We walked back down to camp in silence where I stoked the fire and poured Claire and myself a stiff drink.
CHAPTER 9
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 5th
8:30 a.m.
CHICAGO’S NEAR WEST SUBURBS
“Come on, we need to get moving before the crazies start coming out of the woodwork!” Kim called as she threw a duffle bag into the trunk of their car.
“Too late, we’re already up,” Kevin remarked snidely.
“Very funny. I’m serious,” Kim rolled her eyes.
“So am I. I think this is crazy…leaving the safety and security of our home when we should just stay put and ride this thing out. Just because my sister’s nutball husband likes to live like a caveman out in the wilderness, it doesn’t mean that we have to give up all sense of normalcy and follow suit.”
“Okay, just because John was finally right for once with one of his disaster scenarios doesn’t mean that we can’t agree that he might have known what he was talking about. I mean, is it worth risking our own safety just to try to prove him wrong?”
“I’m not trying to prove him wrong; I’m trying to keep my own family safe. If it were three days ago, I wouldn’t be putting up a fight, but I think it’s stupid to try to make it out of Chicago now. I mean, you’ve heard the news reports. The highways are jammed, the side streets are no better, stop lights are out all over the place, power is completely out in certain suburbs, there’s looting and rioting, and there are roadblocks in sections of town where they’ll just drag you out of your car, shoot you, and take your vehicle. You really want to head into those types of situations? I mean, if not for our sake, at least for Bonnie’s.”
“Shhhhh…she’ll hear you,” Kim said, nodding toward the backseat of the mini-van where their four-year-old daughter sat patiently waiting in her car seat. “I don’t want to scare her before we go.”
“Shit, I don’t want to scare her either, but that’s the reality!” Kevin said, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
“Okay, I’m tired of talking about it. We’re packed, we’re ready, and we need to go. Things aren’t getting better here…in fact, it looks like they’re only going to get worse, and we both agreed last night that this was the right thing to do, so don’t give me grief about it now.”
“I know…I know; I just don’t like leaving our home, especially when we haven’t been able to contact John and Claire to see how they’re set up down there, or even if they are there. Heck, maybe they didn’t even go.”
“Well, I know John, and he wouldn’t have mailed us that letter unless he was ready,” said Kim, shutting the trunk and scanning up and down the street nervously.
There was a sole neighbor out, four houses down, screwing plywood into place over his home’s front windows.
“You shut off the water, turned off the circuit breaker, and locked the doors, right?” Kim asked.
Kevin nodded, “Yeah, and I checked all the windows to make sure they were locked.”
“Good,” Kim nodded. “God I wish we had a gun.”
“Never needed one in the past,” Kevin shrugged. “I’ve got the ‘ol softball slugger though,” he nodded, gripping and re-gripping an aluminum bat that he slid down beside the driver’s side seat.
“Let’s just hope we don’t have to use it,” said Kim. “Let’s hit the road.’
9:54 a.m.
CHICAGO’S WESTERN SUBURBS
“I can’t hear you!” Steve yelled back over the drone of the vacuum cleaner that he was pushing slowly back and forth across their family room carpet.
“I said, we’re going to have to make a decision soon…real soon…otherwise there won’t be a decision to make,” his wife, Emily called to him down the stairs. “If you’d shut that stupid thing off and focus on something important for once, maybe we could come to a decision together!”
A rumple-headed teen in his boxers and t-shirt sauntered into the kitchen where his mother stood craning her head down the half-flight of stairs leading to the family room so she could continue to berate his father. “Good god, how is anybody supposed to sleep around here with you two bickering like an old married couple?” he groaned, scratching his head while slowly walking over to the refrigerator to dig out a jug of orange juice and take a swig directly from the bottle.
“First off young man, count yourself lucky you’re still living at home to hear us bicker. You should be out finding a job. Second, we are an old married couple. Third, it’s ten o’clock, and you should be up by now anyway. Fourth, don’t drink out of the bottle like that…it’s disgusting!”
The young man gave his mother a zombie-eyed stare, took another drink from the jug just to irk her, and then walked back upstairs, leaving the orange juice container open on the counter.
“Uh, you little shit. You’ll pay for that,” his mother called after him with half a smile. She knew he was just messing with her. “I’ll send your father up there with his vacuum of terror!” she yelled up the stairs as he sauntered back to his bedroom.
“Steven! Get your…” she started, turning back to yell down to the family room but stopping as she met her husband coming up the stairs.
“Stop yelling, devil woman! I’m here. “Now what do you want?”
“I want to talk about this letter you mentioned that we got from John the other day. I wanted to talk about it when you said you got it, but you keep pushing it off, and now look at things. It’s getting damn serious out there, and soon we might not have a choice.”
Steve, her husband of nearly 35 years emptied the vacuum’s contents into the kitchen trash can.
She put a hand on his arm. It was one of those married-couple things that would be almost imperceptible to anyone else but that let him know that this discussion actually meant something to her. “Please,” she whispered, “I don’t want to die here.”
