My clothes are dirty. Can I borrow some of your wife’s clothes?”

  “Of course, I’m sure she’d want you to have whatever you like.”

  Chapter 2

  Twenty minutes later we were ready to leave. I had shaved with some cold water from the pool, and I almost looked presentable. I had been thinking about the best place to look for survivors. “Let’s take two cars. All things being equal, we should find the most survivors in the most densely populated areas. So let’s drive through Pelican Bay. There’re some high-rise condos along the beach. Then we can drive through Venetian Village. There must be fifty high-rise buildings there. We can finish our search in downtown Naples. Survivors may have congregated there.”

  It was a plan, and the two of us drove our cars out onto Livingston Road. I had no idea of what to expect. I hadn’t ventured outside my community in the last three weeks. Not unexpectedly, the road was deserted. From time to time we passed abandoned cars, and I even saw some birds picking at the remains of a dead body by the side of the road. I looked the other way, and I assumed it wouldn’t be the last dead person I would see eaten by a variety of animals. A morbid thought crossed my mind; the rat population would swell in the next few months as their food supply grew beyond their greatest expectations.

  We turned right onto Vanderbilt Beach Road and entered the upscale Pelican Bay community just west of Route 41. We passed through an unguarded gate and stopped our cars in front of a group of condos spread out along the beachfront. We both began leaning on our horns trying to signal our arrival to anyone who might be around.

  A woman stepped out onto a balcony about ten stories up in one of the nearby condos. She was holding a little baby and waved to us. Jessie and I motioned for her to come down. The woman seemed to understand and disappeared inside her unit.

  Ten minutes later a lady who looked in her sixties hurried over to the car and greeted us. “My name’s Mary Higgins. I was hoping someone would come by. This is Carla. She’s not mine; her mom died last week, and I’ve been taking care of her.”

  After introducing ourselves, I asked, “Is there anyone else alive?” Mary began to cry. She finally cleared her throat and said, “I haven’t seen anyone else. I couldn’t get into any of the other buildings; they’re all locked up, but I haven’t seen anyone outside on the street for about a week. There may be little children in some of these condos who are still alive, but I have no way of knowing.”

  Here was our first major decision. Should we break into each building to search for little kids who didn’t know how to leave their homes? It might take hours. There were nine buildings in the complex. We would have to break into each highrise, climb up to the top floor, and knock on each door. Of course we could try to break into each unit, but that would take several days to accomplish. “Mary, did you check the units in your building?”

  “I knocked on every door and listened for any sounds. That’s how I found Carla. She was crying. I broke the lock with my husband’s gun. He died a couple years back but I still keep his shotgun.”

  I looked at Jessie. “I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself if we don’t at least try to check each building.”

  Jessie said, “Let’s do it; it’s the right thing to do.” We let Mary stay with little Carla while Jessie and I split up and began a systematic search of each high-rise building. Entry was not an easy task. In the first building I could enter the lobby, but the door leading to the elevators and stairways was locked. With no power and nobody at the guard’s desk there was no way to get inside.

  I solved the problem by throwing a heavy table lamp through the glass door. I reached in carefully and unlocked the door from the inside. This building was about twenty stories high, and it took another few minutes to climb the stairs to the top floor. I screamed at no one in particular and began walking down the hallway banging on doors. I listened for any sounds, anything indicating the presence of another living person.

  The smell of death was overpowering and permeated the hallways throughout the building. Decaying human flesh; the smell is like nothing else you can imagine, and I would learn to recognize this characteristic odor for many months to come.

  It took me thirty minutes to walk through all twenty floors, and I heard no sign of another survivor. After touching base with Mary, I advanced to the next building. This one was only sixteen stories, and now I knew how to break through to the stairways, so it only took a few minutes to reach the top floor. I worked my way down to the eleventh floor, and that’s where I found little Jack. He looked around four years old, and he was playing with a red Tonka fire engine in the hallway.

  He looked up, seemingly not surprised to see another person. “Hi, my name’s Jim; what’s your name?”

  “Hi, I’m Jack. My mommy said someone would come for me.”

  “Where is your mommy?”

  “She’s in our apartment in the bedroom.” Jack led me into his unit, and I saw his mother lying on the bed in the master bedroom. “Mommy’s asleep now. She needs her rest. She told me she was sick.”

  Of course Jack’s mommy had been dead for many days, and the smell from her decaying flesh was intense. I lifted Jack into my arms and kissed him on his cheek. “Jack, your mommy called me on the phone a few days back and asked me to take care of you until she got better. We need to leave now, okay?”

  “Can I take my fire engine with me?” “Sure Jack. When was the last time you ate?” “I ate this morning. Mommy left all the food out on the kitchen counter. I ate a thousand Oreo Cookies and apple juice. Then I went poop in the toilet, but the toilet doesn’t work anymore.”

