by Nancy Lieder
cool off, and get out of the tension in the kitchen.
Soon honey, soon.
_______________________________
The pumps have stopped, are stopping repeatedly due to the erratic power
supply coming off the grid lines, the switches tripping as soon as the reset
button is pushed. Big Tom is squatting at the pump by the well, tools on the
ground next to him, tinkering with the pump. The pump is starting and then
cutting out immediately every time he starts it. He scoops up his tools and
rises, muttering softly.
Damn!
Big Tom is walking back from the spring house with a bucket of water in his
hands. Big Tom stops in his tracks, feeling a slight but continuous tremble in
the ground. His wife Martha comes running out of the house and into his arms,
the buckets now dropped to the ground, sloshing and spilling over. The kids
are running up behind her.
Mom! Mom!
Panic is in the air. Danny and Red come around the corner of the house, from
the garden, onions and tomatoes for the gumbo Martha was preparing in their
hands. Red's pale face accentuates the red tinge in his graying hair.
The moon is on the move!
Suddenly everyone standing is thrown several feet. Big Tom is thrown
backwards, skidding on his rear, Martha on top of him. Tammy sits up, holding
her scrapped and bleeding elbow, rocking back and forth in pain and crying
hard. Billy staggers to his feet, standing pale and shaken, his arms out to
either side and slightly crouching. Big Tom, rolling up to a sitting position
and easing his wife to the side, frowns. He says,
What the Hell! . .
The barn, laid on a concrete slab, has been lurched off its foundations and
moved halfway into the sloping barnyard. The house has crinkled in the
middle, the walls folding in on a broken support, but is still glued to its
foundation. Daisy emerges from the house, screaming, accompanied by Jane who
is holding both hands to her bleeding head.
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A massive split in the earth begins ripping across the field behind the barn,
opening and closing again, yawing open several feet and then quickly closing
again. The sky darkens as a hailstorm of what appears to be gravel starts
peppering the landscape. The group reacting to their injuries and shock in the
yard put their hands over their heads and dash back and forth, needing shelter
but leery of going into the broken house. Lighting crackles overhead
repeatedly, though there is no rain, and in the distance there is a whooshing
sound, as a falling blanket of fire drops on some trees along a stream,
setting them afire.
The group, led by Red, dashes into the storm cellar. Red says,
Knew this would come in handy.
Daisy is hysterical and keeps screaming at Danny. Everyone is ignoring her.
Make it stop . . Make it stop.
Martha is wrapping her apron around Jane's head, instructing her in a calm
voice to press her head to stop the scalp wound from bleeding.
There, right there.
Jane’s face is covered with blood. Despite all, Frank is matter-of-fact.
I think my arm is broken.
Frank’s arm is seen dangling at an odd angle, the trauma of the moment so
great that he didn't notice this until they were safe in the storm cellar.
The winds outside are howling louder, and the bolted metal door of the cellar
is rattling with the force now and then. The only light in the cellar is a
battery operated lantern.
Big Tom is setting Frank's dislocated arm, Danny holding Frank from the back,
his arm coming around the front and holding Frank's good arm in a grip tight
enough to keep him from striking out in pain. Big Tom calls out.
Now!
Big Tom pulls as Frank cries out and lurches back, kicking his feet. Red is
standing at the ready, a splint made from a chair leg in his hands, with Billy
at his elbow, trying to help. Behind them is a drama just as compelling,
going unnoticed. Tammy is squeezed back into the corner of the room, hugging
one of her dolls, her face a frozen mask and voice silenced.
An hour later the winds have stopped howling. Red throws the bolts holding
the storm door tightly shut, and pushes on the door slightly, opening it a
crack. Big Tom, hesitant and cautious, sticks his head out, glancing around.
All is calm, only the broken landscape attesting to what had occurred only an
hour before. Big Tom is closely followed by his Billy, with Red and Martha
bobbing up and down behind them, trying to see. Martha blinks and struggles
to hold back her tears, seeing the life they built so painstakingly
devastated.
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Every building tossed a kilter, branches torn off any trees left standing, and
the windmill a twisted tangle in the corner of the barnyard. Big Tom says,
At least we're still alive.
And then, showing his practical nature.
I'll go see if I can get the pump to work . . we need
to store and hold any clean water in the tank before
it drains away.
Big Tom walks through the splintered wreckage that was the house and barn.
Red remains behind, his hand on Billy's shoulder, as they both stand silent
and still. Martha has her hand to her mouth, the family frozen at the sight.
