Outpost 9: An Apocalyptic Memior

by Crane, J. J.

  “Pam can stay with us,” Casey offered. “We always have room.”

  Pam thanked him but declined for the time being. She said that she currently felt safe enough and that she had a pistol, loaded and ready if needed.

  “Like I mentioned, we’ll have ears on that scanner, and if there is anything that even smacks of needing attention, I will let you know,” I said.

  “I have a small emergency scanner as well,” Max’s cousin, Bruce said.

  “Excellent, so we’ll have two houses keeping track of what’s unfolding,” I said before changing subjects. “So, how is everyone feeling?”

  Silence fell like an anvil as people looked about to see if anyone would say anything.

  “I’ll take it that no news is good news,” I said. “I know we are facing tough conditions. Scary. But, if we keep to ourselves, minimize lights at night, we can stay hidden, hopefully from any danger. Right now, our prime objective is to stay in the neighborhood. We can’t leave. If anyone ventures out it will only cause great anxiety to the rest of us and possible contamination. I for one, will not accept that.”

  You could have heard crickets if they were out and in season. I looked at expressionless faces, hollow eyes, rudderless body language of stooped shoulders and somber shaped mouths.

  “How is everyone’s diet?” I asked.

  Most nodded as if that matter was fine.

  “Great,” I said, thinking this would be a good way to wrap things up. “That’s key for the time being. I think we should meet again tomorrow if the weather holds out and share any information or thoughts. My door is always open if anyone wants to talk. Text or call as well. Let’s be communicative about what we hear or see, please.”

  With that, the gathering came to a close, and people slowly walked back to their homes.

  Watching the news was routine. It was hardly ever not on the television or phone or tablet. I noticed that broadcasts started to lack the zip and polish of graphics, music and changing camera angles. More and more, stations used a single shot of the news desk with nothing more than someone reading reports and the occasional video to support. As the days went by, some of the familiar hosts of television shows no longer appeared, replaced by those who yearned for an opportunity to report the news.

  The following day, Maggie Peterson called everyone in the neighborhood to report she learned that the virus had infected several people in our town. She said she spoke with a friend who worked at the hospital confirming the news. All objections and grumbling about leaving the neighborhood stopped.

  By the weekend, estimates of absenteeism from the workplace ranged from seventy-five to ninety percent in the United States. The President finally acknowledged a full-blown pandemic. He pushed a mandate through Congress to nationalize all police, fire, and EMT personnel. He also ordered National Guard units and full-time army personnel to protect water facilities, the national grid system as well as specific power plants and nuclear facilities throughout the country. Some people considered the president’s orders dictatorial and the end of our freedoms. I saw it as a necessary means to maintain some semblance of order and security regardless of constitutional overreaching, or not.

  The president also reported the virus existed in every state. He didn’t mention anything about a death toll. He urged people to stay indoors, stay calm, that the government would unveil a food-rationing program in two days. He asked for civility as well as issuing a nationwide curfew that took place at sunset except for security and emergency personnel. He asked the nation to pray and to remember we were all in this together. He informed the country that C-Span and a new live-feed channel called Twenty-Four Seven would broadcast up to the minute news on the state of the virus and the nation. This same broadcast would also air on AM 1600.

  If all the recent news wasn’t crappy enough, a cold, raw, icy rain poured down Saturday afternoon. No one wanted to meet, and we all decided to discuss the recent events and concerns on Sunday. At that meeting, long faces, scared expressions, and tension oozed from everyone’s presence.

  Stan Jenson (who I called Doc, privately at this point) spoke up. He had said little at the gatherings, but this time shared some chilling news.

  “The virus has infected people in every county in our state,” he said. “An old colleague of mine who works for a major hospital in Hartford informed me he and his family have contracted it. He also said that every hospital and walk-in center have reported at least one case entering their building. What’s more frightening… he said nurses and doctors, are just not showing up for work any longer.”

  Jenny’s body shook as she revealed that family of hers back in Chicago became infected and that it was all over that city. Jason had to hold her up while she recited what they told her.

  “My best friend, Gail, and her family have it,” Linda said, tears streaming down her face. “They’re just going to stay home and be as at peace as they can be. She just wanted to say goodbye.”

  Casey and Charlotte shared that many members of their church had become infected. “If we would have gone to help out last week, Rob,” Casey said, looking at me without blinking. “We would have certainly caught it. Everyone who participated in that mission work is now dying.”

  Maggie Peterson said she watched her haggard looking sister pass out while video chatting on their computers. She described how her sister simply fell out of view of the laptop camera while in mid-sentence. She screamed for her sister to get up, but she never did. While others wept, I stood tall. It wasn’t easy, but I wanted to show strength.

  In the midst of this neighborhood cleansing session, Charlotte Kenderdine asked a tough question. “What happens if one of us gets the flu?”

  A collective silence fell over the group. People looked at each other not sure what to say. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” I answered.

  Charlotte’s voice quivered. “No, I want to know. Are we to be abandoned, to die alone?”

