by J. Thorn
Hank popped another donut into his mouth and took a swig of Mountain Dew as James Crosby came up to the desk.
“What are you watching?” James leaned over the counter.
Hank didn’t even try to hide it. He screwed the cap back onto the bottle and kicked his feet up on the desk.
“Really? You’re watching this shit? Man, you really are a faggot.”
“Fuck you, Crosby. Don’t even pretend like you wouldn’t tear any of those bitches up if you had the chance.”
“Yeah, well, they only like dark meat, so good luck with that one. Besides, at least I do get to go home and fuck something besides my hand.”
“I’ve got a girlfriend.”
Crosby laughed. “Yeah, whatever. Anyways, are we on for Friday night? The other guys were thinking we might hit The Bare Bayou after poker. Maybe Lisa will give you another discount lap dance.”
Hank didn’t mind that idea. Lisa resembled Kim Coates more than Kim Kardashian, but she could still get him as stiff as a prison cell mattress.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. But do you guys think you could chill on all the jokes you make about me?”
“Why do you think we even invite you?”
Hank sighed and mumbled. “Fuckers.”
“Jesus, calm down. I’m screwing with you. Just be there, okay? 8 o’clock.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
Crosby smiled. “Now let me out, asshole.”
Hank slid his legs off the desk and reached over to hit the red button. The door buzzed and clicked.
“See you tomorrow, Henry.”
“Later, fucker.”
Crosby exited, and when the door shut behind him, the alarm buzzed again. Hank shook his head and put his feet back up on the desk.
“Stupid asshole.” He scoffed, then laughed.
On the television, the trashy reality TV show returned from commercial break. Kim was walking down the street and into a store. Inside, all the mannequins wore swimsuits.
Hank licked his lips. He knew what was about to come, and it wasn’t just him. He rubbed his cock through his pants, feeling it harden as Kim Kardashian stepped out of the dressing room wearing a blue bikini. She turned around, showing her plump ass cheeks jiggling out of a thong.
“Oh, shit.”
Hank shoved his hand into his pants and grabbed his cock. It grew in his hand as the scene cut to Kim trying on another swimsuit.
“Baby, oh damn.”
He was about to climax when the television went black.
“What the fuck!”
Then all the lights around him went out.
Several seconds later, the generators kicked on. The television hadn’t, but some of the lights had come back.
Hank stood. He’d grabbed a flashlight from his desk drawer and started around the corner to head down the hallway when someone banged on the front door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s James. Open the fucking door.”
Hank pressed the red button near the desk and the front door opened. At least the generator was powering the alarm.
Crosby walked into the building.
“Hey, man. Everything is shut off in here. Then the generators came on. What happened?”
James took a deep breath. “I don’t know, but we’re fucked.”
Hank furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“Go look outside, man,” Crosby said, shaking his head.
With his mouth hanging open, Hank slowly made his way to the door. He took a step out.
Outside, the lights over the door flickered dimly, but the streetlights in the yard were out. It was pitch black outside. Hank walked out to the guard rail on the edge of the parking lot. On the horizon, the city of New Orleans should have been lit up—like it was every night. But now, the lights were gone.
What the fuck?
Hank stepped back inside.
“We’ve got to call somebody. How long are these generators going to last?”
“That’s the other thing,” Crosby said. He held up his phone. “Look at your phone.”
Hank pulled his phone from his pocket. The lock screen background of a half-naked Mila Kunis stared back at him. In the top left corner, he saw “No Service.”
“Phones aren’t supposed to go out in a power outage, right?”
“I don’t think so,” Crosby said. “But if there’s no power to cell towers or switching centers, then…”
From down the hall came a buzz, and then the door opened.
Joey Bowers, a twenty-something-year-old night guard, ran toward them. Sweat had plastered his shaggy bangs to his forehead.
“What the fuck is going on?” Joey asked.
“We were just asking the same thing,” Crosby said.
“It looks like the power is out in the whole city,” Hank said. “Does your phone work?”
“Fuck my phone, you dumb fat-ass! You know what other kinds of problems we have here?”
What had been a low murmur of voices coming from the cell blocks had grown into a chorus of panicked shouting. The grid didn’t just go down. Not for the entire city, with no warning.
Hank swallowed. “Come on, man. You don’t have to act like that. I’m scared, too.”
“Well, you oughta be,” Joey said. “Because those generators only last so long. I will not be here when we have to let the animals out of the zoo. And we will—because the bleeding-heart liberals ain’t gonna let ’em die in there. Nope. Fuck that. If the generators run out, this prison is going to be hell on earth.”
Chapter 23
Outside of the Superdome
New Orleans, LA
A few days after the Blackout…
“They must really think this shit is going to be down for a while.”
A line of people wrapped around the side of the Superdome and extended out onto Lasalle Street. It was late in the afternoon, and officials with the help of volunteers were working to shuffle as many people into the stadium as possible. Over the past couple of evenings, more and more people had taken to the streets, breaking into cars and buildings. The doors to the Superdome would need to be closed by the time night rolled around.
