“A busy signal? You’re talking about 9-1-1, right?” Fish asked.
“Yeah. 9-1-1 was busy last night.” Gilson replied, somberly.
*****
Stephen listened as the the Emergency Alert System repeated the message twice, and then the radio station resumed its regular talk show. Stephen, shaken by the message, was making a left turn onto Highway 20 from Swantown when he noticed a squad car in his rear view mirror, approaching his tail at high speed. He thought for a second that he might have been going too fast while listening to the emergency broadcast, not paying enough attention to his speedometer, but he was wrong. As he moved his truck to the side of the highway, the squad car sped past, lights flashing and siren blaring. He began to drive back out onto Highway 20 when another police cruiser screamed by alongside him, almost side-swiping his truck.
“Jesus Christ!” Stephen yelled, and immediately took a right onto the nearest side street. His nerves were now shot, and he needed to take a quick breather. A lot had happened in such a short time, and Stephen wasn’t very good at handling chaos. Additionally, he wanted to call his wife to tell her what he had just heard on the radio.
*****
Fish tried to mentally absorb Gilson’s story as he logged into his computer to check his email. How in the hell could 9-1-1 be busy? There wasn’t a single message in his inbox, which was odd. He then noticed that the Outlook server was offline. Figures. The meds that Fish had taken when he first arrived at the office began to relieve his head and body ache, but he was still upset about the phone call with Connie, so he did something that he had not done in over a year.
“Gilson, you said you smoked cigarettes, right?” Fish asked.
“Yes, I do. Trying to quit though.”
“Can I get one off you, please?” Fish asked, pacing around the office. Gilson looked up at him, confused. He knew that Fish did not normally smoke, but he dug a pack of Marlboro lights out of his uniform anyway and offered it to his supervisor.
“Thanks, man.” Fish said, and thought, ahhh, my man here is carrying the good ones. He pulled out a smoke and walked out of the office. The smoking area was right outside the hangar, and usually populated with a dozen or more sailors at all times throughout the day. Fish thought it was weird that only one guy was puffing away out there, and it was Chief Donovan. Chief Donovan was one of Chief Worts’ buddies, but he was actually one of the ‘cool chiefs’ and Fish got along with him rather well.
“Hey, chief.” Fish spoke as he lit up his cigarette. It had been so long since he had one that the nicotine instantly buzzed him, and he started feeling better. Way better, really.
“Howdy, Hooker. Haven’t seen you out here in a while.” Chief Donovan said.
“Too much shit on my plate, yo. Needed a break.” Fish laughed.
“I hear ya on that!” The chief laughed with him, and then his face assumed a serious stance. He said, “Did you hear that it’s official now?”
“What’s official?” Fish asked curiously.
“That we’re not getting paid on the fifteenth.” The chief informed him as he blew the final puff of his cigarette out of his nose and snubbed it out in the plastic tower butt can.
“Are you serious?” Fish asked, doubtfully.
“As serious as the Superbowl. Really sucks, eh?” The chief said. Fish thought about his bar tab from the night before, and whether or not he was going to make it until the next payday, if there even was another payday in the near future. He thought about how the conversation with the owner would go. Shit, sorry man. Didn’t get paid this payday. Spot me until the first? Or next month? Or next year? C’mon, you know me! I’m good for it! Maybe he could just avoid the place for a while. That, however, was not a likely option.
Chief Donovan could tell that the news greatly disturbed Fish, because he was just staring off into space in a daze.
The chief walked up next to him and said, “Your old buddy Alexander is still on terminal leave, right? You might want to let him know. He probably isn’t getting the word anymore like the rest of us.” The chief patted Fish on the shoulder and finished with, “Hang in there, bud.” And then walked away. Fish finally exhaled, he had held his breath when the chief approached him, as he did not want him to smell the previous night’s liquor coming out of him.
