The Passage

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.

  33

  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.

  34

  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.

  35

  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.

  36

  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 ..

  39

  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