Silent Reaping

by P D Platt

  If that were the case, then any hope regained by a downtrodden, nearly eradicated human race would be short-lived.

  Chapter 4—New Order

  This was not like the popular horror flicks of Hollywood: no blood-thirsty zombies or plague-induced frenzies. No one vanished into thin air or other dimensions. No pilotless planes or driverless cars caused mayhem and destruction. People merely fell asleep and never awoke. It was as simple, and as complicated, as that.

  This was, in some ways, worse than any of these scenarios, causing a different kind of chaotic panic. It’s the actions of people after the event that create and define a post-apocalyptic world. The ones left to cope, to pick up the pieces and forge a new path forward are responsible for shaping a new life beyond the dismal situations surrounding them. This is where the true character of humankind surfaces.

  The virus, known by different names around the world, was most commonly called the Death Sleep or the Night Reaper. At first, most believed it to be airborne, causing many to stay inside, boarding up their homes and avoiding contact with others at all costs.

  Its first victims were those in the eastern time zones. The wave of death followed the sun’s journey, flowing with the earth’s shadow like a nocturnal stalker, sweeping through a full revolution of the sleeping planet.

  Those in Western Asia and Europe had the most time to prepare, albeit only a few hours more of vague information. This, however, only seemed to incite panic, triggering violence and looting well before nightfall reached. Many attempted to stay awake while others refused to believe the reports. Billions more died.

  Symptomless people went to bed, never to wake again. It was as uneventful as dying could be. But it was also tormenting for some; those aware of how the affliction functioned faced a slow gamble with death. Humans became terrified of sleep, fighting it for days, sometimes lasting as long as two weeks before fatigue forced them to slumber. Some who slept did wake again.

  It seemed the initial infection took its toll within the first couple of weeks, claiming more than five billion lives in that time. For obvious reasons, the total could only be estimated, as those remaining were stricken with grief and fear. Too few people were left to care about statistics; they had more immediate problems to contend with.

  It started with finding ways to cope, to deal with the massive losses experienced by virtually every remaining human being. Everyone knew someone who had succumbed to the Death Sleep.

  Others became indirect casualties, those incapable of dealing with the unbearable grief of losing their children, siblings, friends, parents, or spouses. Countless people took their own lives in the hours that followed. They had no purpose, no reason to carry on, there was little point in continuing a struggle that offered no reward.

  Many others died at the hands of their fellow man, casualties of violence and rage—stemming from fear and panic. The clashing of neighbors and merchants usually boiled down to those protecting their property or trying to take the property of others.

  The world went to hell in a pathetically short time.

  Then, it became more about what to do now instead of focusing on how and why the disease came and seemingly went with such ferocity. For those who remained, it became a battle for simple survival as they dealt with the instant challenge of meeting their basic human needs: food, clean water, safety.

  The modern world had been built around electricity. It controlled all utilities; everyday necessities, those taken for granted. Without motors to pump and filter, water couldn’t flow or be purified. Once the water tanks and towers ran dry, nothing functioned to refill them. Natural gas couldn’t be delivered without power for harvesting and storing. Actuators and mechanized valves controlled by computer-operated systems were rendered useless. In low-lying areas, sewage couldn’t be pumped and move along its complex treatment process without pumps and automated gates and lift stations.

  Once power failed, the real trials of modern civilized man would begin.

  Many had assumed its availability was endless and uninterruptable long term. Sure, everyone had experienced minor utility issues and outages during storms. But there had always been the option of traveling to where power was still available. And it always came back on. People trusted in that.

  Human crews were no longer available to keep the coal plants firing or the hydroelectric dams operating. The wild card of nuclear power plants was even worse. Chemical reactions didn’t stop, heat continued to build, and meltdowns became inevitable. Even backup power generation systems were designed around relatively short-term reliance.

  Beyond that, even the most robust and redundant systems still relied upon human intervention at some point. It was like the dead man’s switches on trains; every mechanical and electrical system required a human hand to initiate their operation. Someone to monitor, reset, refill, repair, operate manual valves and overrides. Without people to manipulate, control, and maintain these things, they’d soon be rendered useless.

  All of these factors transformed life on Earth in a cataclysmic succession, rapidly making the outside world terrifyingly different. As explosions and gunfire replaced the commonplace sounds of televisions and phones, the smell of burning and decay overpowered the spring blooms.

  Staying alive became the new reality in the impending never-ending battle for survival.

  Chapter 5—Preparing for Chaos

  Saturday Morning, March 7

  Time lost its meaning; the night passed as Solomon stared at the ceiling of his daughter’s room. His ‘sleep’ consisted of fighting back the tears that demanded release. Every time he glanced in the direction of his closed bedroom door, he’d choke back the sobs that would wake Emily. She lay nestled against him, both needing each other’s comfort like never before.

  Panic took hold as he realized the implications of what had reportedly taken place on a global scale. He feared the ultimate breakdown of society, which would inevitably threaten their own welfare. It was essential to prepare for what may come.