  I could feel the eyes of the group turn to me. “Charlotte, if you fill your mind with those kinds of thoughts, you are only going to smother yourself.” My answer didn’t seem to appease anyone. “Do you feel sick? Are you not sharing something because you fear being abandoned?” The mere suggestion of her being ill, made people shuffle away from her. I could see Charlotte take offense to my comment.

  “I am perfectly fine,” she announced. “How dare you accuse me of deceit?”

  I lowered my tone. “I am not questioning your character. I never have, but do you see how your imagination can run away with scenarios none of us have an answer for? No one can answer your question with any clarity. If you have a suggestion to deal with that scenario, please share it.”

  Charlotte backed off and said she was just letting anxiety get the best of her. I told her I understood, but she leered at me, not satisfied with my answer.

  With that, the meeting concluded. Again, I encouraged people to communicate via e-mail or phones if they felt the need to talk and express themselves.

  As Ted and I walked away, he leaned towards me and whispered, “What are we going to do if someone gets sick?”

  I had a ghastly thought and expressed it. “Post a guard. If they want to leave, they can, but they can’t come back. If they return… we’ll shoot them.” I said it with such a matter of fact tone that I took him by complete surprise. “You look shocked,” I said. “What else do you suggest? The hospitals aren’t going to do anyone any good, and we can’t risk them spreading the bug to anyone else.”

  “I agree with you brother,” he said. “I just didn’t think you had that kind of mettle in you.”

  I sighed. “Sadly, it was the first thing that came to mind. I feel terrible. What else can we do? We can’t have the virus in this neighborhood. Either stay in your home or go. But no coming back.”

  Ted put his hand on my shoulder, “I have no idea what to do either. Unfortunately, we may need someone to make that kind of brutal decision in the near future.”

&nbs
p; Monday afternoon turned into a bright sunny warmish early February day with temperatures reaching the high forties. People asked for a neighborhood gathering after lunch.

  Spirits ran high. A beautiful clear blue sky dominated the day, the first we’d had in over a week. Smiles abounded. The entire neighborhood came out. After twelve days of confinement, we all felt that we survived the virus. Though the quarantine period we agreed upon had lapsed, this was the first day people felt comfortable giving each other hugs or shaking hands.

  Watching the joy of the moment take place; I opted to say nothing. Anything I had to say, whether about food, news, weapons, whatever, would only circle back to the bleak reality we currently lived in. I could not bear to break that. It was best to let everyone have this natural moment of levity and

  relief.

  Not twenty minutes passed when our joy dampened as the faint cry of a wailing siren rose over the din of our voices. We fell silent and listened as the sound became louder and louder. We waited to see a police car, fire truck or EMT go by. None did. The sound had carried from the other side of the lake behind my house. We all stood silently as we listened to the alarming sound fade away.

  Seeing how the mood of the group shifted, Casey Kenderdine suggested a moment of prayer. People instantly bowed their heads, looking for any kind of relief, guidance, and hope. He acknowledged everyone’s loss and suffering, asked for comfort, patience, and strength. He ended his brief prayer by giving thanks for having the opportunity to live and move forward. When he finished, it appeared his words helped ease people’s nerves. I looked around and could see a few weak smiles.

  The gathering began to separate. Some people lingered to finish conversations. June and I struck up a talk with the Macians about who in the area became sick when we noticed a police car slow down along the main road outside of our street. We were all surprised to see it, but we were also relieved that a semblance of security still existed. The black vehicle with a thick white stripe that had Chapel PD, written on it then turned down our street and slowly came to a stop in front of us. The window came rolling down.

  “Good afternoon,” the older appearing police officer said with a broad smile and wide eyes expressing surprise. “How are you folks?” he said as he scanned all the people outside.

  I stepped forward, my brother and June right behind. “So far so good. How about you, how’s the rest of the town doing? We just heard a siren.”

  The officer’s smile faded. “Not well, in all honesty. Lots of people have left or holed up in their homes. Some have gone to find better care because all the area hospitals are full, and the walk-in medical facilities don’t have enough personnel to see everyone. Others have left to be with family or friends. And others have simply just fled to find somewhere else to go, scared, confused… it’s pretty daunting. People have no idea what to do.”

  I let what he said sink in. I couldn’t imagine having to deal with all that chaos. “Any looting or anything like that?” I asked, curious for our own security.

  “Not a lot but some. The populated areas are having more of a problem with that,” he answered while taking a moment to eye his surroundings. “You folks look like you have everything in order.”

  I nodded. “We’re thankful for our good fortune.”

  “Very fortunate,” he said, continuing to look around with a raised eyebrow.

  “Is the police force in good shape?” I asked wanting to distract him from scouting us out.

  “There are ten of us now,” he answered, returning eye contact. “We are doing our best. We’re better than some towns and worse than others.”

  “Well thank you for your service…officer?”