_______________________________
Where cataclysmic forces tear civilized trappings asunder, nature often
remains unruffled. Except for an occasional tree limb tossed into the tall
weeds, the pasture lands look much the same. A horse and rider emerge from
the cow path that wends through the woods, riding hard.
Netty, her hair coming apart and looking like it hasn't been combed in days,
is on the run. Her cream colored jodhpurs are black in places, soiled beyond
hope, attesting to the fact that Netty has been living in them for days. Her
face is oily and dusty, and the horse is covered with dust where the sweat is
now rolling off its flanks. They are on the run. She slows the horse when she
gets to the next clump of trees, turning to look over her shoulder. Netty sees
what she fears, coming behind her, and speaks quietly to her horse, setting
off again.
Haw
The group at the farmhouse has constructed a makeshift tent set up over a rope
strung between trees, weighed down by rocks along the edges of blankets hung
over the rope. Bedding of all kinds has been stuffed inside the tent, with
some laundry hung on another rope strung nearby. Life goes on. A fire is
smoldering between some stones and a pot is hung on a hook overhead, some
metal from the wrecked barn used to rig a metal beam over the fire. A menage
of wooden chairs salvaged from the house is set near a table with three legs,
the fourth corner stabilized on a barrel.
In the distance Netty comes into view, ridding hard. At first only a few
puffs of dust are visible, but then the figure of a horse and rider. Netty is
raised high in the stirrups, English style, leaning forward over the big bay's
shoulders, helping the weary horse carry its burden as easily as possible.
Martha rises from where she is washing and peeling potatoes and carrots for
soup, watching Netty race towar
d the tent city.
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Netty dismounts before the horse stops, swinging her legs alongside the horse
and under its nose, signaling the horse to stop short. The bay braces its
front legs, it's rear haunches splaying outward in a frantic bracing motion.
She says,
They're coming . .
Martha, stuttering, her hand to her throat.
Wwwwho, wwho's coming?
Big Tom is rushing up, a rifle in his hands, setting the rifle to the firing
position. He has a grim look in his eyes, his jaw set, as he has been braced
for intruders and needs no explanation from Netty. She sees an ally in his
face, their eyes meeting, and she quickly explains.
I'm Netty Finley, Buck Finley's granddaughter. I was
at the Clearwater Resort when it happened.
Among friends at last, Netty allows her face to shows the strain of the past
few days. Big Tom glances at the horizon, scanning, impatient for her
explanation. Netty is shaken.
They killed them all .. all .. even the baby. .
Netty is having a hard time talking, overcome, but fighting the urge to
collapse into weeping, clearly due and coming. Glancing up into Big Tom's
eyes, Netty pointedly explains.
I think they're following me.
Big Tom, meeting her eyes, nods at her briefly, his jaw set, a silent
understanding between them.
An open top jeep is following puffs of dust in the distance and soil recently
pounded with horse hooves, tracks evident, following Netty. Engine revving and
the voices of young males, the Groggin brothers, whooping it up as though on
the hunt for a prey that can't get away.
Yeehaw!
Big Tom is leaning against a large tree trunk, his rifle resting on a lower
branch. The sound of a jeep is heard in the distance. The open topped jeep is
seen bouncing along a dirt road through the field, approaching. Big Tom
lowers the rifle, moving his eye close to the sight, bracing himself against
the tree trunk. A shot rings out as Big Tom jerks from the recoil.
Red has herded the group into a cistern room, where spring water is drawn and
foods stuffs are placed for cool storage - an old fashioned cooler. Red is at
the door, peering out through a crack, his finger to his mouth reminding them
all to hush. Red has his rifle resting along his leg, not cocked but there
just in case. He is standing in for Big Tom, second in command.
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Martha has her two youngsters close to her, one under each arm and leaning
into her. Everyone is silent, scarcely breathing. Danny has his hand over his
hysterical girl friend's mouth, her wide eyes looking up steadily and
unblinkingly into his. He has taped her wrists and ankles and secured her to
a chair, taking no chances. Netty stands behind Red, peering over his
shoulder. Frank and Jane are in each other's arms, Frank running the fingers
of his good hand lightly up and down Jane's arm as she rests her head against
his good shoulder.
_______________________________
Big Tom is in the distance, walking down off the hillock, his purposeful
stride showing no tension or hurry. He takes his hat off and waves it in the
direction of the cistern room, signaling the OK. The door opens and Red
emerges as Big Tom comes within voice shot.
They won't trouble anyone anymore.
