by Crane, J. J.
Looking at my watch, I noticed they had twenty minutes remaining, and I reminded them of it. Pops relayed that Max said Thanks, Mom.
Max turned down a few side streets. Again, they reported no movement or life of any kind. Next, Pops radioed they were going to look at the hospital. It was only a couple of minutes away in the next town. I simmered at their pushing the envelope. I wanted to scream for them to return but bit my tongue.
“You’re going off script,” I said. “This was not discussed or agreed on.”
“Understood,” Pops said.
I didn’t like the way he said it as if blowing me off. “So, you guys are heading back?” A response did not come immediately. “Did you hear me?”
“What’s that?” Pops said. “You’re breaking up.”
I didn’t believe him though they were at that border point of the CB’s range.
Knowing they were cutting it close to the time limit, Max gunned it up the street towards the regional hospital, Mercy Central. It sat atop a rise in the landscape that overlooked the surrounding hills and valleys. In the fall, nature photographers often visited the location for its picturesque views of the region.
Mercy Central wasn’t a big hospital, but it served the immediate area well. Approaching the facility, they noticed an abnormal number of cars parked along the street, in driveways and even on a few lawns. Soon they found themselves in a maze of automobiles scattered along the road as if drunk valets parked them. Max navigated his way through the vehicles, eventually spotting the hospital. They all gasped; littered across the small front lawn and Emergency Room driveway laid dead bodies. The smell of decay began to seep into the car. Max tried to turn his car around but found himself sandwiched with not enough space to k-turn. He had to back his way out.
As Max nervously worked his way backward, Bruce yelled,
“Oh My God!” He pointed to a family of dead people sitting in their car. Their pale gray and decomposing bodies either slumped over or slumped back in their respective seats. Bruce felt himself vomit a little in his mouth but swallowed it back, wincing as the acids burned his throat.
With the microphone open, we heard their distraught voices crackle intermittently, yelling to get the hell out of there. Pops then noticed five people clumped together, their backs to each other like a teepee on someone’s lawn, the clothes having dropped away from their rotting bodies or torn apart by the weather.
Max continued to weave backward through the labyrinth of cars, breaking, hitting the gas, jerking the car as if it was his first day behind the wheel. Finally, we heard Pops shout they just hit a car. Max kept pushing the vehicle in order to turn around and get the hell out of there.
Another minute later Pops began whispering “shit, shit, shit.”
“What?” I asked, my tone desperate.
“The cops,” he replied.
Max needed to catch his breath and pulled over to the side of the road. The view allowed them to see into the center of our downtown area. That’s when they spotted two police cars turn up the main street towards the far end of town.
“Did they see you?” I asked.
“No. I don’t think so,” Pops said. “We’re heading back as soon as they are out of sight.”
“Where are they going?” I asked.
There was a pause. It felt interminable. Finally, Pops spoke. “At first they pulled into the gas station. Now they look like they are turning up Myers Street.” There was another pause. “Okay, they’re gone, we’re on our way home.”
Myers street was innocuous enough. It was a simple tree-lined road that wound its way up a hill where several of the pricier homes in the area were located. I wondered for a moment what might have been up there, but my mind quickly snapped back to our team. Instantly, my mood grew dour. The hospital was not part of the plan. I wasn’t sure how to handle their blatant disregard for their own agenda but knew it could not go without some kind of disciplinary measure. By the time I settled my anger and walked to the curb, I saw their car approach. They turned in and drove down to Pops’ house. They all exited the car with expressions of regret.
“It was friggin’ horrible,” Bruce said, spit shooting from his mouth as he balanced himself against the side of the SUV, dizzy from hyperventilating.
Max had sweat dripping down his face. “I can’t believe all the dead people. Everyone… dead… lifeless bodies rotting into the earth.”
“And the smell,” Pops said with a cough. “I can still smell it on me. I can taste the smell in my mouth.” The other two nodded in agreement. “Sorry for that extra adventure. Everything else had gone without a hitch. It just got the better of us to investigate knowing we had a few extra minutes.”
“Sorry Rob,” Max said with all humility. “Next time stick to the agreed upon plan.” He then cracked a small smile. “Sorry about the mom bit.”
I could see they were upset, but breaking the protocol they wrote, and The Body agreed upon could not go without notice. Letting this transgression slide simply pissed on the whole idea of a governing body. “If I have my way, none of you go out on another expedition anytime soon.” The more my words came out, the more I fumed, and they could see it.
Meekly they nodded, knowing they went over the line.
While they gathered themselves, I looked over the car and saw Max had smashed up the left rear directional and brake light assembly and nicked up the rear quarter panel. The rest of the car looked fine.
“You are back and healthy; that’s what counts most,” I said, my voice firm but no longer angry. “When you finally change your diapers, I’d like to take a look at the footage you shot.”
Max smirked. “You’re a dick.”
I didn’t take the smirk for its light-hearted intention. “I’m the dick?” I half shouted as I began to lunge forward. Fury swept over me. I balled my hand into a fist, but before I could get to him, Ted intervened, grabbed me and pushed me back before smacking my chest, rattling me to look at him.