Fish’s phone jingled a text notification, and Fish thought it was strange because moments earlier he had no signal at all. It briefly reminded him of Afghanistan, how the haji phones over there could text just fine (most of the time), but phone calls were difficult to make and often cut out during the conversation. The text was from Chief Worts, informing Fish that he would not be coming to work that day, and he ordered Fish to ‘hold down the fork’ until the next day. Hold down the fork? Did you mean ‘FORT’, dipshit? He thought about texting that in response, but abandoned the idea. Fish was disappointed, because now he would’t be able to find out why Connie had stayed home. It was just going to be him and Gilson for the rest of the day.
*****
Stephen dug his phone out of his jacket pocket to call Tarra, and noticed that his phone was now roaming. Roaming? That’s not right. Not in this part of town. Something is wrong. He thought. The only time his phone would roam was when he took Tarra and the Kays hiking near Deception Pass. He would receive a “Welcome Abroad!” message from his service provider. He assumed that he was picking up a Canadian signal or something like that.
Stephen didn’t want to make the call while roaming, so he journeyed back to Highway 20 and made his way to Walmart. He would tell Tarra about the message when he got home. He figured she probably already knew anyway, since the Emergency Alert System covered television as well. Both the Walmart and nearby Albertson’s parking lots were nearly empty, and he said aloud, “Yes!” as he parked his truck and walked to the entrance. The sliding doors did not respond to his presence and immediately open, as they normally did. In fact, they did not open at all. There was a piece of paper taped to the inside of the door.
CLOSED TEMPORARILY DUE TO RESTOCKING ISSUES. WE WILL REOPEN WHEN POSSIBLE. PLEASE CONTINUE TO CHECK WALMART.COM REGULARLY FOR UPDATES. –MGMT
Stephen remained in place, staring at the sign, as if suddenly the restocking issues would be resolved and the doors would open up for him. Pipe dream.
“Ah, shit. These guys are closed too?” A man said, from behind him. Stephen flinched, startled. He did not hear the overweight, middle-aged man in a Seahawks jacket and ballcap approach.
“Yeah, they’re closed.” Stephen said to the man.
The man got a closer look at the sign, then turned to Stephen and said, “Safeway’s closed too. And so is the Country Store and a bunch of others. What the hell, right?”
“Right, I hear you. I guess I’ll try Walgreens.” Stephen laughed, and began to walk away. He was uncomfortable near the man, he appeared harmless enough, but he had a shady air about him. And a smell. Like alcohol or cheap aftershave, one of the two, or both. Stephen was good at reading people, and this one was a bad apple.
The man hustled to catch up with Stephen and said, “Hey buddy, this might sound a little weird, but do you have any groceries or asswipe you could sell me? The old lady is gonna be pissed if I come home empty handed, if ya know what I mean. I’ve got cash.”
Stephen felt bad for the guy, but couldn’t (wouldn’t) help him. “Sorry, I can’t help you. I’m in the same boat you are!” He said, trying to laugh a bit, and picked up his pace, trying to evade the man. He hoped that was the end of the conversation, but it was not.
“I could really, really use some toilet paper. Do you have any extra at your house that you could spare me? I could follow you home quick. Like I said, I have cash!” The man asked, hustling to keep up with Stephen as they neared his parked truck. Stephen was no longer empathetic for the man, and the fear of a confrontation succumbed him. He just wanted the fat guy to go away and leave him alone.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I am not going home. I have lots of errands to
run today, and I don’t have any asswipe to spare, regardless. Good luck to you, though.” Stephen said, his tone very abrupt and final. The man, however, was not finished with his sales pitch yet.
“C’mon brother, twenty bucks for two rolls. Help a guy out. Easy money, eh?” He laughed as he walked, trying to cordial, but it came off as creepy. Stephen was now afraid. The man was too persistent, too pushy, too personal. Follow me home? Not in a million years, buddy!
“Like I said, I’m sorry.” Stephen said as he climbed into his truck and closed the door, practically in the Seahawks fan’s face. He quickly locked the door and put his key in the ignition, not looking back at the desperate man outside his window.
“Military asshole.” The fat guy said. He flapped a fat hand toward Stephen and then thankfully walked the other direction to his own vehicle.