  Solomon used the drudging hours of the night to create a mental checklist of priorities, tasks that needed to take precedence over everything else. This cerebral task kept his sorrow compartmentalized, distancing him from the reality of loss.

  At least the utilities were still on, for now. The lights randomly flickered several times, but the electricity was still being supplied, either by luck or by automation. And the water continued to flow, with normal pressure and clarity. These were good signs, but Solomon knew these conveniences wouldn’t last. Not for much longer. Not without human beings to make decisions and perform repairs when things went wrong.

  He knew that when the power finally went out, the inevitable and rapid regression of society would begin.

  Early the next morning, Solomon kept himself and Emily busy preparing for the unavoidable—a total and permanent blackout. Electricity, water, and natural gas could no longer be seen as automatic conveniences.

  They filled every available container with water, gathered flashlights and brought in camping gear from the carport storage—sleeping bags, lanterns, and a camp stove, being what he figured were most important. He kept devices charging—from rechargeable lanterns to his electric razor—even plugging in things he didn’t normally use, such as his electric toothbrush. Might as well take advantage of the electricity while still available, he figured. Solomon especially made sure he plugged in his and Marion’s cell phones—just in case communication was somehow miraculously restored.

  Their busyness also served another purpose. Both needed to pause their overwhelming grief, if only for a few hours. Solomon shied from the obvious issue confronting them: Marion required a burial and they needed closure. It was now clear there were no emergency services, and certainly no funeral homes available. The risk of exposure to anything beyond their little private world was too great. So, he needed to handle this problem himself, in the only way possible.

  “Emily,” he said while checking their supply of canned go
ods, “how about you help me pick out one of Mama’s favorite outfits…and maybe some jewelry.”

  “Why, Daddy?”

  Solomon stopped his counting and sat on the kitchen floor beside her. “Sweetheart, we need to give your mom peace. And the only way she can have that is by giving her a proper goodbye. Since there’s no one to help right now, how about we perform a special funeral service for her?”

  Emily stared at the floor before speaking. “Okay. But we’ll keep her close to us, right, Daddy?”

  “We’ll pick out a spot together, somewhere in the backyard, maybe next to her favorite tree.”

  “The one that has pink and white flowers in spring?”

  “That’s the one. Your mom loved that little dogwood.”

  Chapter 6—Closure

  They spent the remainder of Saturday afternoon outside near Marion’s grave, comforted by the full sun in a wispy-clouded sky. Spring had always been his wife’s favorite season, a time when all things started anew.

  Caught up in his grief, Solomon had little time to worry about airborne pathogens. It was good for Emily to be outdoors in the warmth of nature, anything to distract her from her excruciating loss. If he were truthful with himself, he’d have to admit to wishing they could both join Marion, so they too could be at peace. Together.

  Their future terrified him. Solomon could well imagine the dangers that existed in this new world. Threats that became multiplied when a lone parent needed to care for and protect a young child.

  An immediate dilemma they faced was the inevitable trip to gather supplies. Taking her or leaving her, both contained inherent risks. Emily had already been traumatized by waking up alone in the house to find her mom had died and her father had left for work. When he thought of her enduring that on her own, he physically ached with nausea and a tightness formed in his chest as if his lungs were clamped in a vice.

  Taking a long, slow breath to calm himself, he thought of Emily and his duty to protect her. Of ways to mitigate the risks they now faced. He refocused his mind, determined to formulate a plan for their long-term survival. It would be most dangerous in the first few weeks after the virus, not because of the affliction, but because of the people. No way would he risk going out into the world too soon. Ration supplies. Hunker down. Stay out of sight. These were the rules he knew would be the new normal.

  For him to eventually leave home in search of supplies, Emily would have to be kept safe. He needed to be certain of her well-being. For her to accompany him was not a viable option; he knew there were too many chances for something to go wrong.

  Solomon came up with the idea of constructing a safe room in their house, using the dead space under the stairs. A place he would make as comfortable and as secure as possible. They’d built the hall closet into the tallest portion of the triangle formed by the staircase, but it didn’t make use of all the available space as it narrowed. Solomon planned to cut open the wall inside the closet to take full advantage of the unused area.

  Using a small handsaw, he cut the drywall panel inside the closet to about midway, removing approximately half of its inner wall. This formed a small rectangular opening roughly two by three feet, which Emily could easily crawl through. With a minimal amount of contortion, it was large enough for him to fit through too, allowing him access to complete the interior amenities. One of Marion’s long overcoats hanging in the closet concealed the hideout’s entrance.

  To try to convey normality as much as possible, Solomon involved Emily in decorating her new hidden room. A small flashlight, a handful of chemical light sticks leftover from Halloween, her favorite pillows and blankets. They even draped her princess sheets on the walls to give it a personal touch. Her stuffed animals and a small plastic crate filled with her favorite books all found a new home in her secret hideout. A few snacks, some bottles of water, and she was set.

