by David Lucin
Desolation
Copyright © 2019 David Lucin
www.authordavidlucin.com
All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission from the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover design by Aero Gallerie (www.aerogallerie.com)
Contents
Front Matter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
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1
The lights flickered and went out.
Jenn Jansen stopped scrubbing and set the pan in the sink. The windows let in enough morning sunlight so she could see, but she needed the white of the LEDs to get the pan spotless like she wanted.
“Alexa, lights.”
No response.
“Alexa,” she repeated, this time emphasizing all three syllables to make sure Alexa heard, “turn the lights on.”
Alexa didn’t acknowledge her. If the light bulb burned out, Alexa would have said so. In fact, she would have told Jenn if the light bulb was close to burning out. Maybe it was another blackout. They weren’t uncommon in Arizona, especially during the blistering heat of spring and summer, but they never affected Alexa. Her backup battery lasted for at least a day. Plus, if the power were off, Maria’s oxygen compressor would have been screaming the high-pitched wail that made Jenn’s head explode. But it was quiet, too.
“Gary!” Jenn said.
“Yeah?” Gary Ruiz’s voice came from the office down the hall.
“The lights went out and Alexa’s not answering. Should we check on Maria’s oxygen?”
Jenn tapped her foot while she waited for Gary’s response. She swore he was going deaf, likely from spending his whole life around guns. If she didn’t look him straight in the face, he hardly heard a thing she said. He never admitted it, of course. Instead, he claimed Maria and Jenn were always whispering near him.
Jenn muttered to herself and dried her hands on a dishtowel. She went to call out a second time, but Gary cut in. “Jenn, I think the power’s out! Can you bring me a tank? We’re in the office.”
Had he heard Jenn or not? Probably not. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was Maria’s oxygen. Because the compressor ran for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, it required a constant supply of electricity, so whenever the power went out, Jenn and Gary needed to hook up one of Maria’s portable tanks. Usually when the power went down, the compressor screeched a warning so shrill even Gary could hear it. Its silence gave Jenn goosebumps.
She snatched an oxygen tank from beside the fridge. The thing was half Jenn’s height and weighed a ton, but she had plenty of practice hauling it around. For two years she’d billeted with Gary and Maria Ruiz while she studied engineering at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff. Jenn’s family in Phoenix couldn’t afford to house Jenn on campus or pay for her own apartment, so the Ruiz family acted as a sort of charity that paid for her housing and meals. As far as Jenn knew, Gary and Maria liked having her around. Because of her COPD, Maria couldn’t exert herself much anymore, so Gary appreciated the extra hand around the house. Setting up Maria with an oxygen tank when the power went off was one way that Jenn helped give back.
Gary and Maria’s daughter, Camila, probably used to help with that, but she enlisted in the U.S. Army when the war started and had been gone ever since. America and Europe never took its enemies’ saber-rattling very seriously, even when skyrocketing costs of living, stagnating wages, migrant crises, and widespread unemployment caused civil unrest across the developed world. Things were especially bad in China, where automation and artificial intelligences put hundreds of millions out of work, threatening the communist government’s grip on power. China’s solution? Point the finger at the Western imperialists, put the unemployed in uniform, and invade Taiwan and India. Russia and the so-called Second Brazilian Empire were only too happy to join China’s cause. It was Hitler and Mussolini and Tojo all over again, Gary always said.
He and Maria were waiting for Jenn in the office. Maria’s purple housecoat concealed her bony frame, and her straight, silvery hair hung over the arms of her thick-rimmed glasses. Gary was hardly much taller than Jenn. His hairline had withdrawn to the sides and back of his head, and his gray mustache was a little longer on the right side of his face than on the left. As always, he wore a polo shirt that fit tight in the midsection. Jenn joked that he ate too many donuts when he was a cop. He didn’t like that much.
“Thanks,” Gary said as Jenn set the tank down. He opened the valve and handed Maria the plastic hose, the prongs of which she tucked into her nose before wrapping the slack behind her ears. “How’s that?”
Maria sucked in two breaths, her shoulders rising and falling in turn. “It’s good,” she said.
“I’ll keep the flow rate low,” Gary said, “so our tanks will last longer. Just in case.”
Maria laid a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks. I don’t know why it didn’t beep this time. Good thing you guys are so quick.”
Gary loaded the tank onto the two-wheeled cart. “The battery didn’t kick in, either.”
“It’s weird,” Jenn said. “Alexa’s not even answering.”
“Hopefully the power comes on soon,” Maria said. “It’s a bit dark, so don’t worry about the pan right now.” She forced a smile. Her hand shook as she readjusted the hose.
“No,” Jenn said. “I don’t mind doing it.”
“Okay then. Have fun.”