Stephen let out a sign of relief and left the Walmart parking lot. His next stop was around the corner and down the block, to Walgreens. Even though he was on edge from the disturbing encounter, he was still on a mission to obtain those much-needed containers to store fresh water in. At the first lighted intersection, he checked his rear view mirror to make sure the Seahawks fan wasn’t behind him, and there was no sign of the guy.
When Stephen neared Walgreens, he soon realized why the squad cars had passed him earlier. The entire lot was full of customer and police vehicles, and there was a crowd amassed at the entrance. There seemed to be quite a bit of activity there, and Stephen wasn’t sure if it was a fight or a disturbance of some type. Policemen were moving around amongst the people in the crowd. It looked too chaotic for Stephen to deal with, so he double-backed on Highway 20 to check Kmart instead. Maybe they were still open. If people were in such a rush to gather up whatever food was left on the island, maybe they wouldn’t bother with Kmart, since they didn’t sell any. Wishful thinking?
On his way to Kmart, Stephen thought of the heavyweight Seahawks fan, and what he had said to him in the parking lot. “Like I said, I have cash!” Cash. Cash, indeed. Stephen decided that cash was a pretty damn good idea, with all that was going on and everything. He drove past Kmart, looking over at the parking lot, and there was a ton of vehicles there as well, but the place looked open. Or so it appeared from his point of view. That was good news. But cash was the first priority. What if all the credit and debit card systems failed all of sudden? Those with the cash-in-hand would rule the day. And then some.
Stephen arrived at Navy Federal Credit Union, which was only a few intersections past Kmart. Once again, the parking lot was full. Stephen parked towards the rear of the lot and walked past several nervous customers on their way to their vehicles. They were uneasy and watchful as they passed him. Way too uneasy. Spooked, or something.
The line for the tellers had spilled outside the entrance, and many were waiting outside in the cold. Stephen noticed a sign taped to the glass on the double door entrance, much like the Walmart one, that read: ALL WITHDRAWALS LIMITED TO 500 DOLLARS OR LESS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. One woman standing in line pointed at the sign and commented to a young man behind her, “They can’t do that, can they?”
But they could. And that sucked. Stephen had planned to pull out at least a few thousand, just in case. Tarra would be proud of him for his forward thinking. The line for the ATM machine wasn’t nearly as long as the teller line, and Stephen knew the machine’s daily limit was five hundred dollars. But, he had another account with a different bank as well. Two separate withdrawals would net him a cool grand if he did that instead. He made the decision to use the ATM machine and became a nervous customer in the parking lot himself, just like the ones he had passed, as he cautiously strode back to his truck with a thousand dollars worth of crisp twenties in his pocket.
*****
Tarra left the house in the Prius, and drove up Loerland Drive towards the elementary school. She had frantically tried to contact the school with the Alexander’s landline, but she received nothing more than a busy signal. Her plan was to get the Kays home as quickly as possible. She had a very keen feeling that bad things were about to happen. Imminently.
As Tarra reached the first stop sign, her cell phone went off. It was Stephen.
“Hey babe, sorry to call you while I’m roaming, but it’s important.” He said.
“It’s okay, mine’s roaming too.”
Stephen said, “I think you should pull the Kays out of school today. The entire city of Oak Harbor is a total mess right now.”
“I’m two steps ahead of you, honey. I’m already on my way.”
“Good, good! Did you hear that they declared martial law in Seattle, Tacoma, Everett and Bellingham?”
“Yes I did. It was all that was on the news this morning. Those damn protesters! I don’t think it’s going to be very long before it spreads. It shouldn’t reach the island, but -”
Her phone cut off. Stephen called her back, and gratefully it rang. He said, “I’ll make this quick. I’m on my way to Kmart, it seems to be the only place still open.”
“Stephen, do whatever you need to do to get those containers. Water is life. Then get your ass home, ya hear me, fool?”
