by J. Thorn
They stepped out of the caged yard and into the night. Five people had gathered around the men Dax had left on the ground, digging through their pockets. A woman took the pistol from the dead man’s hand and checked the clip for bullets. Dax went to her, his hand reaching out for the gun, but she took a step back and shook her head.
“No way. Police ain’t helping no more. I’m keeping this to protect myself.”
It had been almost two weeks since the grid had gone down, pushing New Orleans into the dark ages. Literally. People on the streets had begun to call it “The Blackout.” Now, Dax wasn’t about to risk his life for another firearm, but he also understood that guns and ammunition would become the new currency.
Dax pushed the thought aside and left the bandits to empty the pockets of the thugs who had chased him. He led Chloe and Mindy away from the scene. Chloe used her remaining leg to hop far enough ahead to match Mindy and Dax stride for stride. She kept her arm around Dax, but mostly for balance.
“Where are we going?” Mindy asked.
“Anywhere but here, for now. But I gotta find my sister.”
Dax knew of only a few reasons why women and children would be held against their will, and even in these chaotic times, those reasons would be reprehensible. He was only one guy. Dax couldn’t save every woman and child from prostitution, human trafficking or forced labor in meth labs.
“But you’re a cop. You have to help people in need—get us to safety. Your precinct? The police station?”
Dax looked at Mindy and noticed Chloe staring at his badge. When she saw Dax following her eyes, she turned away and focused on swinging her leg. Was it possible she knew he wasn’t a cop?
“Those places have been overrun. The whole city has been in chaos.”
“Where’ve you been staying?” Chloe asked.
“Anywhere I can. Now let’s keep going.”
They came to a four-way intersection lit by two burning cars. People stood around the flames, carrying baseball bats and firing guns into the sky. Screaming and hollering, others shattered what was left of the glass storefronts on the block, throwing rocks, bricks and other pieces of heavy debris that had accumulated on the street.
Dax spotted an alleyway on the right and gestured toward it.
“That way. Quick, before they see us coming.”
He led Chloe and Mindy to the alley, hoping none of the animals looting his city had seen them.
“Well, what do we have here?”
Mindy screamed, breaking free of Chloe’s arm to run. Chloe stumbled, but Dax held her up.
The fire in the street illuminated the face of a man who blocked their way. He stood at least three inches taller than Dax, who measured a solid six-foot-one, and wore a long, grizzly beard with a hair tie at the bottom which rested in the middle of his chest. In addition to being taller, the man had an extra fifty pounds on Dax.
The bearded man laughed.
“I’m gonna let her go. Don’t really have a thing for redheads anyway.”
He looked down at Chloe’s missing leg. “Now that... that’s interesting. Always thought it might be wild to fuck a cripple.”
His eyes crawled up her body to her face, and he grinned. “Never thought I’d find one as pretty as you, darlin’.”
“You’re not touching her.”
“Yeah? What you gonna do about it, nigger?”
The bearded man raised his hand, flicking open a switchblade. Chloe gasped.
“It’s all right, Chloe. Stay calm.”
The man took two steps forward with a crooked smile on his face. “Yeah, baby. Stay calm. Gonna take care of your pig friend here and then I’ll give you a treat, all right?”
Dax narrowed his eyes as the man refocused his attention on him.
His smile disappeared as he lunged at Dax.
Dax ducked beneath Chloe’s arm and shoved her toward the wall as he turned away from the man’s attack. She lost her balance and fell.
Dax stepped in front of Chloe and spread his feet shoulder-width apart. She scrambled off to the side. Then he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, bent slightly at the waist and with his fists in front of his face.
“You’re a quick one,” the man said.
They faced each other, neither man stepping into striking distance. The guy flinched at Dax a few times, tossing the knife from one hand to the other as if trying to show Dax that he could be lethal with either.
“I’m gonna cut you, piggy. Then I’m gonna open your girl up here in a whole other way.”
“Shoot him, Dax,” Chloe said.
The bearded man turned his head sideways, glancing down at the holster on Dax’s hip.
“He’s out of bullets, honey. Or he would have done that already.”
“Not true.” Dax shook his head. “Bullets are precious now and I ain’t about to waste one on your sorry ass.”
The man screamed and slashed at Dax again. This time, Dax wasn’t fast enough. The blade caught him across the forearm, deep enough to draw blood. He cried out and grabbed the wound.
“How’s it feel to bleed, boy? That’s only the beginning.”
The man lunged at Dax again, aiming for his chest. Dax caught the swing, grabbed the man by the wrist and stopped the tip of the knife from entering his chest. Dax’s back hit the wall, though, which gave the man leverage. He leaned into Dax’s face, his breath smelling of cigarettes and stale beer. Dax put both hands on the knife as the man tried pushing the switchblade into his heart.
“Give up. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
The man pressed in closer, using his height and weight advantage to force the knife closer. The tip poked through Dax’s shirt, and he groaned. Dax closed his eyes and leaned his head back onto the brick wall.
“That’s it. Give up. I promise I’ll make it qui—”
Dax brought his head forward with as much energy as he could muster. He planted his forehead on his attacker’s nose. The man dropped the knife and put both hands on his face, trying to stop the blood pouring through his fingers.