“Wake up,” he snapped. “That kind of shit isn’t going to do us any good. They fucked up. We’ll deal with that.”
I stood frozen, surprised at my reaction. I placed my hand on my head, dizzy with disillusionment on my part. “I’m sorry.” I leaned against the car, looked over at Max. “Sorry.”
“No problem, I’m sorry,” he said as he walked over and embraced me. “We have to do this as a team. You were right. We were wrong.”
“Good. The three of you are regulated to garbage duty for the next two weeks,” I said, hoping that would send a message. “I’m sure The Body won’t have any objection to that.”
Inside, watching the mostly shaky footage, it revealed both the desolation of our region and scope of death the virus inflicted. While viewing the footage from around the hospital, we noticed bright yellow tags placed in between the windshield wiper and windshield or up on the dashboard of cars. Several of us surmised some kind of waiting list or lottery had been established to see people. I couldn’t fathom people sitting in their cars, dying as they waited for a doctor or nurse to see them.
The guys also mentioned the horrible smell. We deduced the rank smell was because of the recent mild weather. Prior to the warm spell, the majority of days remained in the low-thirties to mid-teens, which would have slowed the rate of decay. Most of those looking on did not make it through all the footage, Linda, and Casey both excused themselves because they had to throw up. I know I choked back more than one acidic gulp of my own vomit.
Stepping outside to catch my breath, I quickly became concerned as a frigid wind bit into my face followed by dark gray clouds moving in. The Kenderdines reported their barometer needle had fallen towards Very Stormy. People began to wear worried expressions. No one wanted a snowstorm, and there was no way to confirm if one was brewing. The radio and television were worthless for information, and the internet, though still up, was mostly stagnant, except for a few who managed to blog their survival stories.
I had second shift for
the overnight watch that evening. As I walked out to meet Steve and relieve Katie and Ted, I noticed a light snow falling. A thick covering already coated our lawns. Thirty minutes later, the snowfall picked up. However, it didn’t just snow; it came down in blizzard-like quantities. Sitting in the car with Steve, we watched as visibility rapidly went from seeing the Stop sign at the end of the street to barely seeing our own homes. As the heavy snow continued to fall, I suggested we go indoors and hold our watch from our front windows. I doubted anyone was going to come by, especially since we estimated that a minimum of six inches had already fallen in a relatively short amount of time.
Staying indoors proved a quick way to fall asleep. The warmth and comfort of my chair by the front window simply invited slumber. Wanting to remain vigilant, I went outside onto the front porch and dusted off some snow from the immediate area around the front door. I unfolded a chair I had leaning on the rail and sat. The chill bit into my hands and feet as I tried curling both to keep warm. When that proved less than successful, I went out back, through the house, and retrieved our chimenea and set it up on a block. After gathering some kindling, I lit it. Not the smartest move I surmised as a stream of smoke rose up and danced across the roof of the outside porch ceiling, but the activity kept me awake and alert.
Tending to the small crackling fire, I watched the wall of fluttering white, blanket the scene before me. I could barely make out the shapes of homes across the street as the snow came down in a driving force. What I could see was how high the snow began to pile. In a couple of hours, it came up beyond the third step of our front porch.
Around five thirty in the morning after throwing a few more sticks in the chimenea, I heard a small distant pop; a transformer blew. My stomach sank. Air left my lungs as if I had fallen on a football with the pointed end ramming into my chest. I instantly knew we lost power. Shit!
To confirm my instinct, I went inside and flicked on the light switch to our foyer…nothing. I walked to the kitchen and noticed the digital clock on the stove not working. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and flipped on the kitchen light switch. When I opened my eyes, darkness reigned. My shoulders slumped, my body went heavy, and I decided to head back outside. I sat down in front of the chimenea, broke up a few more sticks to toss in the small fire when all of a sudden, I burst out crying. I cried out all my frustration, anger, anxiety, and uncertainty. I couldn’t stop, nor did I feel the need to. The only thing I tried to control was how loud I sobbed. I put my gloved hands to my face and sat there rocking back and forth for several minutes. I had been so concerned about keeping our community safe and healthy, that I barely took any time for myself to process my own feelings. Here it was. I was alone; the power that I knew would eventually go out finally went. We were now truly entering a new phase in our existence.
When the tears finally passed, I closed my eyes and prayed. I wasn’t much of a praying man, but I did it, and it helped settle me. I thanked God for getting us this far and hoped his blessings would continue to be with all of us. I breathed deeply and slowly a few times when I heard the front door open.
June spoke, her voice soft. “The power’s out.”
“I heard it go,” I replied, barely audible for her to hear. I looked back at her and smiled. “You okay?”
She nodded, her eyes round with worry, swollen, puffy. “Are you?”
“I am now,” I said. I stood up and gave her a big hug. “I love you.”
I could feel her shake as she began to cry. “I love you too.”
I pulled away but still embraced her, looking at her directly. “We’ll be fine. We’ll get through this. This will end, and we’ll be on the other side of it.”
She shook her head in agreement then pulled herself back into me.