Several groups stood near the lines, holding up signs and yelling for their cause. Most were protesters, asking where the government was and why it had abandoned the city yet again. But there were also groups of people holding up signs in support of their prophesied doomsday scenarios.
Christian groups called for the coming of Jesus. There was a small troop of survivalists decked out in camouflage, claiming that an EMP (electromagnetic pulse) had shut down the city’s power, and blaming Russia or North Korea for the attack. There was even a small group of environmentalists with signs preaching about global warming, though it clearly had nothing to do with the city losing power.
Stationed at the edge of the crowd was a small group of ten people. They held up their own signs, which most people met with laughter or eye rolls as they passed. The leader of this group couldn’t see the derision on their faces, but he could sense the ignorance as each person walked by.
“I do not foresee the power coming back anytime soon,” Papa Midnight said. “The government will be looking in all the wrong places, and by the time they figure out that this wasn’t Russia, North Korea, or ISIS, I’m afraid it will be too late.”
Yvonne didn’t respond. She pushed her sign at a couple walking by. It read, “Repent, for the dark lords have returned.”
Others in the voodoo priest’s group had signs that said things like “Blood for Blood”, “They’re coming for you!” and “Vampires Are Real!”
A trio of frat boys stopped in front of the group. They laughed.
“Can you believe this shit, Troy? These whack jobs think vampires are real.”
“They are real,” Yvonne said. “And they’ve come to claim what is theirs.”
One of the boys with sandy blonde hair faced a redheaded woman in Papa’s group. He looked the attractive, older
redhead up and down.
“I’m real, too, baby. Maybe I should come over there and claim you.”
The frat boy took two steps forward, and then Papa Midnight rose from his seat. He raised his cane, spinning it like a black belt martial artist with a bo-staff. The three guys jumped back.
“Whoa. What the fuck, old man?”
“Ta mère est grosse et ta sœur couche avec des porcs.”
“What was that?”
Papa Midnight stepped forward again, now using his cane for its intended purpose of holding him upright. He found the boys’ faces, apparently scanning each of them—although he saw nothing.
“Only one of the most ancient of voodoo spells. You feel nothing now, no? This will soon change. The spell will bring an unimaginable pain to your gut, and only the one who cursed you can break the spell.”
“You’re fucking crazy, old man!”
Papa Midnight lunged forward, raising his cane as he hissed like a cat. The three frat guys hurried away.
The voodoo priest lowered his cane then and made his way back to his seat.
“What curse was that?” Yvonne asked with concern in her voice. “They were just stupid kids.”
“Rest easy, child. All I said was ‘your mother is fat, and your sister has sex with pigs’ in French.”
Yvonne laughed. “You really scared the shit out of them.”
“And they left you alone. Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. Now, back to your post.”
Papa Midnight and his followers remained outside for three more hours. The line going into the Superdome had thinned by then. Only half of the protestors remained. The others had complained about the heat and retreated to somewhere with shade.
The sun no longer beat down on Papa Midnight’s dark skin, though. The night was coming fast, and with it, the voodoo priest had a strange premonition. He slumped forward in the chair and called to Yvonne.
“Yes?”
“We need to pack up and leave.”
“There’s still probably forty-five minutes of daylight left. And people are still passing by.”
“It does not matter. We must find somewhere else to camp. We can’t be here.”
“All right.” There was more than a hint of confusion in the woman’s voice. She wanted to pry, but respected the voodoo priest enough to listen.
Yvonne went to the others and told them it was time to pack up and leave. They folded their chairs and began to take up the beach umbrellas they’d brought to keep the sun off of their heads.
Papa Midnight wandered to the corner of Lasalle Street and Sugar Bowl Drive. Like many other blind people, he had experienced his other senses growing more powerful due to his lack of sight—most heightened had been his sense of hearing. The voodoo priest had astonished others with his ability to hear someone walking in high heels from a mile away, sometimes literally. Now, he glanced east down Poydras Street, then west. He blocked out the sound of the Christian protesters still screaming about the second coming of Christ and focused his hearing.
From his right, he heard a crash. Glass breaking. Shouting. Screaming.
Then there was an explosion.
Footsteps approached from behind him.
“What was that?” Yvonne asked.
“We have to go. Now!”
Yvonne raced back to their group, and Papa Midnight followed as fast as his old legs would take him.
“Hurry and grab our things,” Yvonne said to the others.
“Forget them. We must go now,” Papa Midnight said.
“But we have to—”
Tires squealed, burning rubber on Poydras Street. The sound of more glass breaking came.
“Wooooo!”
The call had come from the street.
“Oh God,” Yvonne said.
“What do you see?” Papa Midnight asked.
“Three pickup trucks. Men are standing in the back, and they’re shouting and throwing bottles at cars, and they’re exploding.”
“We have to go now before—”
Rapid gunfire sprayed the area. Screams filled the space around them. Bodies hit the ground, and people cried out in agony.
“Run!”