The alleyway swam in Dax’s vision. He blinked and shook his head, trying to regain his balance while also trying to ignore the pain and blood pulsing from the wound in his arm.
The man spat and lunged for his knife. In one motion, he retrieved it and rolled over to Chloe. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to her feet, one arm wrapped around her body with the switchblade resting against her throat.
“Jackson...”
Dax put his hands up. “Look, man, she’s not in this fight.”
“You should’ve given me the girl and fuckin’ beat it. Now I’m gonna have to kill her. But at least I get to make you watch.”
“Please,” Chloe said. “Let us go.”
“Shut up, you stupid fucking bi—”
Dax remained in a shooter’s stance with the Glock in both hands and a thin line of smoke oozing from the barrel. His ears rang, and he was unable to hear what Chloe was saying. She had blood running down her neck, but the bearded man lay motionless on the ground, his face no longer recognizable. Dax put the gun back into its holster and hurried over to Chloe, helping to lower her to the ground where they both sat with their backs to the wall. The alley reeked of gunpowder and burnt hair.
At first, he could only feel Chloe shaking as she cried in his arms. Several minutes had passed before his hearing started to return.
“It’s okay,” he said, running one hand through her hair and patting her back with the other. “Everything’s all right.”
“Where did you learn to fight like that?”
Dax swallowed hard. He looked into her striking eyes as she wiped the tears from them. They had last seen each other in high school, as all-American sweethearts. Dax—or Jackson, as he had been known then—had been an all-state basketball star with decent grades and had talked to a few college recruiters, including LSU. That person couldn’t have been further away from who he was now.
Where
do I begin? She might not even know I’m an ex-con.
“A story for another time.”
4
Neil Warren sat at the folding table, playing Canasta with three women from the camp. He was too old to sit with the teenagers and too young to beat the ladies at card games. They thought winning came as a result of their years of experience and he wasn’t about to prove them wrong. Neil had been granted de facto leadership by the adults and, therefore, didn’t really have the time to sit for a game of cards.
The cramped day care center was far from ideal, but it was better than being out on the street. The high windows allowed light inside, but it would make it difficult for anyone to climb through them. The stench of spoiled milk and diapers sat beneath a thin scent of hospital disinfectant.
Some children had not heard from their parents at all since The Blackout began while others were told to stay there until they could be picked up. With each passing day, it became more difficult to communicate, and so the group decided to barricade the doors and wait. It seemed the safest move and in the best interest of the children.
At fifty-eight, Neil had given up on his bald spot, but he kept his sideburns trimmed. Last year, he had made a weak attempt at fashion by letting the perky young girl at the eyeglass counter pick out his frames. As a young man, he’d had what his grandma called a “pudgy” nose set between two bright blue eyes. But now, he had “pudge” around his waistline and gray hair in places where there shouldn’t be hair at all.
The group had played games and sang songs. This was how they’d chosen to pass the time. The teenagers seemed to watch over the younger children, and the older folks looked after the teenagers, a dynamic that had evolved from pre-historic times and had been lost in modern, American culture. In all, the group numbered about twenty-four people.
The Love n’ Play Day Care sat on the fringe of the downtown area. Even still, they’d heard breaking glass and gunshots several times since it all went down. A few days earlier, three men had even shouldered the door of the daycare open. They’d seen the women and children sitting on the ground, terrified, and the men had simply waved before they’d backed away and left, most likely looking for jewelry or electronics—neither of which would be carried by the elderly or children.
That moment had played over and over in Neil’s head since it happened. Had those men had different intentions, he and the others would likely have been knocked around, robbed... or worse.
This morning, few of the day care’s inhabitants had spoken to each other. At first, the day care had been full of children waiting for their mothers. But as the crisis wore on, the elderly from the neighborhood had joined the raggedy group. The old folks couldn’t drive, had been separated from their loved ones, and realized that the day care would at least have some food stockpiled. But it wouldn’t last long.
Three people had left two days prior to go out and look for food, but they hadn’t returned. Neil had explained that by the time the daycare would run out of food, everywhere else would have already been looted. But they hadn’t listened. Instead, they’d arranged a scouting party to search the city.
Mark led the group—a former college football player who was by far the most physically dominant person residing at the day care center. Mark was the biggest guy Neil had ever seen in person. A software engineer in his mid-fifties named Robert had gone with him. And then there was Chloe, a thirty-something former track star who’d lost her leg in a car accident. Neil had all but refused to let her go, but she had insisted. And even with her prosthetic, she still moved quicker than most of the others in their safe haven. She had eventually convinced him of this, and he’d agreed to stop protesting, although Neil suspected she’d have gone with or without his blessing.
They’d left in the early afternoon and had promised to be back before the sun went down. Now they’d been gone for two full nights, riding well into a third.
Neil lost his last card and stood up.
“You leaving us?”
“I’ve played four games with you ladies, Marie.”
