Time Lost: Teenage Survivalist II

by Casey, Julie L.

  — Yeah, she spelled it with an “h.”

  I paused for an uncomfortable second, then said,

  — She died a few weeks ago. My dad, too.

  I looked away and squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears that were prickling at the back of them. Her voice was quiet when she answered.

  — Oh, I’m sorry. My parents died last month. The flu.

  — Yeah, mine, too.

  I didn’t feel like explaining about the fire. I didn’t really want to talk about them at all, but just knowing that Sara and I were both orphans made me feel suddenly close to her, like we belonged to some secret club that only orphans could be in. She must have felt the same because she reached out and took my hand in hers and we continued walking around the block like that until we got cold and headed back to the house.

  — Are you going to stay at Uncle Roger’s?

  — I was hoping to, but it looks kind of crowded now. Maybe I should just find somewhere else.

  — Do you have anywhere else to go?

  — I don’t know. I’ll find something.

  I shrugged and looked away.

  — No, please stay, for a while at least. They’re already talking about sending us back to school and I’m not going. So I may not be here for very long either. How about you? Do you want to go back? To school, I mean?

  I’d never even thought about going back to school. After all I’d been through, after all everyone had been through, it just seemed absurd to do something as normal as going back to school. If I did, I knew I’d be forced into a foster home or maybe even an orphanage, and the thought of either one of those terrified me for some reason.

  — No way. I’m not going either!

  — Let’s just run away together. There has to be tons of abandoned buildings or empty houses we could live in. We’ve survived without power for five months; we could survive alone until we’re 17. After that, we could legally be on our own.

  — How do you know that?

  — Uncle Roger told me I have to stay with him until I could be legally emancipated at 17. But I’m not staying if he’s going to force me to go to school! I just couldn’t stand the drama and the pity.

  I understood exactly what she was saying. I also didn’t want to face seeing how many of my friends hadn’t made it through the winter. It was much better to just believe that they were carrying on their lives like nothing had happened. But I knew my life was forever changed. And Sara’s too. She made so much sense that I agreed immediately and we began to think of ways to make our escape.

  Chapter 9

  Sara

  Sara and I grew close over the next few days. It was amazing how everyone around us was looking forward to life getting back to normal, while Sara and I knew it never would for us. Everything just seemed so superficial and unimportant now, like TV, school, and phones. The only thing we wanted to do was talk to each other, hold hands and, starting that first night I met her, when she gave me a quick peck on the lips, kissing each other. Our kisses were sad, though, like we were doing it just to share our sorrow with each other.

  Landline phones were partially functional, although service to every household and most long distance service had not yet been restored. Cell phones were still out and would probably not be usable for quite some time since most of the satellites, which relay the calls, had been lost. We found that out from the news on TV, which was the only programming, besides reruns, that was available. The newscasters were calling the day of the CME “Power Failure Day”, or PF Day. I didn’t care to watch TV, though, I didn’t feel like playing video games, and I didn’t have anyone that I cared to call. I was afraid to try to call my grandparents in New York in case they had died, too. Better to just go on believing that they were fine.

  The one electronic thing that Sara and I did enjoy together was listening to her iPod, which is the first thing she plugged in to charge when the power was back on. She had a great mix of songs in lots of different styles, from classical to country to rock and even a little rap. I was familiar with some of the songs, but there were many that I’d never heard before. Sara’s favorite song, which we listened to together, one earphone in her ear and the other in mine, was If I Die Young by The Band Perry. She loved that song and would sing along with the iPod or even by herself when she wasn’t listening to it. The words made me so sad, but she said they gave her hope. I don’t know what hope she could find in them; all I heard was sadness. Her favorite line, she said, was the part about God making her a rainbow so she could shine down on her mother, but she said she thought of it the other way around, that her mother was the rainbow shining down on her. Another line she loved said to save her tears in her pocket for when she really needed them. She would pat her left jean pocket and say that it was full of tears. I didn’t tell her, but I kept my own tears of a sort, stuffed down deep in my pocket: Mom’s watch pin—even though it no longer kept time, it was a reminder of how much time I’d let slip away when I’d had a chance to use it wisely.

  A song that I liked and would listen to over and over was Mad World by Gary Jules. It made me sad, too, but it seemed like I needed to be sad now, like if I heard a happy song it would cheapen all that I’d been through. The words of that song held so much meaning for me. I know when it was written the words were talking about people scurrying around in their busy lives, not pausing to consider what’s important, but since the day of the CME and all the terrible things that had happened thereafter, the meaning of the words changed in ways I don’t think the songwriter could have imagined. My chest would always feel kind of hollow when I heard the words about hiding my head and drowning my sorrow, because there’s no tomorrow. That’s how I felt: like my life, like Time, had stopped and there was no future for me, just today plodding on and on, going nowhere in this mad world.