I stayed out on our front porch. About an hour after daybreak, the fall of snow began to slow down, and I could once again see the houses on our block clearly. I sat there wondering if I would hear someone scream or shout once the realization of no power sank in. I knew the outage would cause lots of worry and anxiety. In many a whispered conversation people feared living dawn to dusk. I spoke with Jason and Pops about it at length one day. We talked about how ‘no power’ would grate away at nerves of not being able to turn on a light in the bathroom to urinate. We discussed how freezers and refrigerators would have to be cleaned out in a couple of days. There was an endless list of items we could think of – it was the ones we didn’t think about that worried us.
It wasn’t long before a faint cry seeped through someone’s wall, ‘Shit.’ The words repeated but faded away. I understood. The moment was a game changer in how we would live. There was no going back.
Looking up, I continued watching the snow fall. Another voice shouted in frustration. I believed it was Max.
Pops showed himself first that morning. Always an early riser, he saw me, waved, and shrugged his shoulders. I returned the gesture. Across the way, I saw Linda and Steve step out onto their front porch, sheltered by a portico similar to ours. They didn’t see me until I whistled. Linda spotted me first, and I could see her break down in tears.
Already dressed, I stepped out and into the snow. I watched Linda go inside her house. Steve remained outside. A minute later she emerged, a heavy dark orange jacket draping down over ski pants. Without hesitation, she walked right into the snow. I had a hard time not laughing watching Linda’s barely five-foot tall, plumpish body maneuver through the accumulation, swaying from side to side, looking like a fishing bobber bouncing along the surface of a lake.
“So, what now Rob?” she asked, huffing and puffing.
“Good question,” I answered. “We’re going to have to crank up generators at some point.”
“But won’t that give us away,” Linda said. She was one of my biggest supporters in staying as anonymous as possible.
“Normally I would say yes, but I don’t think anyone is going anywhere anytime soon. Noise travels funny. I don’t think we have to worry about that yet,” I said. “Besides, whatever survivors there are, I imagine they are going to get theirs cranking soon too… if they have one.”
“I guess you’re right. But, at the same time, we don’t need everyone running one and making a symphony out of it either. Let’s also not forget about gas consumption.”
“Agreed,” I said. “I think two, for the time being, will suffice. Essentials only, refrigerators, freezers, a light or two.”
“We’ll have to decide who runs them and do extension cords from there.”
“Not like anyone is going to see them strung out all over,” I said.
“What if you run lines into the Kenderdine’s, Jenny and Jason’s and Pam’s place, she doesn’t have a lot going on there. We can take care of our side of the street,” Linda said. “It keeps the noise to the back end of the block. Maybe the woods will help muffle the decibels some.”
“I think that’s a pretty good plan. I have a nice big ten-
thousand watt generator that can handle those houses,” I said. “Let’s get the word out and see how it floats.”
“Great,” Linda said. “But first I have to change… I’m freezing. How about we meet back here in fifteen minutes?”
“Is that fifteen minutes after you walk inside? Because it looked to take you almost fifteen minutes to get this far,” I kidded.
“Very funny smart ass,” she laughed grinning for the first time that morning. “Fifteen after I get in.”
Ted and Max joined Linda and me as we trudged through the deep snow to visit the others and explain our idea of how to best use the generators. My legs screamed in pain trudging through the molasses of white that blanketed the area. Linda and Max fared no better, stopping often to catch their breath. Ted seemed to tolerate the exertion better being an active outdoorsman.
As we made our rounds telling folks how the power distribution would work, everyone agreed, some begrudgingly. Nearly six weeks into this new world and people wondered when all the sacrificing would end. I could
only listen and nod to their angst and concerns. No one wanted to hear, forever more. We informed people about our gasoline situation and that we had to conserve. Yes, we had enough to get us through a tough couple of weeks, but it didn’t mean we had to burn through it all just to keep rooms lit and run other non-essential amenities. One of the concerns that arose was coffee. Everyone wanted to make coffee.
Having experienced how coffee makers can stress a generator because of its need for start-up amps and keep the heater coils going, we had to arrange a schedule for coffee making so we wouldn’t pop any fuses on the generators while running lights, refrigerators, and freezers.
“Someone has to have a moka pot,” Linda said.
I looked at her quizzically.
“Such a guy,” she said as she shook her head. “The kind
you can put on a stove and brew coffee that way.”
I continued to have no idea what she was talking about.
“June probably has one, and you don’t even know it,” Linda said. “Jean and Pops have one, that I know, and Pam probably does as well.”
“Sounds like ancient stuff,” I needled.
“Yeah, well… that ancient stuff will save power,” Linda said. “We’ll worry more about that after we get this situation settled.”
By the late afternoon, generator power surged into all the home's essential appliances with room left for lights. Our house opted for temporarily using battery-operated lamps as our light source to help reduce the stress on the generator. Pops and Max followed our example. With the power outage, so also went the minimal Wi-Fi we had left, meaning no internet, which we didn’t deem essential. Instead, we relied on whatever LTE, 3G, or 4G service was available – no one was concerned about data usage.
