The End Boxset: Postapocalyptic Visions of an Unstoppable Collapse

by B. J. Knights

  “Hank...Hank,” he said gently.

  There was no movement on the old man's part. Jeremy started to shake him a little more. Still nothing.

  “Hank,” he said louder.

  A flash of realization came over Jeremy. Hank was dead. He checked his breathing and pulse. Nothing.

  Jeremy backed away and observed the deceased man. He looked peaceful. He had lived a long life, well into his 80s. But he died alone. Not a soul but Jeremy as a witness. A sick feeling came over Jeremy where he felt that he was looking in a mirror of himself, if and when got to be that age. Would there be someone in the room to discover him when he died? Would there be someone who cared?

  “I should bury him,” Jeremy thought. He knew if he were to call the authorities, Hank's body would never see a proper burial. Not with a city about to turn on itself at any moment. But what is a proper burial?

  Jeremy grabbed a shovel from Hank's tool shed and started to dig a hole in the back yard. “Six feet deep,” he kept saying to himself. “That's how deep it needs to be. That's what he deserves.”

  Hank's body was lying on the ground wrapped in blankets and awaiting burial. It took much longer than Jeremy had planned to dig the hole. At least an hour had passed, and he wasn't sure if he was anywhere near the proper length. He climbed out, grabbed his spot light, and shinned it down the hole.

  “Good enough,” Jeremy panted. He knew that he was just over five-feet-ten-inches, and the hole was bigger than him. Plus he had used precious time, and worn himself out. Not smart if you're planning to be on the road for days, weeks, or months.

  He gently rolled Hank's wrapped body into the hole and then proceeded to throw dirt over him. The back-and-forth movement with the shovel proved to be exhausting. Who ever knew that digging a hole would take so much out of you? When the hole was covered, he patted it with the shovel. Rather than feeling annoyed at the time, or upset with himself for deviating from the plan, Jeremy sat back for a moment feeling satisfied in a way that he hadn't felt in years. He knew it was the right thing to do. But now it was time to leave. Jeremy stood up and bowed his head.

  “So long, Hank, you picked the right time to go. Travel well.” He couldn't think of anymore to say. “Thanks for letting me stay in your trailer.” He left the unexpected memorial service moments later, his truck roaring out of the driveway. At this point, he didn't know if he was going to make it out of the city in time.

  Chapter 8: Alice’s Decision

  Alice was watching the news. It was how she spent most of her day, beyond tending to her garden, storing food, sanitation supplies, medical supplies, and anything else she could think of. She had been scouring the internet for property elsewhere. Many people she knew in her online group were looking into property in Central America. She wanted to move there and had brought it up to Randall countless times. However, it was always a topic that would start an argument. Randall made it clear that he was not going to move to some “desert island” because of Alice's fears. There was nothing she could say to convince him. In her stubbornness, she had already made arrangements to leave the country with or without him. Just her and the children if need be.

  Perhaps she was being too hard on him. He saved her from financial ruin and continued to provide for them. But for how long? When the collapse came, what good would any income be? He needed to believe in her. Trust her. She wasn't crazy. Her only crime was foresight of the inevitable. These are the things she told herself as she packed her children's luggage, as well as their passports, birth certificates, and $500 in cash that she had been saving.

  The news on the television was the usual banter on politics and the continual “gridlock” in Washington. The government had all the answers, but no solutions. As she went back-and-forth chatting with her survival group friends, something of interest came over the news. The terror alert had been raised. This wasn't too out of the ordinary, as it seemed the terror alert was raised and lowered every week. Her online friend sent her a message:

  steve.g866

  Hey did you see they just raised the terror alert?

  aliceinwonderland631

  Yes. What do you think it means?

  steve.g866

  That there are terrorist out there.

  aliceinwonderland631

  Amazing deduction.

  steve.g866

  Lol.

  aliceinwonderland631

  This isn't funny.

  steve.g866

  I know. You know what I heard today?

  aliceinwonderland631

  What?

  steve.g866

  That the major banks are freezing their assets.

  aliceinwonderland631

  Are you serious?

  steve.g866

  Yeah, I just read it. There've been reports of ATMs not working.

  aliceinwonderland631

  Where?

  steve.g866

  All over the place.

  aliceinwonderland631

  I don't see anything about that on the news.

  steve.g866

  You're not going to.

  It was almost noon time on Wednesday. Alice had been on the computer long enough. She needed to work on her lists for the day. This involved mapping out the first few days of their survival plan, making sure they had the necessities and resources, as well as where they could go if things got out of hand. Ideally, she would prefer to stay in their home, but would they be safe? She knew it was a bad idea to live in Pittsburgh, but they were far enough outside the city that the nearby wilderness could be a refuge if need be. That would mean that she had to pack plenty of cold weather gear for everyone. Along with tent and camping supplies. The news about the ATMs troubled her. But there were no reports of it on the news. Her next task was to check the expiration dates on all the food she had been stocking. She had built quite a collection of dehydrated food, pickled food, and “canned” items, all stored in the basement.

