The Collapse

by E S Richards

  The downstairs simply consisted of the living room where Amy found herself already, the hallway leading from the front door to the stairs and around to the kitchen/dining room, where double doors led out onto a beautiful patio overlooking Lake Michigan.

  The intruder—whoever it was—must have come in through the front door, which Amy realized in horror she had forgotten to lock when the two of them returned from Tilly and Reg’s down the road. Any sound of someone breaking in would have woken her and saved James from the horrible discovery. Amy scolded herself internally; she could no longer afford the luxury of being selfish and wanting those extra five minutes to herself. Everything had changed so quickly and she needed to think three steps ahead at all times.

  Shaking her head Amy at least deduced that the presence of herself and James would have gone unnoticed. The view of where she had been sitting on the couch wasn’t visible from the stairs; someone would have to physically walk into the living room to see her. No one in their right mind would have continued up the stairs if they were aware the homeowner was only a few yards away.

  All this knowledge, however, didn’t help Amy much in deciding what to do. The seconds ticked by too quickly as she frantically tried to create a plan of some description, something that would keep both her and James out of harm’s way.

  “All clear!”

  A man’s voice bellowed from above her, shouting out of the window to the two men on the street. Shit, Amy thought, she was too late. Seconds later the sound of her front door opening filled the house and a set of heavy boots pounded down the stairs to greet the fellow intruders.

  Amy’s options ran through her head. In reality there were only two: confront the men or hide. Neither of which she felt confident about, the wellbeing of James shut inside the cupboard always at the forefront of her mind. As the seconds ticked by though, the choice drifted out of Amy’s control.

  As the first man rounded the corner his mouth dropped open, shocked to see Amy in the center of the living room, staring him dead in the eye. Another man pushed past him, entering the room as well. He too was dressed with a look of surprise upon seeing Amy, the house only announced as “all clear” a minute earlier.

  “Zephyr,” the second man mumbled under his breath, beckoning for the third intruder to step forward. “Does this look like an empty house to you?”

  As Zephyr—the man who Amy assumed had been creeping around upstairs—locked eyes with her, Amy’s heart leapt. She knew him. She saw him almost every day. He was the young man, no more than twenty years of age, who served Amy her morning coffee every day in the cafe just around the corner. Neither of the other men she recognized, but Zephyr had been present in her morning routine for months now. His soft brown eyes and friendly smile twinned with her freshly ground cappuccino.

  “I...” Zephyr started to speak, his words lost upon finding Amy still in her home.

  The other man, the one who has spoken first, shushed him, turning his back to Amy to speak with his two partners. Amy didn’t have a clue what to do, she was all too aware that James was listening in and she needed to protect him. But she was also still painfully aware of the two crowbars clutched menacingly in front of her.

  “What do you want?” She eventually forced out, trying to keep the fear from breaking in her voice.

  The dominant man looked back over his shoulder at her question and scoffed, turning back to his hushed conversation.

  “What’s going on outside?”

  Amy changed tact. She was certain the men had broken into her home to steal, but hoped their finding her present could somehow change their plan.

  “Why are you—”

  “Shut up!” The dominant man shouted as he spun back around to face Amy. “Zephyr, Clem, get what we need from the house. I’ll watch her.”

  Amy winced as the two other men slid out of the room, Zephyr offering her a meek shake of his head as he exited. Amy was more afraid now that he had gone; the man she was left with had an evil glint to his eye, a dangerous glint.

  “What do you want?” Amy tried again, using a tactic she has seen in television shows a thousand times. Keep your attacker—or whatever this man qualified as—talking. Try to humanize yourself, try to distract them from the reason for the assault.

  “Don’t try and act stupid lady,” the man took a step toward her, the menacing look never leaving his face. “You must know what’s going on outside. Everything is crumbling down. Buildings, society… the laws that come alongside it. It’s every man for himself out there now. No point sitting pretty and waiting for someone to come and rescue you. You’ve got to look out for number one now.”

  “So,” Amy paused, confused by the man’s monologue. “Why are you here?”

  The man laughed, an ugly and grating sound. “Maybe you’re not just acting stupid. Supplies of course. We intend to survive out there and we know which way this is going to go. Figured we’d get a little head start.”

  A part of Amy sagged with relief, but she refused to let it show. At least it didn’t sound like the men were going to hurt her; steal from her yes, but at least leave her alive. Banging down the stairs indicated that Zephyr and the other man were finished pillaging the bedrooms, filling their bags with whatever they regarded useful.

  The man in front of her stopped speaking at the sound, waiting for his companions to return. Zephyr didn’t come back into the living room, but the other man did. He whispered something to his friend before following Zephyr out into Amy’s kitchen, no doubt taking every non-perishable item of food she owned.

  “Where’s your little boy then?”

