by Adam Drake
“Yup,” Ethan said, perking up. “Not going anywhere you ain't taking me.” He looked about at the cars and people they slowly cruised by. “Damn, someone really screwed up somewhere didn't they?”
“How's that?” Wyatt asked. He needed to keep Ethan awake and talking.
“Well, the way I see it maybe the government discovered something they shouldn't have, and this is the end result.”
“Like a bomb?”
“Sure, a bomb, or a device or something meant to knock out the Russians. Only we got hit with it instead. I mean, look around. Have you ever seen anything like this before in all your days? I sure haven't.”
“I'm certain you've seen a lot considering you're older than dirt. But no, I've never seen this before.”
Ethan thought for a moment. “Maybe the sun did it.”
“Okay, the blood loss is making you a little delusional. You've gone from bombs for Russians to the sun. Bit of a stretch?” Wyatt said, teasing.
Ethan shook his head, weakly. “Not at all. Can happen. Oh, hell, it has happened for all we know. Solar flares or sunspots or whatever. Could be that the sun burped and a big ass wave of radiation hit the Earth and knocked out everything electrical.”
Wyatt thought on this a few moments as he swerved the cart around a fat man who stood unmoving in the middle of the sidewalk.
As Wyatt gave the guy a dirty look, he said to Ethan, “Okay, that might make some sense. But I've never heard of this happening before, like ever.”
“Oh, it's happened,” Ethan said as he tried to adjust his position. It wasn't the most comfortable way to sit, especially if you've been stabbed. “Back in the eighteen-eighties or so a bunch of telegraph wires fried out. There wasn't much electrical back then, but what little there was got sizzled.”
“Like sparks and stuff?”
“Yeah.”
Wyatt gazed up at the endless lines of wires which extended from the telephone poles along the road. “Doesn't look fried to me. Everything looks the same, except for all these damned people and dead cars.”
“Yeah. I dunno about that. Maybe it wasn't the sun. Just a theory.”
“But a good one. Better than my theory, by a long way.”
“You have a theory, do you Einstein?”
“Yup.”
“Well, enlighten me, please.”
Wyatt stopped. The tiredness seeped through his bones and joints.
Ethan frowned at him. “Whoa, junior. I think you've overexerted yourself. Take a break. Here, drink some water.”
Wyatt accepted the bottle and took a long swig. His chatting was masking the mounting frustration he felt. “Where is the God-damned clinic?”
He slowly spun around trying to make out all the signs for the different offices and strip malls around them. He'd been checking as they traveled, but nothing close to resembling a clinic presented itself.
Beside them a family sat in a minivan, the side door slid open. He could hear everyone complaining inside, bewildered at their situation. By this time nearly everybody he'd seen had completely given up on their phones and took to interrogating the other stranded people closest to them. Have they heard anything? Did they know what was going on? When would help arrive?
With the moronic conversations, and the heat, and the need to get Ethan some help the tension inside him was building up.
He was afraid it wouldn't take much to make him blow.
“Yo, Einstein,” Ethan barked.
Wyatt snapped out his thoughts. “What? What is it?”
“Lost you there for a second. You were going to enlighten me?”
“Right, sorry,” Wyatt said and handed the bottle back. He resumed pushing the cart. The beginning of the next block was a short distance ahead. Maybe the clinic was there. “My theory is this. I think God finally got fed up with how the world had gone and screwed itself and decided to do a reset.”
“A reset?”
“Yeah, what better way to get people to pull their heads out of their collective asses than to take away what was most important to them?”
“Electricity?”
Wyatt nodded. “Sure. But maybe it's more than that. Take away all the electricity and what do you got left?”
“The mother of all traffic jams,” Ethan offered.
“Yup, that's one thing. But what does that represent? It's not just this traffic jam but the fact that all the cars and busses and stuff no longer work. What happens when they never start up again?”
“A lot of people will have to walk to work,” Ethan said. “Would do them good. Hell, you and I do that every damned day!”
“Yeah, a lot of walking. But where would they be walking to? If they go to the office, and the computers and machines no longer even turn on, what do they do then?”
Ethan looked pensive. “Start dumpster diving?”
Wyatt laughed, something he hadn't done for several long hours. “Well, they could but where would those cans come from? Need machines to make the cans.”
“And trucks to deliver the cans to the store,” Ethan said. “Hell, they couldn't even dig the aluminum from the ground to feed into their dead can-making machines.”