  Unexpectedly, Randall pulled into the driveway. From inside, the engine from his Jeep Cherokee rumbled then ceased. Alice came up from the basement and went to the window, surprised to see Randall so early in the day. He fumbled with the front door locks and walked in the house looking confused.

  “You're home early,” Alice said.

  “Yeah. The weirdest thing, they sent everyone home for the day,” Randall replied.

  Alice stood perplexed, holding her clipboard as if being interrupted from her important tasks.

  “That's strange. They didn't tell you why?” she asked.

  “There was mention of a terror alert. That's really all I heard. But not from the higher-ups, some guys just heard some stuff on the news. I was told to just shut my station down for the day and leave.”

  “Maybe it was a precaution of something.” Alice said.

  “I don't know. The floor supervisor didn't say much, just said we were going to shut down for the day.”

  Alice thought to herself, a sickness started to build in her stomach, as if by instinct.

  “We should pick up the kids from school.”

  “What?” Randall asked.

  “I don't like what I've been hearing today. Something isn't right.”

  Randall leaned in, almost reluctantly.

  “What sort of things have you been hearing?”

  “Things. Just things. I think we need to get the kids. This terror alert. Your company shutting down. This could be it.”

  Randall backed away, repelled.

  “Oh come on, Alice! Not this again.”

  “Come on yourself, Randall, how can you be so blind?”

  “You can't just take the kids out of school whenever you get some hunch!”

  “This is not some hunch.” Alice paused and then put her hand out. “Just forget it, give me your keys.”

  Randall stood silent for a moment, not sure how to respond.

  “Give me the keys,” Alice demanded.

  Randall dug through his pocket, found the keys, and relinquished them
.

  “Thank you,” Alice said, as she breezed past Randall and went out the front door.

  Once she was gone, Randall shrugged and made his way to the kitchen to look for something to eat. He found some leftovers in the refrigerator much to his elation. He un-wrapped the leftover lasagna and placed it in the microwave. He set the time on the microwave and pushed start. The plate rotated under the gentle hum of the appliance. He couldn't wait to dig in.

  Alice got into the Cherokee, placed the engine in the ignition and turned the key. Nothing. She heard a faint explosion in the far distance that she almost mistook for the car engine starting. She turned the ignition again. Not even the dash board icons were lighting up. It was as if the car's battery had just died with no warning.

  Randall paced the kitchen reading a magazine, awaiting his meal. Suddenly the kitchen light went off. The microwave stopped. The lasagna was in mid rotation. Randall felt immediate annoyance. “Ah come on, what the hell?” he asked aloud. He walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. The television was off. The computer was off. There was no power anywhere in the house.

  “Start you piece of shit!” Alice yelled. After a few more clicks of the ignition she soon realized that there was nothing she could do. She exited the car defeated. There was utter silence outside. Her neighbor, who had been mowing his lawn, was now trying to get it to start. A car from down the street rolled to the side of the road. A woman got out of the car and paced around it confused. Alice had seen enough, she needed to go inside and talk to Randall.

  “Power's out,” Randall said as she entered the room. Alice walked past Randall to verify his claim for herself. She turned to Randall. “What happened?”

  “I was just making a plate of lasagna and the lights went out, the microwave stopped working. Maybe a fuse blew or something,” he responded.

  Alice handed Randall back the car keys. “Your car isn't starting.”

  “What?” Randall asked.

  “It's dead. Completely dead.”

  Randall went to the window to look at his car. Alice paced and paced when suddenly a thought occurred. “I hope I'm wrong, but I've heard of this before,” she stated.

  “Huh?” Randall said while turning to Alice slightly,

  “All the power going out. There are these bombs called EMPs. They can wipe out complete power grids within a 100 mile radius,”

  “Cars too?” Randall laughed. “So you're saying that someone attacked us?”

  “It could be. Maybe this is what the terror alert was for.”

  “Who would have attacked us?”

  “I don't know,” Alice replied, slightly annoyed.

  “The idea that one bomb could knock out all of our power all at once. I mean, how is that even possible?”

  “Wake up, Randall. Anything's possible. We need to get the kids.”

  Alice walked over to the counter, dug through her purse to retrieve her cell phone. Her screen was blank, the phone was dead. She held it out with careful examination. Randall must have sensed the fear on Alice's face.

  “What's wrong?” he asked.

  Alice lowered the phone to her side. “My phone won’t turn on. It’s dead, just like your car.”

  “Let me see,” Randall said as he grabbed the phone from Alice. He fiddled around with it, but nothing happened. Alice stared blankly ahead.

  “No power. Our car won't start. Cell phones don’t work.” she said.

  Randall continued messing with the phone. Alice spoke ominously. “We have no way out.” She turned to Randall. “We're under attack and there's no way out.”

