by Nancy Isaak
* * * *
After some discussion, Jay and I decided not to go down onto the 101 Freeway and check out the cars for survivors. We figured that a) it would be too difficult to get over the cement wall and climb the chain link fence on the other side and b) it would probably be really stupid to be caught between security fences and walls if something supernatural actually did come running toward us.
Instead, we headed up Canwood Street toward our local McDonald's restaurant, a place that was usually bustling with people and cars.
But, even there—nothing—no movement, no sounds of civilization.
Just the chirping of birds, the whistle of the wind as it flowed through the parking lot, tumbling discarded burger wrappers in its wake. And, of course, there were cars—mysteriously empty of their drivers and passengers, parked here and there and every which way.
(FYI…Being that both Jay and I are vegetarians, we’re not big fans of McDonald’s. I mean, even their french fries aren't vegetarian and that's just plain wrong! However, yesterday, I have to admit—as we passed by McDonald's—I would have given anything to see a couple of SUV’s making their way along the drive-through.)
* * * *
At the end of Canwood, we turned onto Kanan Road, which eventually led us past Agoura Hills’ main shopping area—two almost-identical strip malls on the far side of the street. Ironically, the malls are side-by-side on Kanan Road, separated only by Thousand Oaks Boulevard running perpendicular through them.
The first strip mall has a CVS and a Vons; the second one has a Rite Aid and a Ralphs. There are other, smaller stores in both malls, including a Subway and a Baskin-Robbins, as well as, a number of banks.
My favorite store, needless to say, has always been the Baskin-Robbins!
By agreement, Jay and I decided to stay on the opposite side of the road when we passed by the malls.
One reason was because we'd be on the side that connects to our townhouses. If anything bad happened, we planned to scale the fence that bordered Kanan Road next to us, run through Chumash Park—which was on the other side of the fence—and be home in about five minutes flat.
But just like the whole walk that came before, we saw nobody alive over in the malls.
Heck, we saw nobody dead.
Just a bunch of empty cars, some shopping carts full of rotting food and, down by one of the banks, an armored car with its back door open. There was a cart loaded with metal boxes in front of it, and Jay and I wondered if those boxes were full of money.
We didn’t cross Kanan Road to find out.
* * * *
At the corner of Kanan and Thousand Oaks Boulevard, we turned to the right. One block down, Thousand Oaks connected to Argos Street. That led us past Agoura High School…and the driverless Tesla.
Yes, it was still there—key in the ignition, seatbelt fastened, purse and phone exactly where we had seen them before.
Jay and I didn’t even stop this time.
Instead, we just gave the car a sad look and continued on toward home—two blocks up Argos—passing by Agoura High on one side, Chumash Park on the other.
* * * *
It hadn’t been a difficult walk for Jay and me, but we were still exhausted when we finally reached our townhouse complex. The constant fear and uncertainty we were operating under was definitely taking a toll on us—emotionally and physically. So, we quickly double-checked to make sure that Jay's family hadn't returned, then we walked back to my townhouse and locked ourselves up in my bedroom.
Because it was still daytime (we figured about 4 p.m.), there was enough light coming in the windows to see without lighting a candle. I laid on my bed, dozing in and out, while Jay pulled my desk chair over to the window and just sat there, keeping a fearful watch on the carport below.
THERE IS ALWAYS TIME FOR HOMEWORK
That first night—Jay and I were utterly terrified.
As it was becoming dark, we left my bedroom and ran from room to room, peering out each of the windows, trying to see if there were lights in any of the surrounding townhouses (there were none). Even the houses in the distance remained lightless, and my beloved Chumash Park across the street suddenly became full of menacing shadows.
Eventually, as the last rays of the sun disappeared like all of the people—our townhouse became pitch black.
We could see nothing.
Luckily, because my mom was so OCD (and because she had lived through the Northridge Earthquake, which was so bad that people didn't have power for days), she had a big Emergency Kit prepared that she kept under the guest bathroom sink. I knew that it had candles and matches in it, so—leaving Jay trembling in my bedroom—I fumbled my way downstairs to fetch the kit.
When I returned upstairs, Jay was back in her chair at the window overlooking the dark carport. I lit a candle, placing it on the table beside her. As the light hit her face, I noticed that there were fat tears running down her cheeks.
“You okay?” I asked, concerned.
She turned toward me and I was surprised to see that it wasn’t fear or sadness on Jay’s face. It was anger. “Nobody's alive except you and me, Kaylee, and I have a Social Sciences report due on Tuesday and I can’t go online to research. So, no…I am not okay. I am not okay at all!”
“You're thinking about homework?” I asked, astonished. “Now?!”
“It's thirty percent of the final marks!” she cried.
* * * *
Even without going online, Jay actually did wind up finishing her Social Sciences report. I think it was her way of being normal in a suddenly crazy world. Personally, I thought it was stupid for Jay to waste her time on homework that she would never have to turn in.