  Jack and I continued to search for survivors, but the rest of the building was empty. Mary took care of Jack while I continued searching the other buildings. It took another two hours to explore the remaining condos, and when Jessie and I were done we had only found Mary, Jack, and little Carla. Before we left the area, Mary and Jessie spent another thirty minutes getting baby formula, diapers and other supplies for Carla.

  Mary sat in the front seat of Jessie’s car with Carla in her arms. I guessed she wouldn’t be getting a ticket for the lack of a car seat. I asked Jack if he wanted to sit in the front seat with me. He didn’t answer; he just jumped into my car, and I helped him put on his seatbelt.

  We slowly cruised through the rest of Pelican Bay making a lot of noise with our two horns blaring. We stopped periodically and waited for survivors. I thought of the little kids who were trapped just like Jack in their homes. They were alive, but wouldn’t be for very long. Perhaps tomorrow we would drive by again, and if we could find enough survivors, we would do a more complete search. I began to understand the moral dilemma faced by doctors on the battlefield who just had to let the severely injured die in order to save as many soldiers as possible.

  We finally left Pelican Bay and headed south to Venetian Village. This narrow key just west of Route 41 consisted of a mile long strip of condos and apartments with a centrally located shopping center. The bay area looked a lot like Venice; thus the name Venetian Village.

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sp; I looked at my watch. It was already almost two o’clock. We could easily spend a full two days trying to find survivors, and I didn’t think my body could withstand climbing up dozens of thirty story buildings. As we drove over the short bridge leading into the residential section, I was surprised to see a group of people milling around the shopping center’s parking lot. Jessie and I parked our cars in an open area, and we all walked over to the small group of survivors.

  A bald man in his sixties with a beer belly walked up to us and embraced each of us in turn. We were immediately surrounded by the seven people in the parking lot. Everyone seemed to realize all of us were now one large extended family, and somehow if we were going to survive, it would be because we all worked together. Nothing was said; it was just something each of the adults understood.

  Stan Kolinsky, the bald guy, walked us over to a grouping of tables and chairs and asked if we wanted some hot coffee. It was already over eighty degrees, but the idea of a real cup of coffee sounded great. The group had set up a few Weber grills and was using charcoal to heat a large pot. Stan dipped a ladle into the pot and poured three cups of a mixture of grounds and coffee into some Styrofoam cups. Then we all sat down on some chairs in the shade. Jack found a new friend; Bobby was his name, and both of them immediately began playing with Jack’s fire engine. A young girl around ten years old named Ruth Putnam joined the three adult men and two older women named Margaret Fein and Janet Walters, and we all moved our chairs into a large circle.

  It took us a few minutes to make all of the introductions. Stan, George Miller, and Bill Smith, the three adult males in the group, explained they had spent the last four days breaking into each of the buildings along the strip and these seven survivors were all that were left of this once vibrant community.

  Stan said, “We know we can’t stay here much longer; nothing’s working, and most of our homes are at least ten stories up.”

  I explained we had already checked out most of Pelican Bay, and given what the CDC had told us about survival rates, the twelve of us were just about what was to be expected from the areas we had searched.

  Stan seemed to be in charge, and it was also clear Stan didn’t have a plan. Of course I didn’t really have a plan either, but I decided to wing it. “I’m assuming everyone except for Ruth has access to cars?”

  Everyone shook their heads yes. “Okay, let me offer a suggestion. Why don’t we all get in our cars and drive slowly into downtown Naples. We can look for more survivors along the way. Some people may have decided to gather in the downtown area just like you folks were doing here. We can spend the night down there. I’m sure we can find some abandoned homes. Our first priority is to locate survivors, and then we need to figure out what to do next. We’re going to need food and water, and somehow we’ve got to figure out how to get the infrastructure back up and working.”

  My suggestion was met with mixed reactions. Margaret was crying, “This is my home I can’t just leave it.”

  “Margaret,” I said, “we’ve all lost loved ones. This is our new family. We’re all in this together. We need to figure out what to do, but for sure we all need to stay together, and that means none of us will be staying in our old homes. We’ll work this out Margaret; I promise you, we’ll all work this out together.”

  Margaret was still crying and Janet embraced her. Margaret looked in her eighties. She was no taller than my own mother who was an inch taller than five feet, and Margaret must have weighed in at no more than 100 pounds. She walked with a slight limp, probably in need of a new hip; but other than that, she seemed in good shape.

  Finally Margaret said, “I’m just an old sentimental lady who lost my husband, my children, and my grandchildren. This home has all of my memories, and it’s hard to leave. I’m just going to be a drain on all you youngsters; I’m too old to be of much help. I live on the twenty-first floor of the Swan, right over there. My husband Lou died last week. He died in a chair on our balcony. He said that’s where he wanted to die. I couldn’t bury him. He’s just sitting up there looking out at the beach he loved, and I think the best thing is if I just go on up there and die next to him. I’m mad at God for letting me live. I should have died with most everyone else”

  “No Margaret, you’re wrong. Everyone here has something to offer. What did you do before all this happened?”