_______________________________
Behind what used to be the barn, the ladies are bathing, and a sheet has been
hung between the trough and the tent city, for privacy. Martha, dressed in a
bathrobe, is toweling off Tammy's head, while Tammy stands with a large bath
towel wrapped around her tiny frame. Daisy is complaining that the water isn't
warm, shivering and muttering as she quickly washes off with a wet cloth and
slips into one of her boyfriend's large wool shirts. Netty is washing with
relish, for the first time in days, soaping repeatedly and rinsing as though
she thought this day would never come again.
Jane has recovered from her scalp wound, but still has a thin strip of white
cloth tied around her head. She is being cheerful, or at least trying to be,
telling stories to Tammy about pioneer women, how brave they were, and the
hardships they bore. The obvious point is that these things can be survived.
Jane continues with her monologue.
They washed like this all the time, and in winter,
while standing by the stove! Never hurt them a bit.
Can be kind of fun if you think about it.
The ladies are walking back in a leisurely manner to the tent city from the
horse trough, a laugh now and then heard from the group, tension gone now that
the threat is past. Mark and Brian walking up the dirt road toward the group,
relieved to find others still alive and well. Martha breaks from the group and
runs toward the tent city, to warn Big Tom, with Tammy reacting to the sight
of two strangers approaching by standing stock still, staring in their
37
direction, so that Netty has to return, taking her by the hand to lead her
along.
Mark and Brian are seen as limping, dusty, Brian almost staggering. Big Tom is
striding into view, coming from the direction of the tent city which the woman
are now jogging toward. He holds the rifle pointed straight up in a warning
fashion, clearly stating that the visitors are to stop and identify
themselves.
Mark is the larger and more handsome, is almost twice the bulk of the slender
Brian, who has a thin face and light fine hair which he wears on the long
side. Mark is dark haired and tanned, hair on the short side and a commanding
look about him. He's used to being in charge. Mark puts his hand up,
signaling to Big Tom that they mean no harm.
We're unarmed . . We mean you no harm . . We're just
trying to get to a phone.
At this point he glances past Big Tom and notices for the first time that the
farm buildings are devastated, scanning the view in silence. His question is
more of a statement than a question.
I don't suppose your lines are up, though.
Not yet at ease, Big Tom is on guard.
Put your hands on your heads. We've had some
unwelcome visitors and I'm taking no chances.
Red has come up behind him, hands him the second rifle to hold while he
quickly pats the visitors down, nodding at Big Tom when no weapons are found.
Big Tom hands the spare rifle back to Red and welcomes the two men.
Come on back and have some soup, you look like you
could use some.
38
-Stories-
It's suppertime, the last traces of the setting sun fading rapidly, and the
group is gathered around the coals of a small fire, kept small and low so as
not to attract attention. Martha is putting her outdoor kitchen away, stacking
chipped plates and dented pots and pulling a sheet over them as cover, to keep
them clean. The new guests ate everything put before them. Martha has
seasoned the water used to cook carrots and given it to them as soup, a
bedtime snack. Nothing goes to waste.
Brian's slender hands are trembling as he brings the bowl up to his face,
slurping the soup repeatedly, still famished
. Mark is telling what he heard on
the radio before the plane hit rough up/down drafts due to incipient hurricane
winds at the shift.
The winds were like a hurricane, but different. Our
plane hit some bad drafts. I couldn't hold it. We
could hear the radio news guy talking about . .
Cars are abandoned on the Golden Gate bridge in San Francisco, which is
blocked due to this, but people are flooding across from both directions, a
look of desperation in their eyes. An abandoned toddler is crying where he
stands, no one bothering to pick him up.
Rioting in cities, where panic stricken people were
crowding the bridges, trying to move in both
directions at once, just trying to get someplace else,
anyplace else.
Looting is rampant, like the LA riots but more widespread in all areas of the
city. Fires are everywhere.
And looting in the cities. The police just weren't
around, at least not paying attention. No law, and
anything goes.
Mark's face is like a mask as he relays all this, keeping his emotions
disconnected so he can get through it.
Services were failing. People failed to turn up for
their jobs. Power outages went unrepaired. Phone lines
went dead. Gas pumps were locked and the stations
closed.
Mark pauses a minute, keeping his emotions in control. Mark shakes his head.
A never-ending mid-morning on the East Coast, taking
its toll . .
Then Mark's story gets personal.
We saw some of that too, from the plane ..
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Cars are littering the road, pulled over to the side, and a bridge with
traffic lined up on both sides. Abandoned cars on the bridge had created a
traffic jam that was only getting worse as more cars were pulling up at both