  Sara had a pocketful of cash from her parents, not in the pocket where she symbolically stashed her tears, but in her right front pocket of her jeans, where she claimed no one could pickpocket her. She took it out and showed it to me, a wad of $100 bills—Benjamins—and said we would use it to start a new life for ourselves. We began to collect things we’d need, like blankets, warm clothes, extra coats, and water bottles, and stuffed everything into two large gym bags. We got most of it from Sara’s old house, which was just a few blocks away and still stood empty. She said we couldn’t stay in it when we ran away, though, because that’s the first place they’d look for us. School was set to start May 1st and we were supposed to register the week before. We decided to leave the night before my birthday, so we could celebrate our new life and my birthday together. I also wanted to be sure that the official date of our freedom wasn’t the 13th, because I still didn’t trust that number, but I didn’t tell Sara about it. I just wasn’t ready to open up yet about all my past problems. We had too many things to think about right then to dredge up old thoughts and memories.

  We left shortly after midnight on April 12th, when we were sure the rest of the family was asleep. We had left our gym bags at Sara’s old house, so we went there first. We were tempted to stay the night there, but we knew it was too risky, so we set out right away toward downtown. We had dressed in some of Sara’s parents’ clothes so that we would look older to people on the street. I had on one of her dad’s suit jackets over my winter coat and one of those furry Russian hats on my head. Sara wore her mom’s red wool pea coat, which looked much more mature than her pink parka.

  We had to stay off the main highway this time, as there were a few cars back on the roads now, even though gasoline cost a fortune since the refineries had been slow to start back up after the power was back. We followed the general route of the highway, though, and when we came to the river we had to use the highway bridge to cross. It was early in the morning and no cars passed us as we crossed. This time, I was afraid to look down into the river, remembering what I had felt the last time I’d crossed it so, instead, I just walked with my eyes focused on my feet. We were quiet most of the way; Sara on
ly asked a few questions about where we were going.

  Just before dawn we made it to the burned out section of downtown. We stopped and stared at it for several minutes, Sara in awe of the destruction, and me reliving the horror of that fateful day. As the sun rose and its rays peeked around the buildings to the east of us, it cast a pinkish-orange glow in strips amongst the dark shadows of burned-out buildings. It reminded me of the first few nights after PF Day, when the aurora borealis made strange reflections on the dark buildings at night, although those buildings were now mere rubble for the most part. I could only watch it for a few minutes before I turned away. Sara noticed my distress and grabbed my hand, saying,

  — C’mon. Let’s find a place to stay.

  We headed toward a building at the edge of the destruction, one that had some fire damage on one side, but which was still mostly standing. We tried the front door of the building, but it was locked, so we went around back into the alley, looking for a back door. We found it. It looked like someone had tried to bash in the glass, as it was cracked like a spider web, but had not succeeded. They had been able, however, to break the lock and it hung off the frame, which had also been mangled. We entered cautiously. It was still quite dark, especially inside the hallway, and we had no idea what might be lurking inside. We made our way down the hallway, keeping our voices to a whisper, and quietly checking apartment doors to see if there were any that were unlocked. All on the first floor were locked, so we climbed the stairway at the end of the hall to the second floor and tried those doors, as well. It wasn’t until we got to the third floor that we found an unlocked door.

  This door opened into a room that faced south toward the destroyed part of downtown. As soon as we opened the door, we knew that we could not stay in that room. Part of the outer wall had been burned and was crumbling away. A cold wind blew in the hole and several birds were perched on the edge singing to greet the morning sun. We closed the door quickly and turned our attention to the north side apartments instead. At the end of the hall, we found one unlocked and we entered it cautiously.

  The room looked like nothing had happened to the building, although the faint smell of smoke still hung in the air. We moved around quietly, checking each room to see if anyone was there. After finding it completely empty, I locked the front door and began to explore more carefully. The apartment contained the typical furniture: sofa, easy chair, coffee table, and television stand in the living room, but with no TV—that must have been taken by the previous owner or looted; little kitchenette at the end of the living room with a breakfast bar and three stools, but no table; bed, dresser, and bedside table with no lamp in the single bedroom. There were a few pieces of clothing still hanging amongst the many empty wire hangers in the closet, but no food in the kitchenette.

  The bedding on the bed smelled strongly of smoke, so Sara stripped it off and pulled a blanket from her duffle bag. She smoothed it out on the bed and threw herself on top of it, exhausted. I pulled another blanket out and covered her with it, as she murmured thanks. I made myself a cozy bed on the sofa with yet another blanket, which we had brought with us. I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the cushions.

  Chapter 10

  Getting Acquainted

  I awoke later in the day just as the setting sun shined through the west-facing living room windows of the apartment. Sara was already up, washing her face in the cold tap water that was, surprisingly, flowing through the building’s pipes. It had been so nice to have running water again after the power came back on at Whitley’s house, but I didn’t expect the water to be on in this partially burned out and abandoned building. Sara informed me that there was no hot water, though, so the excitement I’d felt at the thought of being able to take a hot shower quickly faded away.