There was so much panic that Papa Midnight couldn’t benefit from his heightened sense of sound. Gunfire, explosions, and screaming overwhelmed his sensitive ears.
A hand took his wrist.
“Come on!” Yvonne said.
The voodoo priest moved faster than he had in years. His back ached as he stayed low, keeping hold of Yvonne’s hand.
They eventually stopped, and he fought to catch his breath. Others gasped around him. He could still hear the gunshots and explosions, but they were farther away now. Yvonne stood next to him, and she was crying.
“Are we safe?” Papa Midnight asked.
“We’re in an alley behind a dumpster.”
The smell had hit his nostrils, so it made sense to Papa Midnight.
“Is everyone here?”
Yvonne sniffled, delaying her answer. “Nick didn’t make it. They shot him. And Emily hasn’t made it here yet. Did anyone see her?”
No one had, giving them hope that she was alive but might have gotten lost.
“Cars are on fire in the street,” Yvonne said. “They mowed people down in the crowd. What is happening?”
Papa Midnight dropped his head. “The chaos has begun. And without unity, we cannot survive.”
Chapter 24
On the boat
New Orleans, LA
The present…
Dax had managed to get some sleep, finally crashing from mental exhaustion more so than physical tiredness. He’d been thinking about everything Papa Midnight had said about Kevin.
When he woke, only a few hours had passed. It was dawn, and the sun was struggling to break through an overcast sky. The rain had stopped, but the clouds and humidity hinted at more to come.
Papa Midnight was asleep, still lying on his back. He snored loudly. Dax shook his head, wondering how he’d managed to get any sleep, himself.
Leaving the wheelhouse to grab some fresh air, Dax carefully closed the door behind him so that he didn’t wake the voodoo priest. After he had climbed down the ladder, he peeked inside of the cabin. He could see Monica asleep on a bed, but Darius was nowhere to be seen. He was about to go inside when he heard a noise coming from the bow of the ship. Dax moved slowly around the side of the cabin, trying to keep his boots from making too much noise.
When he arrived at the front of the boat, he saw Darius. The boy sat in a chair, staring out over the water. Dax sniffled so Darius would hear him without being startled.
“Hey,” Darius said quietly before returning his attention to the water.
“You mind if I sit next to you?”
Darius shrugged. He was sitting in a folding lawn chair. Dax glanced about to see if there was another lying around, before deciding to sit on the deck with his back against the wall.
Darius grabbed a soda can and tossed it into the water. Then he did the same with a small cardboard box, throwing it like a frisbee.
“You know that’s littering?” Dax asked, laughing.
“Don’t care.”
Dax threw a can into the water as well. “Come on, man. I’m just messin’ with you.”
“I’m not in the mood to be messed with.”
“You in the mood to tell me what’s going on?”
“Not really.”
“Come on, Darius. You can’t sit there and act like everything is okay when it’s not. You can talk to me. I want you to talk to me.”
The boy turned away, shaking his head. Dax leaned in. He held his arms out, inviting Darius to speak openly.
“Why did he have to die?”
The image of Kevin came to Dax’s mind. It was one he would never forget. And for as long as he lived, he would be asking himself the exact same question that Darius had asked him now.
“I don’t know how to answe
r that. But what I will tell you is that I will stop at nothing to make sure his death is avenged.”
“But that won’t bring him back.”
The two were silent for a moment, and then Darius looked up at Dax. “He’s dead. Right, Dax?”
It was another question Dax didn’t know how to answer. How could he lie? Serafino was sure to use Kevin against him, meaning that they would see the boy again. Instead of an answer, Dax decided to try changing the subject.
“Look, you need something to take your mind off of all this. Are you hungry?”
“Of course. But there isn’t anything to eat here.”
“You sure about that?”
Darius nodded. “Monica and I looked everywhere last night.”
Dax looked to the sky, then stood. He looked toward the mall, where several nearby buildings stretched into the sky and above the flood line.
“Come on,” Dax said.
“Where are we going?”
“Where do you think? To find food.”
“Okay.” Darius stood. “I’ll go wake Monica and the weird guy.”
“No need. We can go. Just the two of us.”
“What about them?”
Dax pointed to the shining sun in the sky. “They’ll be fine. Ain’t no Screamers gonna risk a sunburn.”
Darius chuckled.
Dax gestured toward the side of the boat. “Come on.”
With Darius at his side, Dax walked down the dock which stretched around the corner and to the back entrance of a seafood restaurant. Looking around, though, he saw how bad things had gotten. He’d been so focused on keeping the children safe that he hadn’t paid much attention to what was happening in the city. The lively and bustling streets had been drowned beneath several feet of sludgy, toxic water. Dax had seen so few people that he wasn’t even sure if the Screamers had gotten them or if they had fled the city, heading to higher ground.
The windows of buildings had been shattered by looters, and the floodwaters had pushed cars into piles. Although he saw fewer bodies floating now, the heavy stench of death made him gag. Lines of black smoke hung over parts of the city, and Dax didn’t want to think about what would happen if the oil refineries caught fire.