  “I was a librarian.” I quickly responded. “We’re going to need your exact skill. We’re going to have to put together a complete technical library to understand how to rebuild the infrastructure. You’re going to know how to do that. We’re going to have to find the right kind of books to educate Carla and Jack and Bobby and Ruth. We’re all going to need your skills to be able to do it right. We need you Margaret. We all need you.”

  I walked over and gave Margaret a hug; it just seemed like the right thing to do, and then all of us just huddled together and did the family hug thing.

  George said, “You’re right Jim; together we can make it work. Let’s go along with your plan. It makes sense, and tonight maybe we can figure out how to make things work again.”

  Perhaps I had misread George. Although Stan seemed to be the lead guy in the group, George might actually be a leader; maybe the silent type, but a leader nonetheless.

  We headed off in a seven car caravan and followed Gulf Shore Blvd. all the way into downtown Naples. We moved down Fifth Avenue, the main drag in town, but the place was deserted except for two dead bodies lying outside a restaurant. I turned away in disgust as a team of rats were having an uninterrupted feast.

  I turned right on Ninth Street and noticed a bright red Ferrari cruising the street. I leaned on the horn, and the high-end sports car braked hard. Our caravan stopped near the pricey automobile, and everyone stepped out to greet the new survivor.

  A man in his late twenties with a week-old beard walked up to me. For unknown reasons he thought I was in charge. “Thank God, I thought I was the last living person. Where did you guys come from?”

  I answered, “We’re from further up north. Jessie and I have been picking up survivors as we drove down here.”

  “I’m Blaine Peters. I’ve been driving around town for two days looking for people, but I haven’t found anyone yet.”

  We spent the next half hour introducing everyone and explaining the need to stay together and continue to look for survivors. “We need a place to stay tonight. Do you have any ideas?” I asked.

  Blaine said, “You can all stay at my house. Our place has ten bedrooms, more than enough for everyone; and we’ve got a generator, so we still have electricity.”

  Our caravan followed the red Ferrari down Gordon Drive into Port Royal, the city’s most prestigious section. If your home was less than 10,000 square feet you were considered a pauper. Blaine turned left onto Fort Charles Drive and pulled into the last driveway at the end of the block. He parked his Ferrari in the garage, and the rest of us found ample parking in the long driveway.

  I had never been in one of these megamansions, and this one seemed to go on forever. Blaine led us through a black wrought iron gate and into an expansive courtyard. A huge fountain looked impressive even without water cascading down its multiple levels. We followed him through a massive wooden front door and entered the main house.

  Chapter 3

  We all stood in the foyer and marveled at the incredible elegance of Blaine’s home. All except for Jack who immediately said, “I have to go peepee.”

  “Me too,” echoed Bobby. Blaine led the two young boys to a nearby bathroom. He left them there, and said he had to get a bucket of water from the pool to flush the toilet. I guess all the money in the world couldn’t buy running water. I suddenly realized this pandemic was going to be the great equalizer. Wealth no longer meant anything. If I wanted to, I could break into a jewelry store and take a million dollars in diamonds, but what could I buy with a million dollars’ worth of diamonds? Diddly-squat, that’s what.

  While the boys were doing their thing, the re
st of us just wandered around the first floor. The place was certainly at least 20,000 square feet, and the estate covered over three acres.

  I noticed some original oil on canvas paintings on the living room wall: one Picasso, a Dali, and two Chagalls. I wasn’t an expert on art, but I was certain the collection was worth several million dollars.

  After helping the boys flush the toilet, Blaine joined us. “We’ve got power, but I’ve turned off the air-conditioning in the main living area to save fuel. Let’s meet out on the patio.”

  He led the way out the backdoor. The lavish lanai and expansive outdoor kitchen were something my wife would have loved to have. Our group rearranged some tables and chairs so we were all close together. I asked Blaine, “Do you have some pads of paper and pens. We need to do some serious planning, and we’re going to have to take notes.”

  As Blaine left to get the paper and pens, he told us to get some cold drinks from the tiki bar. The large refrigerator under the bar had a wide assortment of beverages. Some of the adults took beers, and the rest of us grabbed bottles of water.

  Blaine returned with writing materials, and for some reason everyone was looking at me. One of us had to start things off, and I guess it was me. “All of us have lost loved ones, and the easiest thing is for us to just sit back and grieve, and God knows we have a lot to grieve about. But that attitude is going to be counterproductive right now.

  “The way I see it, we have to focus our attention in just a few areas. We need to find permanent shelter for all of us. We need food and water, and we’re going to have to figure out a way to get the electricity up and running. The electricity is the key; if we’ve got electricity, then we can fix the water supply and the toilets can be made to work. Figuring these things out is our highest priority. So let’s start with where we live. It can’t be here.”