“Hello?” came a croaky female voice from outside. “Hello, mister or miss? Ees Manuela from downstair’. Hello?”
Lucy swore under her breath. She hadn’t known the name, but there was definitely an older Hispanic woman living in the apartment below. Where was Dan?
Carefully, Lucy put the latch on the door and switched her phone flashlight on. She opened the door a few inches and shone the light out onto the uninvited guest. The old lady shielded her eyes, blinking, as Lucy scrutinized her from behind the door.
“Can I help you?” said Lucy, trying to check the hostility in her voice.
“Hello, miss. I am Manuela from 701. Sorry for waking you at this hour.”
“No, no, it’s OK, I was up,” replied Lucy, dipping the flashlight slightly, and allowing Manuela to lower her hand.
“I am wondering please,” the stranger continued, “if you have any water? Mine is not working. I try other apartment on my floor but no one is in, and I do not like the people downstairs, so I think: I try you.”
“Oh, I see. Um, last I checked our water was off too,” said Lucy, holding the door. The old lady didn’t move, but stood and smiled expectantly.
“But, uh, I guess I can check again. Um, come in,” sighed Lucy, removing the latch and opening the door properly. “I’m Lucy by the way.” She extended a hand as the older woman entered.
Manuela shook it, graciously, then took her shoes off at the door. Lucy appreciated the consideration, but suddenly had a pang of fear that the old lady might be planning on staying for some time.
“The kitchen’s right this way,” said Lucy, leading her guest in. Lucy tried the main faucet but to no avail.
“Looks like we’re still out,” she said, with an exaggerated gesture towards the sink. “Are you thirsty?”
“My medication. I am need water for swallow my medication,” replied Manuela, gesturing equally crudely to her mouth.
“Oh, I see. I think we might have some left in a jug,” replied Lucy, reaching into the fridge. She pulled out Dan’s jug of filtered water (now less than half full). It was already warmer than when she’d last drunk from it. “Do you have your meds here or should I put this in a glass?”
“They in my apartment. I borrow, if is OK? I return right away,” suggested Manuela.
“No hurry,” said Lucy, pouring much of the jug’s contents into a glass, which she passed over to the woman.
“Thank you, dear,” said the lady, standing up from the breakfast stool upon which she’d perched. “You very nice. Very beautiful young woman. I have no daughter. But I think I would like have daughter like you. Maybe in another life!” said the lady, with a soft chuckle as she wobbled back towards the door.
“Nice meeting you,” said Lucy, holding the door open as Manuela carefully slipped her shoes back on. “Are you going to be alright getting back downstairs in the dark?”
“Si, si,” said the old woman, stepping out into the hallway. “Of course. Thank you again, Miss Lucy.”
The woman began to descend the stairs slowly. Lucy anxiously twiddled her cell phone in her hands for a moment then stepped out into the hallway. Pulling the front door shut, she caught up with Manuela in a few quick steps and offered the lady her arm, and some phone light, and escorted her slowly back to her front door.
When she got back in, Lucy took a deep breath and exhaled. Be careful. It had been the one thing in Dan’s note that had really worried her. He wasn’t the paranoid type. Still, he could hardly begrudge her helping a senior citizen with her medication.
Nonetheless, she deadlocked the door this time. She’d been so comfortable with darkness as a child, growing up in the middle of nowhere. But having spent the last third of her life in a city, she’d grown accustomed to the gentle light pollution of urban nights. Her comfort, it turned out, now depended on it.
As she sat back down in the bar stool, Manuela’s compliments echoed in her ears. Lucy’s mind couldn’t help but wander to her own mother, somewhere out there in Boston. She fetched the letter from the agency and reread it for the hundredth time that week.
Retrieving a map of America from the bookshelf, she turned to Massachusetts. Prizing the pages apart, she moved the flickering tea light closer to the map and looked upon the city, studying it intricately, and eventually poring over the roads that might take her there. She had to see her again.
The sound of a key scratching its way into the lock pricked her ears. It was almost two a.m. now.
“Luce?” came Dan’s voice as the front door clicked open.
She shoved the envelope back into the drawer.
“Dan!” she cried, dashing out from the candlelit kitchen to her partner, who stood in the front doorway wearing a head lamp. “I saw your note,” she quavered. “What the hell’s going on?”