  We decided to leave the apartment to go and explore. We didn’t have a key to lock it once we left, so we packed up our belongings and took our gym bags with us. As we walked down the three flights of stairs to the lobby, we could hear people talking and laughing and we were a little apprehensive about revealing ourselves, not knowing if we would be in trouble for trespassing or not. At the bottom of the stairwell, we paused and tried to listen for clues as to whether we would be welcomed or kicked out, or maybe even arrested for being there. Most of the voices sounded young, our age or a little older, but there was at least one voice that sounded like an older adult. We heard one boy saying that he thought some newcomers had occupied Apartment 326 and we were somewhat startled when we realized that that was the apartment we had stayed in earlier in the day. He didn’t sound angry or conspiratorial about it; he sounded like he was just stating a fact. We drew in a deep breath, grabbed hands, and came out of our hiding place to face a crowd of about a dozen people standing around or sitting in the lobby.

  Everyone looked our way immediately, some with suspicion in their eyes, but most with welcoming smiles. Sara bravely spoke for us.

  — Hi. I’m Sara and this is Ben. We need a place to stay. Is it all right if we stay here?

  The older man, who appeared to be in his forties or fifties, with a scraggly black beard laced with gray hair matching the receding hair on his head, smiled and answered,

  — Yes, you can stay in any of the unoccupied rooms. As long as you follow a few rules.

  Sara and I exchanged glances then nodded as he recited the rules of the building.

  — Rule number one: it’s first come, first served around here. Most of the time we sleep in the same room every night, but if someone gets there before you do, you have to find somewhere else to sleep. It’s a good idea to lock your door once you’re in for the night so no one surprises you. Rule two: no lights after dark. The electricity is on in this building, but we don’t want anyone to find out and turn it off. Please use it judiciously. You can use it to warm some water or cook some food on the stove or in a microwave if your apartment is lucky enough to have one, but do not turn on the heat or air conditioning. That would be sure to bring attention to us. We’re all trying to live under the radar here, so to speak. That brings us to rule number three: do not tell anyone about us. By that, I mean don’t invite anyone else to live here or tell anyone in a position of authority about the building. You found us by your own devices and as long as you follow our simple rules, we will allow you to stay here, but we don’t want the world to know about us. Rule four: respect each and every one of us here. Any fighting, stealing, or being otherwise objectionable will result in you being expelled. Do you understand? Do you agree to these rules?

  Sara and I nodded in agreement, then the older man stuck out his hand to shake ours and said,

  — Welcome to the building. My name is Gerald. I’m kind of the father figure around here.

  After that, everyone else came forward and introduced themselves. Besides Gerald, there were only two other adults: a crusty old man who looked ancient, whom Gerald called Skinner, and a forty-something woman named Janice. Skinner barely lifted his eyes to look at us when Gerald introduced him. When he went back to staring at the floor, Gerald said in a low voice,

  — He scored a bottle of booze somewhere last night—first he’s had in quite a while. He’s an alcoholic. It’s a wonder he made it through the bad times.

  Gerald shook his head sadly as he patted Skinner on the shoulder. Janice was much more friendly than the old man, smiling and shaking our hands when we were introduced. She said she was kind of like the mother to all the young people who stayed in the building. I ventured a question.

  — Are you and Gerald married?

  — Oh heavens, no! We’re just friends. Gerald and I lived here before the fire. After the fire, they forced us to leave, but we had nowhere else to go, so we came back. We have keys to our apartments.

  The rest of the group consisted of young men, teen boys really. Sara was the only girl of the bunch and she was getting some pretty hungry stares. Of course, even in a room full of girls, she would have stood out, as beautiful as she was. I put my arm around her shoulders j
ust to send the message that she was taken, even though she and I had never declared that we were together officially, not even to each other, let alone to others. I half expected her to shrug me off and give me an angry look, but she seemed to welcome the security.

  One boy about my age, called Sonny, offered Sara a bag of dried peas and she took it gratefully. If I weren’t so hungry, I’d have told him to shove it, because I think he only shared it with her to try to lure her away from me. I vowed to myself that I’d find some food for us the next morning. Since it was already almost dark, everyone started leaving to find rooms to sleep in. Sara and I went back up to Apartment 326. She searched through the kitchen cabinets until she found a pot with a lid, then filled it with water and poured the entire bag of peas in. Since there was no microwave in the apartment, she put it on the electric stove and turned the burner on low. We sat on the couch and talked while the peas simmered.

  I hadn’t told Sara much about my parents and neither had she about her parents. It wasn’t that we didn’t trust each other, but just that we hadn’t been ready to talk about it yet. For some reason, that night Sara felt like talking about her past. It might have been because Gerald and Janice reminded her of her parents or that she finally felt somewhat safe with me in that apartment. For whatever reason, she just started talking.

  — My mom had blond hair like me. She used to be a cheerleader for the Chiefs, back before she had me, before she got married.

  So that explained her unusually good looks. Dad used to watch the Chiefs every Sunday during football season, but I hadn’t been too interested until I started playing football myself. Sara continued,

  — Dad was a teacher. He was handsome, but he was always amazed that Mom could love him because she could’ve married somebody with a lot more money than him. They really loved each other.