Jenn turned on her heel and left the office. Scrubbing pans wasn’t her ideal Friday morning, but nobody else did a half-decent job of cleaning them. Gary never used the brush or the steel wool, so he always missed those caked-on specks of food. After having to redo them too many times, Jenn took charge of the kitchen clean-up. That way, she’d do the job right and save everyone some time. Plus, she hoped the dishes would distract her from the pit forming in her stomach. No lights, no Alexa, and no screaming oxygen compressor. Something was off. Maybe the Internet knew what.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and let it recognize her face. “Why is the power out?” she asked it.
“I’m sorry, Jenn,” her phone’s female voice answered. “I’m not connected to a cellular network.”
�
��Then connect to one,” Jenn commanded, like the phone should have already tried.
“I’m sorry, Jenn. I can’t find any cellular networks in this area.”
The pit in Jenn’s stomach grew. If there wasn’t any cell service, that might mean the power was out all over town. “Can you connect me to Wi-Fi?”
“Okay, Jenn. I’ll search for a wireless Internet network.”
The fact that Jenn’s phone had to search at all wasn’t a good sign. She didn’t expect it to connect to Wi-Fi during a blackout, but she couldn’t help holding her breath and hoping.
“I’m sorry, Jenn. I can’t find a wireless Internet signal.”
Jenn exhaled. No surprise there. Still, the soy bacon and potatoes she had for breakfast bubbled in her stomach.
She tucked the phone into her pocket and went to the office. Maria was sitting in Gary’s black swivel chair while Gary leaned against the desk and inspected his bookshelf filled with military history. “You can’t be finished those dishes already,” Maria joked.
“They won’t run off anywhere,” Jenn tossed back. “Hey, Gary, do you have cell service?”
“I haven’t checked. My phone’s charging in the bedroom.”
“Can I have a look?”
“Sure. Here, I’ll come with you.” He pushed himself up from the desk and squeezed Maria’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks for getting me set up. You guys do your thing.”
“All right, let’s go.” Gary stepped past Jenn and into his bedroom, where he made for the nightstand. On it, his phone lay on its black charging pad. He tapped the screen twice and scrunched up his face, then flipped it over and examined it more closely. “Odd,” he said.
“Let me see that.” Jenn snatched the phone. The thing weighed almost as much as Maria’s oxygen tanks and had rigid glass—something Jenn’s father always joked about but she thought was a myth, like the Excalibur or Yeti. “Wow, Gary. Planning on joining us in the 2050s anytime soon?”
“Hey, it gets the job done,” he said. “It’s not worth getting a new one. They’re so expensive these days.”
“I know, I know. I’m just joking.” Jenn pressed her finger to the glass but nothing happened. “Is there an on/off switch to this bad boy? How about a lever? Or do I have to wind it up?”
“No, it should be fine,” Gary said, ducking Jenn’s jab.
“Is your charging pad plugged in? Maybe it died.”
“I’ll check.” Gary crouched and reached behind the nightstand. After a few seconds of awkward twisting and leaning, he stood. “Everything’s all hooked up.”
“The hell?”
Gary took the phone back.
“Where’s Maria’s phone?” Jenn asked.
“The office.”
“Why don’t you check that and I’ll check the TV?”
Gary nodded. Jenn let him pass, then went into the living room. Gary’s phone was a piece of garbage by any measure, but the batteries on those prewar models lasted forever. Plus, it was on the charger, so why was it dead?
In the living room, Jenn made eye contact with the camera on the wall-mounted TV. Like Alexa, it had a backup battery, so even if the power went down, it should work for a few hours. “On,” she commanded.
Nothing.
Thinking the camera might not have recognized her face, she stepped a bit closer.
“On.”
It didn’t flinch. Like Alexa, the TV ignored her.
Jenn made for the rectangular coffee table in search of the remote control. Not on top. She opened a drawer. A few cords, a couple of cat toys, but no remote. “For fuck sakes,” she muttered, standing.
Gary came into the room. “Any luck with the TV?”
“No, it’s not recognizing me. You have a remote anywhere?”
He scratched at his scalp and panned the room. “Somewhere. I don’t think I’ve used it since I bought the TV.”
“Whatever,” Jenn said. “If Alexa’s down, I didn’t think the TV’d be working, either. How about Maria’s phone?”
“It turns on but can’t find a signal.”
“Yeah, same as mine,” Jenn said.
Ajax, the Ruiz family pet, announced his presence with a lengthy meow. A scruffy tuxedo, Ajax was a behemoth by house cat standards, and he lived up to his namesake as he stomped across the room. Behind him came Maria, her oxygen tank in tow. “Everything all right, guys?”
Jenn didn’t know what to say. Everything was not all right. No way three phones, Alexa, the TV, and the lights all went down at the same time. If that was the kind of day they were having, Jenn was making Gary buy a lottery ticket.
Gary let out a sigh. “I don’t think so, hon.”