But when Jay was unsettled, when she was scared, doing something like homework—ironically—calmed her.
Me...I went the Jude-the-Rude route when I was anxious.
I ate chocolate.
* * * *
In the end, we spent the evening at Jay’s townhouse.
Even though we had started the night in my bedroom, it became too scary for us to remain there. Our nerves couldn't handle the dark and the emptiness…the creaks and groans.
Logically, Jay and I knew that the noises were probably just the result of the townhouse settling, but we still began to obsess over zombies and vampires. When the stress finally became too much for both of us, we raced through the carport to the Sitipala’s—eventually hiding ourselves away in the tiny, secret room in the attic, there to await our uncertain future.
* * * *
Just to make us feel ‘extra-safe’—Jay and I moved Mr. Sitipala’s file boxes over the trap door to prevent anyone (or anything!) from coming up from the bedroom below. There were little air vents on one wall, giving us a slotted view of the carport. I thought we should perhaps keep watch through the slots, but Jay became worried that someone bad (or supernatural) would see our candlelight, so we wound up covering the air vents with Christmas wrapping paper and duct tape.
For the rest of the night, we slept—no more than thirty minutes at a time—jumping at every creak and groan.
Jay, of course, finished her Social Sciences essay in between her ‘naps’.
Meanwhile, when I wasn’t sleeping, I munched on potato chips and leftover Halloween chocolate that we'd brought over from my house while I re-read—for the fourth time—“Twilight”.
Ironically—a book about vampires and werewolves.
* * * *
Part of the way through the night, a pack of coyotes suddenly seemed to go crazy just outside of our townhouse. Because of where we live—surrounded by wooded areas and State Parks—it wasn’t unusual to hear a coyote yelping at night, especially after midnight.
This was different, though.
There had to have been at least a half dozen coyotes—right outside, in the carport—yelping and howling and barking.
Jay wouldn't let me look through the air vents, however.
So, I never found out if all the noise was th
e pack celebrating the capture of some poor supper-animal, or because the coyotes were simply confused and scared like Jay and me.
* * * *
My mom always used to say that whatever the biggest problem was—the thing that we were worried about the most—that it was called the ‘elephant in the room’.
When my mother spoke about her elephant, she always seemed to be speaking about finances—how to pay the mortgage; is there enough money for health insurance; is it really worth her time extreme-couponing or should she just get a second job?
Truth was—my mom's real elephant was my dad.
And I know that I shouldn't have, but I kind of hated him for that.
* * * *
Back in the 90’s, my mom used to be this television writer. She worked for NBC and was actually pretty successful. Then she met my dad and they fell in love and got married. Mom quit her job, mainly because dad was this high-powered Investment Analyst who didn't want his wife to work. He felt that, since he was making more than enough money for both of them, that it would be better for her to stay home and be a good mother and wife instead.
(Yeah, I know it sounds stupid and old-fashioned, but I guess it made sense to my mom at the time.)
After I was born, my dad moved us to Malibu. We lived in this almost-mansion on about five acres in an area called Point Dume (where Julia Roberts and Barbra Streisand actually do have mansions).
It really was an amazing place to live—five acres of wooded property in one of the most expensive and exclusive communities in California. We were a block away from the Pacific Ocean and just my bedroom alone was bigger than the whole upper floor of my mom’s and my townhouse in Agoura Hills.
Plus, I had a walk-in closet and my own bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub!
For a while, I was very happy there.
I think we all were.
* * * *
I'm not sure if my mom was surprised when my dad finally ditched her for the Boob-Bimbo, but I certainly was. Just the weekend before the ‘break-up’, our family had gone to Vail, Colorado for a skiing trip. And I know for a fact that my parents were doing ‘it’ on that vacation, because (input horror emoji here) I could hear them through the walls.
Even so, it was a great vacation—and a happy family.
But then we came home.
And my dad went to work the following Monday, only to phone home at lunchtime to tell my mom that he had fallen in love with a 23-year old set of silicone boobs.
To me, that was a really crappy betrayal of my mom.
But…whatever, right?
Anyway—one week later—it was my mom who had to leave our Malibu home. Two days later, the Boob-Bimbo moved in.
Needless to say, I moved out two days after that.
As much as I loved living in Malibu (and I really did!), there was simply no way that I was going to sit around watching my 59-year old father, with his pot belly and the three hairs he brushed to one side, cozying up to the biggest pair of silicone jugs this side of Pamela Anderson.
Nasty, right?
But not the worst thing.
The worst thing was also the saddest thing—the other elephant in my mom's room.
She never stopped loving my father.
And at night—when my mom thought that I was asleep—she would cry.