  “Maybe you just need a new battery,” Randall said while handing it back.

  Alice took the phone. “It's pretty useless now. We've gone dark.”

  Randall grabbed Alice. “Why are you talking like this? It's those chat rooms, all those nuts, isn't it?”

  “Let go of me!” she screamed.

  Randall loosened his grip, and tried to speak calmly. “Listen. I don't doubt you. I never have. You're usually right about everything. I think for our sake, for the sake of this family, let's not blow things out of proportion or jump to conclusions.”

  Alice looked to Randall thoughtfully. “You're right.”

  “Everything is going to be okay. I'll check my cell phone and see if I have any reception,” Randall said.

  “The children's bikes.”

  “Huh?”

  “We have the children's bikes. We can ride them to get the kids back here.”

  Another look of annoyance flashed across Randall’s face. “Listen to yourself. That sounds ridiculousness. They’re safe at school. Plus if we leave, they'll be no one here for when they come home,” Randall.

  “So I'll go. I'll take Brian's bike.”

  It was not the response Randall was hoping for, but he had to admit it wasn't all too surprising.

  “Alice...,”

  “No, listen. That's a good idea, one of us goes, one of us stays.”

  “Do you even know how many miles you're going to have clear? On a child's bike?”

  “They're not safe at the school. They're not safe anywhere else but here with us right now,” Alice shot back.

  “Let me look at the car before you do anything rash, okay?” Randall pleaded with a peck on Alice's forehead.

  Randall switched the ignition getting the similar inoperable results as Alice. “This is ridiculous!” he shouted from the driver's seat. He got out of the car, opened the hood and inspected the engine. From the garage, Alice surveyed the neighborhood. Patches of people walking in small groups littered the neighborhood. She waved to her neighbor who was still messing with his lawn mower. He was too distracted to wave back. She also noticed there were more cars stalled on the side of the road. Some with the engine hood open and the owner desperately trying in vain to find a solution. And in the distance...black smoke rising. This caught Alice's eye like nothing else she'd seen that day.

  She walked over to the Cherokee to alert Randall, who was busy inspecting the car battery.

  “Hey, there's black smoke out there,” she said.

  “Oh yeah?” Randall replied while hunched over and disinterested.

  “You need to see this,” Alice stressed.

  Randall sighed and pulled himself away from the engine to look. The smoke was thick and black, and moving steadily towards them.

  “Looks like there's been a fire,” Randall said holding a crescent wrench.

  Alice walked to the end of the driveway and stopped a young couple walking by.

  “Excuse me, are you guys having car trouble too?”

  The man looked up, nearly surprised by the direct question,

  “Uh, yeah. Our car broke down about a mile down the road.” the man replied.

  “Our cell phones don't work either,” the woman interjected.

  “Same problem here,” Alice replied. “I would let you use our phone or give you a ride, but nothing works here either.”

  “That's okay, we're just going to walk back to her sister's house,” the man said.

  “We had just left, now we're coming back. Talk about awkward,” the woman added with a tired laugh.

  “Maybe it has something to do with the power plant.” the man continued.

  Just the mention of such a thing had Alice's undivided attention.

  “What happened to the power plant?” she asked. The man and the woman exchanged glances, and then the man looked to Alice.

  “There was an explosion, at least that's what people are saying. That's where all the smoke is coming from.” he answered.

  Alice could feel her muscles tightening, her mouth was getting dry, and panic was setting in.

  “Thanks for the info. Good luck,” she said as she fled into the garage.

  Randall was still messing with the engine even after Alice told him that he was wasting his time. If everything she had been told over the years was true, all of these events were connected. The only question was what could she
do about it? She knew that in being prepared for a disaster she was ahead of a lot of people in her neighborhood. But how long before the very worst she had always imagined became a reality?

  Randall felt a rush of wind blow past him. He lifted his head from the engine to see Alice, wearing a small backpack, racing her son's bicycle down the driveway and into the street.

  “Alice!” Randall shouted.

  She didn't answer or turn around. Randall ran from the car to the end of the driveway.

  “Alice, come back!” he shouted again. Alice turned her head slightly.

  “I'll be back soon. Stay here if they come back!”

  Chapter 9: Kiya’s Story

  Kiya was sitting in her classroom when she heard the explosion. The classroom was quiet as all the sixth grade students were working on mid-day math exercises. Kiya liked math. It made sense to her. Right before the explosion a boy sitting behind her tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Hey, Kiya. What's the answer for number four?” he whispered.

  Kiya didn't answer, trying to ignore him. But he persisted.

  “Psss. Answer. Number four. Come on,” he continued.

  The teacher, Mrs. Crabtree, was sitting at her desk at the front of the class room. She would sometimes look up from her Elle magazine to scan the classroom. The boy looked down quickly to avert her gaze. “Kiya please,” he pleaded looking down at his desk.