2
“What do you mean?” Maria said. “What’s wrong?” With each breath, her oxygen hissed, and the hissing grew faster and more frequent as she waited for Jenn or Gary to answer.
Gary stirred and shifted his weight. Jenn could tell he was thinking of a way to keep Maria from becoming anxious. He probably regretted saying anything was wrong in the first place. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he sputtered. “But we can’t get online to see what’s going on.”
Maria tightened the belt around her housecoat, then adjusted the hose around her ears again. “Okay. Well, you guys should go ask around.”
Jenn started for the front door. “Let’s go see if your neighbor Liam’s home. He’s a cop. Maybe he knows what the deal is.”
Gary hesitated for a moment and his eyes wandered to Maria. “Good chance he’s at work. If he’s pulling the night shift, he’s probably sleeping. I don’t want to wake him up.”
“If he’s home, I’m sure Erin would have woken him up if the power went out like this. Let’s just go check. I don’t know them very well and it’d be weird and creepy if I showed up at the front door without you, so you should come, too.”
Gary put a hand on his wife’s arm. “Will you be okay by yourself for a bit, dear?”
Maria offered him a wooden smile. “Of course. Ajax will protect me.”
“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll make it quick.”
“See you guys in a bit.” Maria walked over to the couch but stopped and turned to Jenn. “Those dishes will be waiting for you when you’re done at Liam’s.”
“I never doubted that.”
Jenn slipped on her runners and led Gary outside. As she opened the door, she breathed deep. The air in Flagstaff was crisp and clean and smelled like wood chips, not melting asphalt and hot garbage like it did at home. The tall pine trees looked nothing like the bushy acacia trees in Phoenix and provided plenty of respite from the Arizona sun. Only three hours up the road, Flagstaff felt like a completely different world than the desert hellscape Phoenix was turning into.
A light breeze rustled the pine tree in Gary’s front yard, and barking echoed in the distance. “You hear that?” Jenn asked at the end of the driveway.
“Hear what?”
“It’s quiet.”
“What do you mean?”
The junction of I-40 and I-17 wasn’t far from Gary’s. Jenn hadn’t realized it until now, but the whooshing of cars on the road always carried to this neighborhood. “I mean it’s quiet. I can’t hear any traffic.”
Gary brushed his mustache with a finger. “Strange, especially for this time of day.”
The knot in Jenn’s stomach returned. She pointed at Gary’s car in the driveway. “What about yours?”
“What about it?”
“You think it works?”
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t.”
“Try it.” Jenn stepped over to the driver’s side. A sleek blue ’51 Kia, it had full autodrive mode, though from what Jenn saw, Gary only drove it on manual. She wondered how he afforded it, especially since he complained about how expensive phones were nowadays. She didn’t think a cop’s pension was that good. After all, they were eating soy bacon and potatoes for breakfast and hadn’t had real coffee all year, but she su
pposed that wasn’t their fault. Cars and phones and food cost a lot less before the war.
Gary pressed his thumb to the fingerprint pad beside the handle. Jenn clenched her teeth but let them relax when she heard the click of the locks.
“Looks okay,” Gary said.
“Try turning it on.”
Gary pulled open the door, and Jenn rested her elbow on top of the window as he sat in the driver’s seat. With one leg hanging outside, he pressed his thumb to the ignition button.
The engine buzzed to life and Jenn felt vibrations run through her arm. She let it down and leaned inside, thinking Gary could be playing a trick on her. “Well why the hell’s the highway so quiet?” she asked.
“Don’t know,” Gary said. “Everything looks fine.”
“Try the radio.”
Gary tapped at the screen on the center console. Jenn watched the FM channels rise: 107.5, 107.7, 107.9, 87.9 . . .
“Shit,” she cursed, smacking the door panel.
Gary pressed the ignition button again to shut off the car. “Local stations never work if there’s a major blackout,” he said, swinging his right leg out of the car and standing up.
Jenn considered asking Gary to try the satellite radio, but she knew it wouldn’t work. It hadn’t since the start of the war. Too bad satellites made such enticing military targets. Fortunately, phones used land-based towers instead of satellites, though apparently it was all offline this morning.
Gary shut the door and put his keys into his pocket. “Let’s go see if Liam’s home.”
He and Jenn turned left at the end of the driveway. As they walked, beads of sweat collected on Jenn’s forehead, and a few rolled down her cheeks. She tied her hair back with an elastic band from her wrist. It was hot, sure, way hotter than normal for April, but her armpits shouldn’t have been this soaked. Her guts did somersaults as she scanned the single-story houses on either side of the street. Many of them sat empty, which always riled Jenn, especially since developers were throwing up shoddy apartment complexes and crammed modular housing units on every second block in the city. The seven-figure price tags attached to Flagstaff housing, she realized, only appealed to wealthy people seeking investment properties, not families struggling to find enough work and stay above the poverty line. No wonder the town’s population had more than halved in the past fifteen years.