FOUR
Consignment
_____________________________________________________
THE PRESENT – SUNDAY MORNING
“You coming or what?” snapped Dan, holding the front door open.
“Yes, chill out already!” replied Lucy, grabbing her keys off the sideboard.
“I don’t want to get stuck with the lousy jobs,” he grumbled. “The good ones’ll go quick.”
“You’re assuming we’ll get to choose what we’re assigned,” replied Lucy, closing the door behind them.
In the car home yesterday, KGO 810 had featured a state-sponsored infomercial: Volunteer to get services back online, and earn extra rations. Report to City Hall from Sunday onward. Given that she and Dan had failed to procure a gun, securing extra rations seemed a sensible second option. Car travel strongly discouraged while signals down. All city buses now free of charge.
They exited the gloomy lobby of their building.
“Look,” said Lucy, pointing to a house on the opposite side of the street. A large poster had been crudely slapped over the brick wall.
CURFEW NOW IN EFFECT: DUSK – DAWN
SIREN WILL SOUND
REMAIN INDOORS
LETHAL FORCE WILL BE USED
At the foot of the poster were two smaller details:
By order of the Governor of the State of California.
Removing this poster is a criminal offence.
“That would explain it,” said Dan, as a military patrol rumbled past, slowly. The soldiers glanced at the two of them with indifference as the jeep rolled over a set of disused tram lines. The heavy weaponry and uniforms were at odds with the clear blue skies above.
Yesterday’s cacophony of horns had been reduced to an occasional beep this morning as drivers weaved more cautiously, the volume of cars more than halved. Lucy continued with Dan toward the bus stop where they found a dozen people already standing in line.
“Bus is gonna be busy,” grumbled Dan.
Busy wasn’t the right word. When the bus arrived it was fit to burst. The driver didn’t even come to a halt; she just drove past them, raising an apologetic hand.
“Come on,” said Lucy, giving Dan a nudge as she set off. “We can walk it. I think all the buses are gonna be like that. It’s only a mile and a half to City Hall, no point going back for the car. We don’t wanna waste any more fuel.”
“Check out the school,” said Dan, as they passed the local elementary.
Lucy surveyed the large truck parked outside. A pair of soldiers stood guarding the vehicle while two civilians hastily unloaded it.
“Must be the kids’ rations,” she concluded. “The radio said they’d be prioritizing schools.”
“Mm,” grunted Dan. “Good time to be a kid.”
His strong arms swung as they walked. Breakfast had been modest, to say the least, and Lucy was getting the impression that just twenty-four hours in, her partner was finding the adjustment to rationing harder than expected. He was used to a muscle-building diet, and their new calorie budget was half that.
***
City Hall was worse than the buses. It was like a Major League baseball game with tens of t
housands of people converging upon a single venue – only, City Hall was never designed to be a stadium. Long, snaking cordons had been set up to deal with the excess crowds, and there was a heavy police presence.
“I’ll be honest,” conceded Lucy, “I didn’t expect this many people to show up.”
“By the looks of it,” replied Dan, “neither did the authorities.”
It was two hours before the pair even made it inside the building.
“Thank you for your patience. Remain calm and you will be processed as soon as possible,” repeated a police announcer for the hundredth time.
Each sprawling line continued to grow faster than the rate of processing. To Lucy’s bitter disappointment, their entry into the hall only led to a further set of swollen lines, each edging forwards at a snail’s pace. After a further hour of standing in the increasingly humid processing chamber, a large woman fainted and had to be helped to the side to recover. After that people began to sit on the floor and shuffle forward only when they had to.
Every now and then the sound of a baby crying would cut across the hubbub of the hall, setting off another infant, leaving the two wailing aimlessly while stressed parents tried desperately to placate them in the face of judgmental onlookers.
Finally, Lucy and Dan’s turn came. The police officer controlling the front of the line signaled for Lucy to come forwards, which she did, but Dan was stopped short. “One at a time only!” snapped the officer.
Dan shrugged and retreated. Lucy continued towards the vacant kiosk alone.
“Name?” asked the desk clerk, barely looking up.
“Lucy Young.”