He stopped and put the vacuum canister down. “I don’t either, but what do you want me to do, Emily? Our lives are here, our home is here, and our family and friends are here.”
“Our family isn’t all here,” she said, her eyes showing concern.
“You don’t even know if they made it down there or not.”
“Stop,” she said, her tone serious. “They made it.”
Steve took a breath, “I know you want to think positively…believe me, I do too, but we don’t know for sure. You tried them again on the cell phone?”
Emily nodded. “Service is hit and miss now with the way things are, and if they’re already in southern Illinois, I’m not surprised the call isn’t going through. We might as well try to make it down there, don’t you think?”
“Emily, we can barely make it to the store, how do you think we’d make it to southern Illinois?”
“Come on,” she urged. “Haven’t we learned anything from that crazy son-in-law of ours? The car is full of gas and we have some extra gas in the garage for the lawn mowers. It wouldn’t take us long to get things packed up and ready to go. And I’ll bet you that John and Claire are already set up down there. If we can’t get gas along the way, we can hopefully at least get close enough that maybe John could come get us if we run out.”
She looked at him, staring into his eyes. “Please,” she urged. “I don’t think we’ll make it if we stay here. And I want to see my grandson and my daughter again.”
Steve took a deep breath and then turned to the stairs, “Brian!” he yelled. “Get your ass down here! I’m going to need some help!”
He looked back at his wife, “I don’t want to die here either, but I also don’t want to die trying to escape Chicago.”
10:23 a.m.
SOUTHERN ILLINIOS
Breakfast had consisted of the few remaining eggs we had, a half pack of bacon, and a few pieces of white bread grilled in the leftover bacon grease in which we’d cooked the eggs. I was doing my best to cut us back on food consumption as it appeared the stay in our new home might be stretched significantly.
After breakfast, I
decided to reorganize our food supplies and try to get a better handle on just how long we could last on what we had. By my best calculations, it appeared as though we had enough to sustain us easily for a month or two, maybe more if we really pushed it and if I could bolster our supplies with some fresh meat from our forest surroundings.
My main concern was for Claire.
As a type 1 diabetic since the age of 13, Claire was insulin dependant. Regulating her blood sugar levels was critical to her health and happiness. Thankfully, this was one area in which she had taken my disaster planning seriously. She had faithfully abided by my requests to stockpile insulin and diabetic supplies. She had filled extra prescriptions in the years leading up to our current situation and had managed to build up a nice-sized supply.
The main hurdle to overcome with these supplies was their shelf lives.
The expiration date on her insulin ran about two years from the production date, and she had managed to build up about a 12-month supply before we left home. I was pushing for the full two years, but we just hadn’t made it there before the flu struck.
My other concern now that we were living outdoors was keeping the insulin cool. A good portion of our cooler space in the first sand pit I dug was devoted to storing food, which meant less room for insulin. Plus, if the creek flooded, I didn’t want Claire’s life-sustaining insulin supply swept away. Therefore, I dug out a neighboring space higher up the creek side for our second cooler to fit into, and this cooler was devoted largely to insulin storage.
After my inventory and reorganization of supplies, I spent some time digging out a similar hole in the hillside facing our camp to create a storage space for the rest of our food – a root cellar of sorts. I lined it with plastic sheeting and wrapped much of the food in plastic wrap or placed it in freezer bags as added protection. This space wasn’t as cool as our creek-side storage, but it didn’t need to be; and it did the trick in keeping our food dry and out of direct sunlight and humidity.
I had just finished up my work when our “doorbell” rang.
Of course the concept of an outdoor doorbell is somewhat relative. In our case, I was pretty proud of my work and ingenuity when it came to my devised system of alerting us to the arrival of visitors.
I had thought about this system for a while – a way in which to alert us to someone arriving to the area without them being aware of our presence. I didn’t figure that we could easily hear an approaching vehicle on the access road from where our camp was now located. At the same time though, I didn’t want to unwittingly stumble upon a newly arrived party – or have them unwittingly stumble upon us – without us first being aware of their presence and prepared. I wanted to rig some sort of system to alert us to the approach of any vehicle on the property’s access road.
What I came up with wasn’t anything brilliant and certainly didn’t take an engineering degree from MIT to develop. Since I had several spools of fishing line with us, I simply tied the end of one spool to a tree down by the entry road near the bridge, pulled it across the road at about a waist-high level, ran the line up to our campsite – keeping the line taught along the way – and tied it to several pots that sat upon our picnic table. Like I said, it wasn’t anything fancy, but it worked. Actually, it just about scared the living daylights out of me when it went off as the pans were yanked from the picnic table and clattered noisily onto the ground. Thankfully, Jay and Claire were down at the creek when it happened; otherwise, I think our efforts with Jay’s potty training might have suffered a severe setback.
I ran over to the picnic table and grabbed my rifle. “Claire!” I called as I ran toward the creek. I could see her turn from what she was doing with Jay and look up at me. “Someone’s here,” I said as I neared. Her face suddenly changed from the look of quiet contentment in passing the day casually playing with Jay into one of fear from being informed that unknown parties had suddenly arrived to what otherwise had been our private sanctuary. “I’m going to check it out,” I said. “Stay here.” I pulled the .44 from my belt. “Here,” I said, handing it to her. “Just in case.”