  “Lasker,” he answered, and shifted his nameplate towards me to see. He looked mid-forties maybe a little older, touch of gray along the sideburns, muscular forearms, big solid guy from what I could see as he sat in his car.

  “If there’s anything we can do to help, let us know,” I said.

  “I will. For now, stay home. Don’t venture out,” he answered. “Nothing good out there right now.”

  “We don’t plan to. And thank you for swinging through.”

  “Be safe,” he said, giving a short wave before heading back out to the main road.

  As the car disappeared both, Max and Pops said in unison, “Lasker, what a prick.”

  I didn’t understand. They explained he was a long-time veteran with a string of disciplinary issues to follow. He was born and raised in town and knew a lot of people. In his youth, Nick Lasker was the town’s standout athlete, but he hung out with a crowd of people who caused trouble. Nearly all local suspects busted for break-ins, vandalizing, fighting and minor drug offenses associated themselves with knowing Lasker in some form or another. As much as some detectives tried, they could never tie him to any of the crimes committed. It was rumored Lasker became a cop to help protect his cronies. Others suspected him of running a semi-mafia like organization where the proceeds of various regional crimes found their way into his pockets. Again, no one could ever tie him to such activities.

  Officer Lasker hadn’t turned out of our street more than a minute when we heard what sounded like firecrackers going off.

  “Gunshots,” Max said.

  “You think?” I asked.

  “Could be,” said Ted.

  A look of concern and panic creased the faces of those outside. I raised my hands in the air for everyone to settle down.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said with a steady voice.

  “What the hell could that have meant?” Pam Richards asked.

  “I don’t know, but assuming the worst-case scenario isn’t going to help us,” I answered.

  “Then what should we do?” asked Katie.

  “We keep our weapons near,” Jason suggested.

  “I’m not comfortable with that,” Casey said. “I understand it, but I don’t like it. It doesn’t…”

  I cut him off. “Listen, the world we lived in doesn’t exist anymore. Civilization as we know it is gone. There are going to be animals out there. Some are going to look for food and shelter.” I paused. I was going to say something about those who will look to rape, but I kept it to myself. “We can’t depend on the police force to secure the whole town. You heard him – they are only ten, and who knows how long that will last.” I could see pensive expressions tighten across people’s faces. “But for now, we have no idea what that sound meant or even if it was a gun.” All eyes continued to linger on me. I could feel the tension, the stress of isolation, but we needed to be vigilant, and I needed to pound that home. “From here on it may only get worse. We need each other now more than ever. We must stay alert. Keep an eye out. Listen to what’s going on, and be there for each other at a moment’s notice.”

  “Let’s set up a patrol,” Max suggested. “Let’s have some volunteers to walk a post or at least sit in cars and keep watch, especially at night.”

  “How about keeping the lights out after dark?” Jason added. “No lights, no attractant to our homes. We are tucked away enough; maybe people won’t notice us.”

  “Excellent ideas,” I said. “May I suggest if the early darkness is too unsettling; pick a room, close your curtains and black it out using duct tape. This way you can watch TV, listen to the radio, play games, talk, go on the computer. I have plenty of tape if anyone needs it.”

  I watched heads nod, but people’s response had a zombie-like, no alternative reaction to their motions.

  “Bruce and I will keep a watch tonight,” Max said. I could see he was itching to get out of the house and do something with his time. Max had expressed to me in conversations over the phone that he wanted to set up a neighborhood watch patrol.

  “Rob and I will take the late watch,” Ted said, to my surprise.

  Max looked at us and gave a thumb’s up. “We’ll work out a schedule and see what we can come up with,” he said.

  From that night forward, we always had a security wat
ch after dark.

  Chapter 11

  Two weeks passed since the start of our quarantine from society. June wanted to have a party at our house. “A party will inject some life back into us,” she reasoned. “We need to smile more, laugh more. I know the situation doesn’t dictate it, but we can’t all sulk around our homes. We can’t let depression set in.”

  June went house to house telling people to come over the next night for a party. People thought it was a great idea. When she stopped by the Petersons, she found they were having a hard time coping. Everyone in the neighborhood knew someone who contracted the illness, but for Maggie, who had five other siblings and a host of cousins living within a hundred miles of her, every day was news of some family member contracting the virus or dying. The shadow of her sister dying while video chatting continued to haunt Maggie. She felt helpless, alone, spending more and more time with a blanket wrapped around her, curled up on a chair, in a darkened room. June paid her a visit and after returning commented that she was worried about Maggie’s sanity.

  The afternoon of the party, Ted and I duct taped all the windows in the lower part of the house as a precaution to excessive light leaks. The upstairs would have no lights on and all the curtains and shades drawn. Next, we hung extra blankets and sheets over the windows facing the street for even more protection. With security at the forefront of our minds, we conferred with Max and arranged an hourly watch patrol so everyone could enjoy portions of the party.

  Even the neighborhood youngsters, eight in all, volunteered to stand watch for the first few shifts. Some adults felt insecure about them handling a watch, let alone