“I need people in the following areas: power, medical, logistics, fire safety, and sanitation. Any preference?”
“Um … Can you be more specific?”
“No.”
Lucy blushed. “Um, I’d quite like to stay with my partner. Can I ask him where he’s going to choose?”
Again, the clerk barely looked up, giving a curt nod. Lucy hastened over to Dan.
“Power, medical, or logistics? Those are our choices. Pretty much,” she added, filtering out the last two.
“Logistics – sounds least dangerous,” replied Dan, decisively.
“OK. Make sure you choose the same,” insisted Lucy.
She hurried back to the kiosk and stated her preference. The clerk wrote down some follow-up information, then tore off a slip and slid it across the desk to her.
“Take the exit on the right, show them this, and they’ll tell you which bus bay to go to. You’ll need to display it again when you get to work, so don’t lose it. Next please!”
Lucy took the slip and moved towards the exit. She bent down and tied her laces, stalling for time until Dan had been processed and caught up. As they approached the exit together, a policeman barred their path.
“Tickets,” he demanded, extending a hand. “You’re this way, ma’am. Sir, you’re coach seventeen,” stated the officer, returning their papers.
“What? Wait, we’re supposed to be together!” protested Lucy, holding up both tickets side by side.
“Sorry ma’am, you’ve been assigned to L4, and your partner’s been assigned to L9.”
“Then it needs to be changed.”
“No transfers until the backlog’s been cleared ma’am, sorry. You should be able to apply in a couple of days, though.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” she protested, prompting Dan to intervene.
“Sorry, officer, my partner’s just tired is all. Is there really nothing you can do?”
“Sure, I can have you both locked up for the night? Or you can get the hell on with it like everybody else in this city and quit whining.”
Lucy glared at the officer while Dan led her to the side.
“It’s only for a couple of days,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “We’ll be fine. It won’t be like yesterday – the National Guard’s on the streets now.”
She nodded, acutely aware of the people starting to bunch behind them.
“Hey!” barked the officer.
“We’re going, we’re going!” replied Dan, hastily turning back to Lucy. “See you at home. Be careful.”
They parted quickly and unsatisfactorily, without embrace or comfort. Lucy paced to coach L4 where the driver beckoned her to hurry aboard. She looked at the strangers lining each row, recognizing her own anxiety in a few of them. Grabbing the last empty seat, she craned to see out of the window – Dan was already gone. She took a steadying breath. Time to focus on the task ahead, whatever it may be.
***
“Bottles,” said Lucy. “Refilling them. You?” she asked, stepping through the door.
“Inventory,” replied Dan, coming through from the kitchen to greet her properly.
“You got Inventory?” she scoffed, incredulously. “That’s your kind of OCD heaven!”
“Guess I lucked out. Lucky L9.”
“Manage to pocket any Tootsie Rolls for us?” she jested.
“They caught someone doing that actually – stealing from the inventory. They beat him up pretty good. So I got us nothing. On the upside, none of my ribs are broken, so yay for that. How was bottles?”
“Best. Day. Ever. Oh no wait, it was terrible, because I was in a recycling factory.”
“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any sexier.”
“You’re right, it’s pretty glamorous actually. I think I’ve finally found my calling in life,” said Lucy, with a swish of her hair. “They want all the plastic bottles we can find to be cleaned for recirculation. It’s a mess though; most don’t have lids, and loads are split. I guess it’s all part of the water rationing, but I really can’t see how it’s worth it.”
“There was a flyer about it,” said Dan, searching around. “It sorta makes sense, the way they explained it.”
“Kinda, except that handing out and collecting bottles is super inefficient. Why not go around with a water truck and let people fill them up that way?” countered Lucy, eyebrow raised.
“Only angle I can think of is hygiene,” mused Dan. “If people can’t flush their lavatories, and water’s rationed, then they’re probably not washing their hands too often. Seems an easy way for people to get sick. Trust me, cholera’s a much bigger problem than having you guys hunt around for bottles. I think I saw one of your water trucks on the route back, actually. It was stopped outside a retirement home.”
Lucy inspected herself in the hallway mirror. “God I look like shit,” she said, lifting her messy, matted hair up and prodding the bags under her eyes. “And I’m absolutely beat,” she yawned, sitting down among the shoes in the hallway and pulling off her current pair. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to stand up all day.”