  Amy’s heart almost stopped beating in her chest. Her eyes flicked involuntarily to the wicker cupboard where James was hiding silently before turning back to the man in front of her. The motion was so quick that she didn’t even realize she’d done it, but the man across from her wasn’t so foolish. In an instant he strode toward the cupboard, throwing the beanbag to the side and yanking open the door.

  Amy cried out in horror as he picked James up and planted him on the floor between them, one hand resting firmly on her son’s shoulder. Suddenly Amy’s mouth went dry and her heart started pounding in her chest. She gritted her teeth inside her mouth and swallowed, slowly. If this man dared do anything to try and hurt her son, Amy would have no regrets about how she acted.

  “Why were you hiding, kid?”

  James didn’t say a word, his eyes locked onto his mother’s. “Leave him alone,” Amy spoke with more strength in her voice than she’d ever thought possible, the sheer need to protect her son burning out of her pores.

  “Don’t worry,” the man grinned at Amy once more, “we wouldn’t hurt a little boy.”

  Amy didn’t trust him for a second and lunged forward to grab her son. The man was too quick however, yanking James out of her way and behind his body.

  “Zephyr, Clem, get in here!”

  His partners ran into the living room, large bags slung over their backs that were filled to the brim with stolen goods. Zephyr also had one of Amy’s kitchen knives in his right hand, something that caught her eye instantly. Amy lunged forward toward James again, the still unnamed man now holding her back.

  “Get off me!” She screamed, rage and fear mingling together in her voice. “James!”

  “Get the stuff in the truck!”

  One of the men—Clem—followed orders immediately, racing out of Amy’s front door with his bags in tow. Zephyr was holding onto James now, keeping him out of arms reach as Amy struggled against the giant stranger who pinned her arms behind her back.

  “Take the boy out,” the leader growled, his mouth right next to Amy’s ear. “You never know, we could find a use for him.”

  Amy saw red at the man’s words, throwing her head backwards and breaking his nose in the process. She scrambled forward toward her son, finally free of his grip and able to close down Zephyr. The young coffee shop employee shoved James behind his back and held out Amy’s own kitchen knif
e in front of him, wielding it without any skill or training. The addition of a knife made Amy’s heart beat even faster, but the thought of being hurt physically didn’t even come close to the thought of someone hurting her son.

  “Run, James!” Amy cried, the leader of the group now standing up behind her, his face bloody and his nose already starting to swell.

  “Big mistake, lady,” he spat, his blood decorating the mirror above Amy’s fireplace. “Big mistake.”

  Amy froze in between the two men, watching as her son ran out of the room and into the kitchen. No more than a second passed before the first man lunged for her, looking like he was capable of killing her with his meaty hands alone. Amy squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain to come. A second passed. Two. She felt no pain, no wet sensation of blood on her body.

  Opening her eyes she gasped to see Zephyr in front of her, the kitchen knife lodged in his partner’s chest. Amy didn’t dare move as she watched the man fall to his knees, his hand feebly holding onto the handle of the knife. Slowly, life drained from his eyes as his blood drained onto the once cream carpeting.

  Chapter 11

  Len couldn’t describe the relief he felt to see the little boy exactly where he’d left him. Untouched. Unharmed. Safe. Well, as safe as you could be in the current state of affairs. He hobbled over to the baby, bending down and scooping him up in his arms. He was blissfully asleep; unaware of the horrible torture Len had just endured.

  Slowly lowering himself down to the ground Len laid the young boy—he was going to have to come up with a name for him—back down on the floor and sat beside him. Only then did Len let his body fully embrace the pain it was in.

  His ribs were tender, possibly cracked, and his right kneecap felt like it’d been slammed in a door. His left eye was much worse than his right, but both were swollen and sore, distorting his vision slightly. The blood from his nose had thankfully dried and running his tongue across his teeth Len was relieved to find them all still in his mouth.

  The sheer brutality of those people amazed him and Len started to feel a stab of rage bubbling up inside of him. He needed to stand up for himself more, he needed to grow a backbone and not let people treat him the way they did. Sure, what he’d experienced had been an extreme situation, but the attitude Len had had wasn’t anything new.

  Deep down Len knew himself to be a coward. It’s why he didn’t argue when he lost the promotion he knew he truly deserved and it’s ultimately why his marriage broke down. Too many times had he turned away from a conversation when it started to stem into an argument, too many times had he bowed out of any possibility of confrontation.

  As Len sat on the floor he tried to make a vow to himself. The old Len couldn’t survive in what was turning out to be the new Chicago and a small part of him knew he wouldn’t make it to South Haven unless something changed. Shaking his head, Len realized he didn’t know how to change. He’d lived the same way for all his years, even dutifully handing over his lunch money to the school bully when he was a child.

  He tried to force an epiphany moment onto himself but it just wouldn’t come. He’d just been faced with the perfect opportunity to change and yet he’d laid on the ground and taken a beating. In some ways it was like he was back in school.