Marie reminded Neil of his own grandmother. She wore her silver hair in a bun on top of her head and always seemed to be smiling. Freckles and liver spots speckled the woman’s pale skin, but she had something of an inner beauty that belied her age. Neil always knew when Marie was around because her eyeglass chain jangled as she waddled through the building.
“Well, what else are you going to do?” Barb asked. “Go play Legos with those little kids?”
Barb and Marie got along the best out of all the elderly folks in the day care center. Marie would brag about her seven grandkids, and Barb laughed along with the woman’s stories no matter how many times she repeated them. Unlike Barb, Marie kept her hair short. She wore glasses that often slid down her nose, her face being round and her eyes small. Marie didn’t talk much to Neil, and he didn’t go out of his way to talk to her because she often smelled like muscle ointment and onions.
Neil forced a smile. “I’m sure I’ll figure out something. You ladies have fun.”
He pushed the chair under the table and walked away. The weakest and most elderly occupied the sofas while others lay on the floor. Some slept, and some just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Neil walked through the room, checking on everyone and pretending he could make the situation better by asking how things were. He knew they had to be hungry because he was. He’d made the decision to ration the food stockpiled in the day care, unsure of how long they would be there and how much food they’d be able to scavenge.
Neil went through the double doors and into the next room, a game room before and now the kids’ room. They all slept there, ranging from the ages of six to thirteen. The kids had naturally gravitated toward her and so Chloe had been in charge of the children, but with her off searching for food, a nineteen-year-old named Isaac supervised them. Monica, one of the eldest kids at thirteen, helped Isaac with the younger ones. Neil was never sure who would be in the room. Parents had been coming and grabbing their children, although more so in the first few days than of late.
Four of the children stood at the foosball table with Isaac leaning against the wall behind it.
Kevin and Darius stood at opposite ends of the table, each boy biting his lower lip and spinning the rods as fast as they could. Darius was a few years older than Kevin, who had said he was six although none of the adults at the day care center remembered either boy being there before The Blackout which meant that they had probably arrived from the neighborhood early on when many kids were coming in and out of the center. Darius had shoulder-length cornrows, and almost every item he wore had the New Orleans Saints’ logo planted somewhere on it. His right eye flickered constantly, and he spoke with a slight stutter.
Kevin stood a foot shorter than Darius, an African-American kid with well-groomed hair and a bright smile. He wore a Saints jersey with the number nine on the back. Kevin’s brain couldn’t keep up with his mouth, and he often spoke so fast that he had to repeat himself. A wiry kid with an athletic build, Neil wondered if the boy would have had a future in professional ball, had things not gone to hell.
They looked up and smiled at Neil as he walked into the room.
Monica sat on the couch with three younger girls around her, including a nine-year-old who was sitting on Monica’s lap, getting her hair braided. Monica stood almost six feet tall and weighed less than one hundred forty pounds. She had arrived wearing a white One Direction t-shirt which was now covered in splotches of canned spaghetti sauce. She wore braces with pink bands, and she kept her hair bundled into two wiry pigtails. Despite her African heritage and dark skin, though, Monica couldn’t hide the acne outbreak on her right cheek.
Neil forced a smile again.
“You kids doing all right?”
“Yes, Mr. Warren,” one of the little girls said.
“Good.”
Monica looked up at Neil. “Anything from Chloe and the others yet?”
Neil’s smile vanished
, and he shook his head. He used his eyes to point at the children in the room, letting Monica know that frightening the children with the reality of their situation wasn’t wise. He knew Monica looked up to Chloe, and the scouting party’s extended absence worried everyone.
“I’ll let you know when they come back, all right?”
Monica twirled one of her pigtails, not looking back at Neil as she nodded. She refocused her attention on the girl’s braids.
“As always, let me know if you guys need anything.”
When the kids went back to their games, Neil left the room, thankful that they’d remained entertained and distracted.
He walked to the main room that he’d claimed as his own, finding a thin blanket and a stuffed animal that he used as a pillow. He’d given the elderly women and the children the cleanest and warmest of the blankets, as well as the sleeping mats they’d found in the closet. Hearing the explosions and gunshots at night, he considered himself lucky to have four walls and protection from the animals looting the city. Neil shuddered as his thoughts drifted again to the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. And then he thought of Chloe. He felt the pit growing in his stomach.
Neil spread out on the carpeted floor and put his head on the stuffed animal. His frayed nerves had kept him uneasy, hot. The air inside the day care had become stagnant and smelled of dirty diapers and vomit, but he didn’t dare risk opening a window.
He’d only dozed off for a moment when a commotion from the other room woke him.
Neil shot up to see Isaac standing in the doorway.
“What is it, Isaac?”
The kid usually had a wide smile that would crawl into a goofy grin. Isaac seemed to have a permanent five-o’clock-shadow even at age nineteen, his voice still cracked, and he dragged his feet when he walked.
Several crying children ran at Neil’s bed. Monica and Isaac herded others into his room while trying to keep them quiet.
“Someone’s trying to get in!” one of the children yelled.
Neil returned to the main room and looked out of the closed window, where he saw five men on the other side, moving toward the back door. They all held guns, and one of the men carried a long-barreled weapon—likely an assault rifle.