“I hear ya, honey.” Stephen laughed. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
And that would conclude the last phone call Stephen and Tarra would ever make to each other. As Tarra neared the elementary, she observed a disordered mess. A long line of cars, SUVs and pickups cascaded down the block toward the entrance of the school from both directions. To make matters worse, it had begun to rain. Cold, Whidbey winter rain. It was already windy, and the rain fell at an angle. In the distance, Tarra could see two elderly ladies in blaze-orange crossing guard vests holding STOP signs trying to direct traffic. Everyone seemed to be ignoring them, cutting each other off, honking and hollering as they all tried to squeeze into the school’s driveway at the same time. Had they just followed the women’s orders, the line would likely have moved quickly.
Tarra could not see the school at that point, and as she watched the frigid rain batter her windshield, her mind began to wander, and she wondered if they had all the children waiting outside for their rides. She didn’t see any schoolbuses entering or departing the campus, so it was parent pick-up only. Are my twins standing outside in this wintry shit?
The line wasn’t moving fast enough for her taste. Tarra grew impatient. All of the idiots at the access point were trying to force their way in simultaneously, despite the frustrated crossing guards attempts to quell the chaos. Her children were standing outside in the wind and rain for god’s sake!
The line inched forward again, but only slightly, and Tarra decided that enough was enough. She glanced over at the sidewalk, and thoughtfully calculated the distance between the residential fencelines and the streetlights. Was the car narrow enough to make it? She mentally debated the possibility, abandoned it, but then thought again of her poor little Kays freezing in the rain.
“Come on baby, let’s find out if our ass is skinny enough!” she exclaimed to her beloved car, rubbing the top of the dashboard. When the convoy inched forward again, she snuck into the closest driveway and crawled the Prius up onto the sidewalk. As she cleared the first streetlight, Tarra discovered that she had inches on both sides of the car to spare, and floored it. “Haha, bitches!” She yelled as she blew past the entire idiot happy hour beside her. Upon reaching the entrance, she cut off an angry silver sedan as her tires barked off the curb and onto the elementary’s driveway.
One of the two crossing guards had ran towards her, holding up her bright red STOP sign and waving her other arm in protest, but she was too late. Tarra had already scuttled the traffic and was on her way to the school’s pickup point. She whooped and laughed when she looked in her rear view mirror and saw the defeated little old lady standing in the rain, her rain soaked white hair plastered around her red visor and along the sides of her head, her orange vest flapping away in the frigid Whidbey wind, but then felt a little bad about it. Poor old
gal was only trying to help out, she was probably just a volunteer, too. Oh well. The Kays were more important.
Chapter 15 – The Rudehouse Invitation
Tarra and Stephen arrived at home at nearly the same time, which Tarra thought was odd because Stephen needed to stop and pick up those containers. The wind and the rain had not let up, in fact, had gotten worse. Stephen had instructed Tarra to park the Prius behind the house, away from Swantown Road, and slowly followed her down the rain-soaked, sloping driveway with his truck. Once everyone was safely inside the house, Tarra sent the Kays to their room so she could talk to Stephen.
“Were you able to score anything?” She asked.
“Nope. Kmart shut down just as I got there, the workers were shuffling the last few pissed off people out the door. An angry mob was developing outside the entrance, so I took off. The same thing was happening over at Walgreens, the cops were already there.” Stephen said, hoping that his wife would not be upset with him. She wasn’t.
Stephen added, “I think all the stores are taking a moment to jack up all the prices on everything, and then they’ll open up again.”
Tarra sighed and said, “Don’t worry about it, hun. We’ll figure it out.” She knew better. They would not likely open again for a long, long time.
“Actually, I already did, on my way back home. I still have all my stuff from before we were married in those giant Tupperware tubs in the basement. They are of a solid plastic construction. I can clean those out and fill them up.”
Tarra shivered and said, “You go right ahead and do that, I don’t want to mess with those spiders down there!”
Stephen laughed and said, “Spiders are the least of our worries right now. I have no idea how long services are going to hold up. Electricity is probably gonna go out, water soon after.”
THE COLLAPSE: Swantown Road Page 12