  Squeezing his eyes shut and laying a hand on his ribs Len took in a deep breath. The motion hurt him, causing him to bite down on his cracked bottom lip to distract himself from the pain elsewhere. His journey had just been made even more difficult, but he couldn’t give up.

  “You’ve got a family somewhere,” he mumbled to the baby boy by his side, “and I do too.”

  Forcing himself to stand despite the pain, Len stared down the street with his little companion in his arms. He didn’t want to head in the same direction, but knew he still needed to get home. The only other possible route—without backtracking into the center of Chicago—was the river.

  Gritting his teeth, Len slowly put one foot in front of the other and started making his way down a side street he was fairly confident led toward one of the rivers that ran off Lake Michigan. His sense of direction was yet another part of him that he was the first to admit wasn’t very impressive. But Lake Michigan was big; it was impossible to miss it even for him.

  When the outskirts of Chinatown started to slowly appear, Len knew he was going in the right direction. As he continued deeper into the area however, what he saw was nothing like he remembered it.

  Len used to bring James to Chinatown when they all still lived together. He loved the colored lanterns and mouth-watering smells that graced every inch of the place. Local residents mingled together, tasting the delicious treats and browsing the eclectic mix of tapestries, ornaments and clothing with smiles on their faces. It had been a happy place for Len and James, always leaving with full stomachs and fuller memories.

  Now it was like a bomb had gone off. The streets were still deserted for the most part, although Len passed a middle-aged couple crouching in a doorway on his walk to the center. He offered them a smile and a wave, but was greeted only by them turning their backs and halting their conversation. Raising an eyebrow, Len continued on.

  He didn’t need to walk through the center of Chinatown to reach the river crossing he knew to be nearby, but a part of him just couldn’t stop himself. Partly because he wanted to see what it was like, whether there were any more survivors in another densely populated area that were soldiering on. The other part was solely for sentimental reasons. His son wouldn’t leave his mind and the streets of Chicago’s Chinatown were dear to them both.

  When Len saw the large ornate red archway crumpled in the middle of the road however, he wished he’d never come. One of the supports had fallen down, causing the heavy Welcome to Chinatown lettering to smash into the concrete below. Len counted three bodies trapped underneath it, crushed under the immense weight of the sign.

  As he continued to walk, more death and destruction met his eyes. Where once there had been tens of stalls crowding together, there was now just rubble, much of it still smoking from the fires that had clearly torn through the area.

  The air was still sticky with heat, the sweat on Len’s brow now a permanent feature of his appearance. His injuries didn’t help either, the slow pace he was forced to set meant he had longer to take in the destruction. The lives of what had been thousands of people now nothing but a pile of rubble.

  He tried to pick up his feet and force his body out of the area, the thought of what would have happened to him and James if they had been in Chinatown when the chaos hit physically hurting him to think of. He recognized an old shop front, one where they’d often sat down for a refreshing beverage.

  It looked like a fire had blazed from the inside, the interior nothing but a shell of empty memories. The fire still blazed at the back of the building, the added heat only hurrying Len along on his route. They burned so sporadically it was hard to predict what had caused them. So many devastating options ran through Len’s mind he knew it was best not to question and just accept the inevitable.

  Wrapping the little boy tighter in the folds of his shirt Len tried to shield him from their surroundings. He knew the baby wouldn’t remember any of this—in that way maybe he was the luckiest person left in Chicago—but part of him still wanted to protect him. He needed to keep him safe.

  Finally breaking out of Chinatown, the tell-tale signs of a once cheerful place fading into the Lower West Side, Len knew the river crossing was nearby. If he could cross it quickly, home wouldn’t be far away and Len desperately wanted to make it back before dark. Even with the beautiful lights that had danced over the skies previously.

  As Len edged closer to the southern branch of the river, smoke started to whirl in the air in front of his eyes. The smell of burning scratched at his nostrils and Len was forced to squint as the smoke rapidly became thicker. Holding one arm around the baby pressed against his chest, Len was forced to raise his other to protect his eyes.

  With a gasp Len
suddenly realized what was burning. The bridge. Ahead of him, the very escape route Len had planned on using to get home was a torrent of flames, the gasoline from the cars stranded across it fueling it with no sign of it waning.

  Len’s heart sank as he stopped dead in his tracks, not knowing what to do next. The river had been his backup plan, his saving grace after being unable to travel his original route. The next crossing was miles away and there was no way of predicting whether that had gone up in flames as well. He simply needed to get across, but how?

  Pushing himself closer to the edge of the river Len tried to find a solution. He spotted several large water taxis moored up on the riverbank, but there was no way Len could figure out how to drive one. They were designed to hold over a hundred people, ferrying them to work when the roads became too congested or for those certain people just preferred the water.