They passed a bus who's passengers now loitered on the grass next to the sidewalk. Hardly anyone gave the two of them a look, so caught up in their own dilemma. Wyatt was used to being ignored all the time. But he found a strange satisfaction in seeing these people totally flummoxed to the point of being helpless. Now he was the one making progress, and they were to be ignored.
Ethan said, “So, no more cans for us?”
Wyatt shook his head. “I don't know, partner. All I do know is if this doesn't fix itself right quick, things are going to get like the Lord of the Flies.”
“Like a bunch of kids on an island?”
“Like no technology. What if one of these saps get mugged, how they going to call the police? What if there's a murder? No cameras around, no phones, no nothing that would normally make someone think twice before committing a crime.”
This thought made Ethan look more pale. “Sheesh, now that is messed up, right there.”
“Okay, back to the cans in the store,” Wyatt said.
“Or not being there any longer.”
“But say there still is. How do you buy it?”
“Money.”
“Yeah, but what money? Everything is electronic. Pay from a debit card or credit card. Can't do that without the juice flowing through those lines overhead. Now, you and I are old school. Everything is cold hard cash with us.”
“If we had any.”
“True, but I'll bet that you and I have more hard currency on us than anyone on this street. They all got cards linked to their bank accounts, which is online. Or was.”
“Shit,” Ethan said, true realization dawning on him. As they passed more stranded people he looked at them with an odd expression.
“What are you thinking now?” Wyatt asked.
“I'm thinking these folks are absolutely screwed. Lord of the Flies is right. You nailed that bang on. But do you really think this will go on for much longer? Can't someone fix this?”
Wyatt shrugged. “To be honest, I don't really care. Right now I just need to get you some help. Electricity or no electricity.”
They rattled down the sidewalk for a while, both men lost in thought.
“I just realized something,” Ethan said.
“Now it's your turn to enlighten me, you old goat.”
“There hasn't been a news or police chopper flying overhead this whole time.”
“No, you're right. I ain't seen or heard one at all.”
“I figure the police would be watching from overhead by now. If they could.”
“If they could.”
“So, if choppers and planes can't take off anymore, what happened to all the ones that were in the sky at the time this occurred?”
Wyatt paused and the rattling mercifully stopped. “God damn, that is one scary thought.”
> They both looked up at the sky as if expecting to find a plane descending upon them.
“Jesus,” Ethan said. “Guess Baldy did see something. How many planes are in the sky at any one time?”
“Well, we got the airport, so that means lots of air traffic. I don't know. Lots. But even one plane in the sky is one too many when the power goes out.”
“And what if this crap has effected the entire country? Hell, the whole world?”
Wyatt shook his head. “I don't even want to think on about that. Too terrifying to contemplate.” Then he spotted something further ahead.
“What,” Ethan said, seeing his expression. “What is it now?”
A grin spread across Wyatt's face and his eyes lit up.
In the distance he spotted the one thing he needed to find right at that moment.
An ambulance.
CHAPTER NINE
Nate
Despite wearing boots and a long jacket, Nate rode the mountain bike like he was born to it.
At a guess, it had been seven or eight years since he'd ridden anything with two wheels that didn't have a motor.
He sped down the street, navigating around accidents and dead vehicles. The only real obstacles were people, but those he just yelled at and they quickly scampered out of his way.
Unger's unscheduled check-in would have to wait a little while longer. First, Nate needed to make a pit stop and freshen up. Gotta look good for the boss.
Through a maze of avenues and cross-streets he arrived at a squat house perched close to the road. It was of ancient design, compact and square.
An old hippy woman sat on the front stoop, smoking a joint. As Nate rode up, she looked him over and raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Nice bike, Nate. Where'd ya get it?”
Nate stopped and got off the bike. The seat was a little low, he'd adjust it later. “Stranger gave it to me.”
The eyebrows stayed up. “Gave it to you? How come?”
Nate leaned his new acquisition against the side of the stairs and shrugged. “He didn't have much of a choice.”
The eyebrows dropped, and the woman resumed smoking, the conversation all but forgotten. Nate sat down next to her.
“Mind if I partake?” he asked.
The woman coughed a laugh and passed the joint over. “When have you ever not?”
Nate took a long drag, letting himself relax. It had been a stressful morning. He needed this.
The street was quiet, almost death-like. Usually cars used this avenue to move between the major roads at either end. But not now. Maybe never again.
Returning the joint Nate said, “How has your morning been, Crystal? Any planes drop out of the sky?”
Crystal sat back against the stairs, smoke forming wisps around her face and trailing through her long gray hair. “Nah, nothing like that.” She thought on the question a moment then turned her sleepy eyes to Nate. “Why?”