  At first, Emily seemed excited by the idea of having a playroom, but Solomon remained apprehensive. He feared she didn’t fully understand the room’s purpose, and his intention to leave her alone in it while he scouted the neighborhood.

  “This will be your safe place while Dad goes out to get us some things we need,” he told her, watching for any signs of fear or resentment of the idea.

  “But I don’t want to be alone, Daddy.”

  Unwilling to insist on her obeyance, the reaction he’d feared sank him. She’d already been through so much. In a way, he was actually relieved; he too was fearful of being separated from her, not knowing if she’d be safe.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to stay here alone if you don’t want to,” he offered. “I won’t ever leave you alone again, baby girl.”

  “But I can still play in it, right?”

  Her adoring gaze brought a grin to his face. “Of course you can, sweetheart.”

  For now, they had a respectable supply of canned goods, cereals, rice and pasta, and their ceramic water filter would provide almost unlimited clean water.

  Solomon had been pleased with himself for buying the filter a year earlier. By using it to fill their coffee maker and sports bottles, and provide countless glasses of drinking water, it had saved them money. Originally having bought it for selfish reasons—to avoid lugging in heavy cases of bottled water week after week—he was even happier with the purchase now. He could still remember convincing Marion they should spend the three hundred bucks on it. Bottled water tastes plasticky, he’d argued; his last selling point had won her over.

  At this latest memory of his wife, Solomon grew warm; he missed every interaction, no matter how trivial.

  Once they’d depleted their stored water supplies, rain collection would become their primary source, with stream and pond water an alternative during dry spells. A small natural retention pond ran along the perimeter of their subdivision, bordered by a walking path with a little bridge that was a favorite feature for many residents. Conveniently located right behind their house, that little body of water was a godsend. All these sources of water, once passed through his filtration system, would provide an unlimited supply for drinking, cooking, and even personal hygiene. Solomon felt confident he had the issue of water figured out.

  Solomon knew being in control of something was a necessity in this upended world. Life had irreversibly changed; this sad fact was inescapable. From the heavy silences all around to the gouging pains of grief within. Every moment haunted.

  Smoke plumes rose in every direction—from wispy white curls of smoke to the darkest, thickest towering plumes—the entire earth seemed to be burning at present.

  Manufacturing plants, constantly in operation, now had heat processes in unsupervised motion; their chemical reactions going unchecked. In turn, the resulting explosions caused residual damage, from busted pipes of stored petroleum and fuels and a myriad of flammable substances used in everyday manufacturing processes. Those fires burned indiscriminately: buildings and cars, fields and forests.

  While retrieving more tools from his small workshop under the carport to complete the finishing touches on the secret room, Solomon heard traffic noise for the first time in days. Either he hadn’t been paying attention before or there just hadn’t been any activity, but now there was an undeniable flurry of commotion.

  Several vehicles were leaving the neighborhood, and as the Parrishes’ house was situated near the subdivision’s only exit point, he witnessed a caravan of sorts. Cars, minivans, pickup trucks—all piled high with belongings. Solomon counted seven vehicles in total that seemed to be traveling as a group. Back seats were bursting with boxes and clothing, suitcases and plastic containers filled the trucks’ cargo beds, and roof racks were stacked to capacity.

  The spectacle was both puzzling and troubling. Did these people know something he didn’t? Should he and Emily be leaving too?

  Information. That’s what they needed right now—news of the outside world. He remembered he had an old camping radio he’d bought years earlier but never used. It was the type that could be pow
ered by batteries, or in their absence, wound up with a tiny handle to generate enough juice to operate for an hour on a single charge. Rummaging through his workshop room under the carport, he located the radio along with other long-forgotten items.

  After a few spins, the radio crackled to life, broadcasting nothing but static on every FM station. Solomon switched to AM and immediately heard a man’s voice. He tuned it and thumbed the volume to maximum.

  “A mysterious virus with a ninety percent mortality rate has claimed countless lives worldwide. All data indicates that although the virus is contagious, those still alive have an immunity to the strain. There is no need to fear human contact as exposure already exists in the environment. Normal emergency assistance is no longer available. Until government is restored, please assist your fellow man as best you can. God be with us all…This is a recorded message.”

  After a three-second pause, the message repeated.

  This news only invigorated his initial plan. Marion’s parents lived too far away for him to risk traveling to them, and besides, if they were still alive, they’d find a way to come here, to check on their daughter and only grandchild. Stay put and continue to prepare was his committed plan. His sole focus was to keep Emily safe.

  Solomon planned to meticulously scout his neighborhood, beginning with the neighbors immediately to the right and the left. If there were survivors, they could band together to be stronger. If everyone was dead and their house deemed empty, then he would take what supplies and semi-perishable food he could find; anything to delay facing the awfulness he imagined must be taking place in the more populated areas.

  He figured five, maybe six houses’ worth of food would last two disciplined people for months.

  But plans seldom go exactly as people envision.

  Chapter 7—Plans Change

  Sunday Morning, March 8