We had done enough target practice in the past for us to both feel comfortable with her using the handgun. She took it and nodded, taking a deep breath and biting her lower lip but saying nothing.
I quickly turned and tore back up the hillside to find out what was going on and who was invading our happy home.
11:45 a.m.
CHICAGO’S WESTERN SUBURBS
“Did you talk to Kevin and Kim?” Emily asked Steve as he navigated their SUV through the side streets of Oak Brook, heading for the I-294 on-ramp. The streets were surprisingly quiet for this time of day. They blew past several gas stations, up the hill past the Ferrari dealership, and breezed easily onto the highway.
“Talked to them right before we left. They were already on the road but stuck in traffic on 22nd Street just outside Maywood.”
“Uh,” Emily shivered. “Not a good spot. Maybe I should call them and check in.”
Steve nodded, “Good idea. I’d like to try to meet up with them once we’re clear of the Chicago area.”
Steve had never seen the highway this devoid of vehicles. It was strange, but then again, this whole situation wasn’t exactly what he’d call normal.
He waited as Emily dialed and then held the phone to her ear.
She lowered it moments later, exhaling in a huff. “No signal,” she sighed.
“Damn cell phones,” Steve said. “Wait a few minutes and then try again. Maybe we’ll pick up a new cell tower or something as we go. Kevin, try to get your brother on your cell phone,” he said to the lifeless lump of teenager slumped half asleep in the back seat.
“Umph,” came the response, then there was the sound of rummaging, and eventually some beeps. “No service,” he mumbled several seconds later.
“Damn,” Steve muttered under his breath. “Keep an eye on that phone,” he said into the rearview mirror. “Let me know if you get service, okay?” There was silence in response. “Okaaay?” Steve said again, frustrated and concerned about his other son and his family.
“Okay…got it,” came the agitated response.
“Thank you, sir sleeps-a-lot.” Steve took a deep breath and glanced over at Emily, “Sheesh,” he shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to disturb him just because the world is coming to an end.”
As they neared the exit for I-55, they could see rows of break lights ahead of them.
“Uh oh,” Emily said softly as Steve started to apply the breaks. “This doesn’t look good.”
11:53 a.m.
CHICAGO’S NEAR WEST SUBURBS
“I freaking hate Maywood,” Kim muttered as they waited in line at the stoplight that was blinking red. We’ve been stuck in traffic for hours!”
“Technically, this isn’t Maywood,” Kevin said, clicking their automatic doors into the “locked” position. “It’s North Riverside.”
“Whatever,” Kim huffed, then jumped, startled as a group of teens ran past their vehicle carrying several brand new televisions still in their boxes.
“Must be having a going out of business sale,” Kevin joked nervously.
“Yeah, whatever,” Kim said, “I just want to get out of here. “Maybe you were right. Maybe we should have just tried to wait it out at home.”
“Too late now,” Kevin arched his back, pretending to stretch in the seat, but really just feeling for the baseball bat beside his seat.
“What are they doing up there? I mean, how hard is it to get through a flashing red light? One side goes, and then the other goes. It’s not rocket science.”
Kevin laid on the horn, blaring it loudly.
“Kevin!” Kim slapped his arm.
“Daddieeee…” Bonnie wailed from the backseat.
“See, you’re scaring Bonnie and you’re drawing attention to us!” Kim hissed.
“Just trying to get things moving for you, dear,” Kevin shrugged.
Suddenly there was a lou
d thump on the driver’s side window. Everyone in the vehicle jumped and Kevin instinctively grabbed hold of the bat.
A police officer wearing riot gear complete with black helmet, white surgical mask, and carrying an assault rifle bent down to peer inside the vehicle, shaking his head sternly. “We don’t need any of that,” he called.
Kevin nodded and waved, mouthing “sorry” through the window.
The cop moved up along the row of cars idling in front of them.
“See honey, Chicago’s finest are here making sure everything’s okay,” Kevin said, giving Kim a grin.
Another group of teens ran by carrying loot from a row of nearby stores, oblivious to the police offer who was now focused on rousing the driver of the car in front of Kevin and Kim’s.
Kevin rolled his window down halfway, cocking his head to hear what was going on.
“What’s he saying,” Kim frowned, craning over, trying to sneak a peek.
“He’s asking the driver something about whether he’s been drinking,” he told Kim. “The officer wants him to step out of the car.”
“Great, we have the epidemic of the century breaking out around us, and this cop is going to start handing out DUIs? Don’t we have bigger problems?”
“At least he’s here,” Kevin shrugged. “Don’t you feel better now?”
“I suppose. I just wish he’d focus more on directing the traffic rather than inhibiting it. What are they doing up there?”
“Looks like some of the cars are starting to move,” Kevin said. “Doesn’t help us though since we’re stuck behind this cop now. Maybe I can back up a little bit and get around this guy,” he said, putting their mini-van in reverse.
The Systemic Series - Box Set Page 8