“Luckily for you we’ve got a gourmet dinner lined up,” winked Dan. “Half a tin of tuna each plus a niiiice piece of bread.”
“Truly, you spoil me,” she snorted, extending a hand for him to help her back up.
“Nothing but the finest for my girl. Don’t worry, we’ve got some relish left in the cupboard. And there’s butter too.”
The harsh, tinny sound of a voice amplified through a bullhorn echoed up from the streets outside. “Curfew is about to start. Return to your homes immediately,” the announcement repeated on a loop.
Lucy wandered over to the glass balcony door and peered down as the patrol car passed by their street.
“Wow. They’re not taking any chances on that one,” she said, sitting back down and rubbing her feet again.
“Did you hear about the fire?” asked Dan.
“The fire?”
“Huge fire over on Southside, Hillsborough way. You didn’t hear the sirens last night? Whole thing was nasty – apparently six people died. Someone had to drive to the fire station just to tell them their street was burning down. By the time the fire crew got there it’d spread to a whole bunch of other houses.”
“Jesus. How come a patrol didn’t spot it?”
“No idea. Makes you wonder, though, how good their patrols can be if they can’t spot a street on fire at night-time.”
“Is this the flyer?” asked Lucy, picking up a simple two-sided black-and-white leaflet from the table.
“Yeah, it was in front of our door when I got back. There was one in the mailbox too, actually. Pretty thorough.”
Lucy scanned through the flyer. The design was extremely basic: pure information, no frills. CIVILIAN GUIDELINES read the title, under which were a short list of subtitles in smaller text: Curfew, Rations, Schools, Buses, Employment, Safety. She examined further.
CURFEW IN EFFECT DUSK TIL DAWN. SIREN WILL SOUND DAILY AT BEGINNING AND END OF CURFEW. STAY INSIDE. ARMY PATROLS WILL USE LETHAL FORCE.
RATIONS WILL BE DISTRIBUTED TO YOUR HOME WEEKLY ON GIVEN DAY BETWEEN 6-7PM. SOUTHSIDE ON WEDNESDAYS. NORTHSIDE* ON THURSDAYS. ALL CITIZENS WISHING TO RECEIVE RATIONS MUST BE PRESENT IN PERSON. NO EXCEPTIONS. STAND OUTSIDE YOUR HOME AND DO NOT MOVE. TRUCK WILL COME TO YOU. REPORT TO NEAREST HOSPITAL IF UNABLE TO SELF-PRESENT FOR RATIONS. YOU MUST MAKE YOUR RATIONS LAST SEVEN DAYS.
BOTTLED WATER WILL BE DISTRIBUTED EVERY 2-3 DAYS BY PATROLLING TRUCKS. LISTEN FOR ANNOUNCEMENTS. WATER BOTTLES ARE LOANS AND MUST BE RETURNED. NEW WATER WILL NOT BE GIVEN OUT UNLESS EMPTY BOTTLE IS RETURNED AT THE TRUCK. MAX. ½ GALLON PER PERSON PER DISTRIBUTION.
SCHOOLS REMAIN OPEN. CHILDREN WILL BE GIVEN LUNCH RATIONS AT SCHOOL, DAILY.
FREE DAYTIME BUSES WILL RUN ACROSS THE CITY.
VOLUNTEERS NEEDED TO HELP RESTORE UTILITIES. REPORT TO CITY HALL FOR ASSIGNMENT. YOU WILL BE PAID EXTRA RATIONS. AGE 16+ ONLY.
CONSERVE WATER. TAKE EXTREME CARE WITH CANDLES AND NAKED FLAMES. KEEP BUCKET OF WATER IN YOUR HOME TO TACKLE NON-OIL, NON-ELECTRICAL FIRES. IN EVENT OF FIRE, TRY TO EXTINGUISH FLAME, THEN EVACUATE ALL PEOPLE FROM BUILDING AND FLAG DOWN A PATROL FOR HELP.
At the bottom of the flyer was an asterisk, with smaller text:
*Northside defined as all homes north of Rivera Street Westside and Twenty-sixth Street Eastside.
Convulsive Box Set Page 5