Nate laughed at her confusion. Crystal hardly got riled up about anything. The world could end and she'd still be sitting right here on her stoop, smoking or chatting with the neighbors like it was the only business worth getting up to.
And maybe the world was ending.
Unperturbed by his manner, Crystal looked up at the sky lost in idle thought. It was a pose you could almost always find her in.
He said, “You have no idea what's going on out there, do you?”
“Out where?”
He pointed toward the street and waved his arm. “There, out there in the world. You don't know what's happening.”
Crystal shrugged. “Sure I know.”
“What then?”
“A bunch of convoluted crap, that's what. Just only a little different than yesterday, but still shitty as always.”
Nate laughed. “Yeah, I guess you're right.” Perhaps in more ways than she knew.
Crystal said, “Doesn't matter what happens out there as long as I got this right here.” She took a another drag.
Nate laughed as he stood and headed toward the side of the house.
“Hey, why are you here so early in the day?” she said.
“Finished a job early,” Nate said with a mischievous grin.
“Dare I ask?” she said.
“Nope!” Nate walked down the side of the little house and entered the backyard through a gate. Overgrowth and weeds choked up every square inch of the back of the property. The high fence, coupled with the entanglement of small trees and other foliage, blocked the view of any neighbors who might peer over.
And that was one reason why Nate had chosen this place.
The back door to the basement had a huge padlock on its latch. Nate fished out his keys and opened it.
Once inside, he closed the door. Darkness greeted him. For kicks he tried the light switch. Nothing.
He carefully moved over to the only window and yanked the curtains open. While doing so he knocked over old cans, and piles of paper from a table.
Muted sunlight filtered in through the grimy window. He'd never opened those curtains since he started to rent this place from Crystal. Couldn't risk anyone looking in.
The room was at the ass end of a typical basement, unfurnished save for a single plastic chair and lined with several old work tables. Boxes full of Crystal's crap were jammed into every available spot. The old hippy was a pack-rat. Anyone sorting through this stuff would have an aneurysm just from considering it.
Perfect for hiding things in.
Nate moved a table away from one wall, then removed a piece of paneling, revealing a small crawl space. From it he yanked out a large black dufflebag and dumped it on the table.
Inside were guns and rifles. He ran his hand over the neat pile of gleaming dark metal. God, he loved these things.
He took the pistol out of his pocket and placed it on the table. Normally he would have dumped it by now, but he had a hunch that forensics were quite possibly a thing of the past. Besides, the gun was too nice to get rid of. Worth the risk keeping it.
He selected a shotgun and a box of rounds, then sat on the little plastic chair which squeaked in protest. One by one he feed rounds into the shotgun.
This was not his home. There wasn't a cot or sleeping bag here nor had he ever intended this to be a place to hang out for more than a couple of hours. The less time spent with all this illegal weaponry, the better.
Crystal didn't care, which was what he paid her rent for. Initially, he kept his distance, but her casual manner and cavalier approach to things drew him into conversations with the old hippy. Over the years they became acquaintances, of a sort. Nate would even venture to say she was a kind of sister to him.
Nate did have sisters, three of them. But two were dead, one by suicide, the other by overdose. The third was in prison down on the coast for fraud. He never spoke to her, nor her him. They both preferred it that way, which suited Nate just fine. Family was something that could be used against you. You could try to convince yourself that the scumbags you worked with or worked for would never mess with your family. But at some point they are eventually brought into the equation, especially in a dispute.
Partly because of this he didn't have an apartment or house. He preferred hotel rooms and staying at one of his girlfriends, of each there were many he could choose from. Can't stay in one place for too long, not in his line of work. If he needed to clean up, or a change of clothes he'd stop by one of the girls' places for a shower and a shag. One didn't have to happen before the other.
As he loaded the weapon an image of Jonas, the fat lawyer, pinwheeling down the side of the building played through his mind. It made him smile. Chris would have approved. You weren't suppose to touch lawyers, especially your own. But Chris getting thrown in prison for life was unacceptable to Nate. Someone had to answer for it, and all other participants in that job were dead. So that left the defense attorney. Irrefutable evidence or not, Chris should have walked away from that courtroom and into the nearest bar.
Didn't happen, so Jonas
got himself turned inside out. Such an action would normally have serious ramifications for Nate. Possibly fatal. But he was hedging his bets it wouldn't come to that.
In fact, he was betting a lot of things were about to change for the better.
He finished the rest of his preparations and left Crystal's basement, locking the door behind him.
In the front driveway was a black Trans Am, with a dull red firebird painted across its hood. He walked past it.