I know this, because I would sneak out of my bed and hide at the top of the stairs, watching her down on the level below. She'd be curled up on the couch, a glass of red wine in one hand, a picture of my father in the other. And she'd be sobbing—big, sad tears that would run down her face and splatter on the photo of the man who’d ruined her marriage and her career and, as far as I was concerned…her life.
So, even though I loved my dad—I also hated him for what he did.
* * * *
That first night—hidden in the Sitipala's attic—Jay and I confronted our ‘elephant in the room’.
“Do you think we're in hell?” asked Jay.
She had finally taken a break from her Social Sciences homework, joining me for a healthy supper of chocolate and potato chips.
I shook my head. “I don't think we can really call Agoura Hills hell. Except for the Foxes and Jude-the-Rude, it's actually a pretty nice place to live.”
“Not funny,” she muttered.
“Yeah, I guess not,” I sighed. “Okay, well…my opinion…heaven, hell, purgatory...they're all kind of unknown places, right. I mean, who knows if they really even exist.”
That didn’t satisfy Jay. “Did you ever read those “Left Behind” books?”
“The ones about the people who are left behind on earth after God takes the good people to heaven?”
“Those are the books,” she nodded. “They were about the Book of Revelation in the Bible…the ‘End of Times’. Do you think maybe this could be that?”
“What?!” I was incredulous. “You think that God—who I didn't think you even believed in last week—took everybody up to heaven and left just the two of us behind? In Agoura Hills, California…in a townhouse complex?!”
“It's possible,” she said, quietly.
“And God,” I continued, my voice rising in anger, “decided that even the guy who drives the Google car is far more deserving of heaven than us. Is that what you're saying?!”
“Still possible.”
“No.” I shook my head, defiantly. “No fracking way! I don't believe for one second that God would leave us behind, because we're not bad people.”
“Then what do you think happened?”
“Well, that's the ‘elephant in the room’, isn't it?”
“Now, you sound like your mom.”
Which—of course—brought tears to my eyes. And, when I started crying about my mom, then Jay started crying about hers. Then she began to think about her little brothers, which made her cry even harder.
And just when it should have been over, I made the mistake of thinking about my dad. I hated him for what he did to my mom—but I still cried for him…a little.
But not for the Boob-Bimbo.
* * * *
Five days later, Jay and I finally got up the nerve to leave the townhouse again.
JOURNAL ENTRY #4
Jay and I have spent most of the last few days just sitting in the attic, looking out between the air vents, waiting and hoping that someone would come.
No one has, of course.
But, yesterday…
When we woke up, it was to more ‘silence from humanity’ but—also—more ‘noise from nature’. There’s just so much movement outside, animal-wise. I guess now that humans have disappeared, it's safe for everything else to come out.
And those little guys are talkative!
With their hoots and their barks and their growls, it’s like all these fascinating ‘animal-conversations’ going on all around us.
Just from looking through the air vents, we’ve seen coyotes, deer, raccoons, skunks, and lots and lots of rabbits. Also, there's this odd little bird that sits on the power pole right across the street and it won't stop singing. I mean, that dang bird just goes on and on for hours.
And the really odd thing about the little bird, is that its song keeps changing. It's not like it's singing the same thing over and over. No, this bird's like one of those Wagner-operas that goes on for hours.
Before, I would have just opened up the white noise app on my phone and wonderful technology would have drowned out all its chatter. Now, no matter day or night, Jay and I are stuck with a ‘tweet-tweet-chitter-oo-weeba-weeba-boohee-badda’. Sometimes, the bird’s calls become so annoying that I think I want to—and this is a very un-vegetarian thought—kill it-stuff it-eat it!
* * * *
Yesterday, Jay and I decided that (and this should have been our first thought!) it was finally time to try and contact the authorities. Since it wasn't like we could call 9-1-1 anymore, the next best thing was to head to the Sheriff's Station.
Surely, we thought—if there was anyone alive in Agou
ra Hills—that would be the place they would logically go.
Ironically, our local cop-shop is situated in another city—Calabasas—in an area ironically-named ‘Lost Hills’. In fact, our police (and I think I've already written about this) are called the ‘Lost Hills Sheriffs’.
Because of the distance to Calabasas, Jay and I decided that we should probably use bikes. At first, we thought that maybe we might try to drive one of the empty cars that still had keys in their ignitions but, then we realized—DOH!—their electrical systems are broken down just like everything else.
Which left biking…except that was a problem, too.
Neither Jay nor I actually owned a bike.
Luckily, we knew from wandering through our neighborhood, that there was a patio at the far end of the complex, not just filled with unlocked bikes (three of them) but a kayak and four Razor scooters, too.
It was a little unnerving for Jay and me, however—opening up the patio gate and taking two of the bikes. Even though we knew that there was no one around, it still felt like we were stealing. Both Jay and I kept expecting someone to burst out of the adjoining townhouses and start yelling at us.
