by A E Faulkner
Our attempt at brainstorming yields less results than a defunct think tank. Waning energy and smothering silence clog the air. We’ve got nothing.
With her eyes trained on Snickers’ slumbering form, Riley huffs out a final frustrated sigh. “We can’t venture very far, and it’s got to be getting dark outside by now. Like, darker than it was from the ash. I think we have to take a lesson from the dog here.”
“So the plan is to sniff out the perfect spot and drop our drawers outside?” I ask, dreading the inevitable.
Aidan chuckles, but it quickly evaporates when I shoot him a death glare.
“You got a better idea?” Riley counters. I numbly shake my head. I know. She’s right. And this whole thing is our stupid dog’s fault. If he hadn’t tripped up Jeff, we’d all probably be sitting around a relaxing fire right now, singing Kumbaya and taking turns using the portable devices.
“What do we do with him?” I ask, motioning toward Aidan.
“I’m not your hostage, and I’m not completely helpless, you know,” he vents. “Besides, Matt patched up my ankle.”
“What?” Riley practically dives toward the hem of his pants leg to investigate.
“Yeah, he had a first aid kit in the cruiser, so he wrapped my ankle. He doesn’t think it’s broken. Just sprained. As long as I keep weight off it as much as possible, I can hobble around.”
Rising on her haunches, Riley slaps her thighs. “Alright then, let’s do this.”
Taking turns, under the cover of night, we follow Snickers’ lead and use the nonexistent facilities outside. We tote a disposable water bottle with us to rinse our hands, but the lack of soap leaves me feeling germy.
We pick through the stacks of supplies just long enough to locate a stash of freeze-dried entrees. My excitement for the cheesy lasagna plummets when I scan the preparation directions, which require boiling water. Frustration builds as I scan the other foil pouches. Why isn’t this stuff like astronaut ice cream, where you just tear the pouch and chow down?
As I’m contemplating tearing open the lasagna pouch and dumping bottled water into it, Riley squeals. She proudly displays the biggest bag of trail mix I’ve ever seen.
“Good enough,” I say, my stomach growling at the sight. My body has two demands right now: food and rest.
I plop down next to Aidan and await my turn for the feed bag. We pass it around, scooping out serving after serving until the pouch is nearly empty. The blend of raisins, peanuts, and chocolate candies eases the churning hunger, leaving me in a dozing state of contentment.
“Guys,” Riley starts, her voice timid. “You know the tracking…uh, tracker inside us…well, inside some of us—do you think anyone can pick it up in here?”
A wave of relief washes over me again that I don’t have one. The thought of that thing “crawling” around inside Riley makes me itchy, like when the person next to you discovers a spider walking up their arm and flicks it off and you’re convinced it’s coming for you next.
Aidan scratches his chin in thought. “You know, if this tracker, or whatever it is, sends a signal out, I bet all the rocks in here would block it. Maybe right here, since we’re close to an opening, a weak signal might make it through, but I bet once we’re down below in the caves, they’d probably never be able to see our dots on that device.”
Riley nods her head, a faraway look overtaking her eyes. “I like that idea. No one has the right to keep tabs on me, or any of us for that matter.”
I sense that she’s stewing about the element of control over unwilling or unsuspecting people, which probably reminds her of her time with Jim and Dan. I push those thoughts from my mind. There’s enough clouding my mind right now without adding to it, and thankfully that part of our lives is over.
After a deep yawn escapes my lungs, Aidan taps my knee. “Looks like you could use some sleep.” He flashes me a sympathetic smile.
“I’m betting we all could,” I counter. My batteries are on serious backup power at this point and they’re fading fast. Riley and Aidan must feel the same way, especially Aidan. I’m worried about his injury—that I’m sure he’s downplaying. “Let’s get your leg elevated and that ankle iced,” I say, hopping up for a box or bag to prop below it. “I saw a few instant cold packs in there somewhere when I was digging for dinner options.”
It’s dark, but the flashlight we have propped in the corner illuminates his shocked expression. “Hey, my years on the track taught me more than how to collect trophies.”
He nods in approval and gives no resistance as I slide a pack of supplies under his calf. “Thanks,” he says, wincing a bit as I press the cold pack to his ankle while tying it in place with Snickers’ leash.
Looking back and forth between us, he says, “Well, this isn’t exactly ideal sleeping arrangements, but I thought we’d search the supplies Jeff brought for sleeping bags or blankets and then just crash right here.” He spreads his arms out in front of him, motioning across the rectangular clearing that I’d estimate to be as wide and long as a refrigerator.
No one argues. It’s better than outside and we have nowhere else to go. It’s either right here or at the bottom of the steps. There’s nothing in between.
Riley and I approach the stacked provisions once more. This time we give up even sooner than we did in the search for food. When I hold up two bright blue tarps that were stuffed inside a crate of lanterns and flashlights, the others brandish unenthusiastic thumbs up.
“That’ll work,” Aidan says, pushing himself into a standing position. We spread one tarp over the ground. The other will be tonight’s blanket. Riley twitches slightly, an idea popping into her mind. She scurries to one of the cartons she sifted through earlier during our food search.
“I knew I remembered seeing these,” she declares. “It’s not much, but we can try to use them as pillows.” She thrusts three rolls of paper towels toward us, balancing one between the other two. That reminds me, we’ve got to figure out the sleeping arrangements.
“Great idea!” Aidan says, a weary smile tugging his cheeks.
“So,” I say, waving a hand over the tarp. “How do we want to do this?”
Aidan runs a hand through his hair and a slight tic shifts his jaw.
“Quinn, you sleep in the middle,” Riley says. “You’re the youngest, so you’re stuck with the least comfortable spot.” She shrugs, tilting her head, as if there’s simply no other solution.
Whatever. I’m so exhausted, I could probably sleep on a bed of nails right now.
We tuck ourselves between the flimsy tarps. I flatten my paper towel roll as best I can, but I already know I’ll be feeling a strain in my neck for days.
With my back to Aidan, I face Riley. When her brown eyes meet mine, she wiggles her eyebrows and mouths, “You’re welcome.”
Holding her amused gaze, I call a general “Goodnight” and switch the flashlight off, plunging us into absolute darkness.
Chapter 69
A soft whimpering tugs at the edges of my consciousness. My eyelids flutter open. Raising a hand to my face, I swipe away the crusted gunk that collected overnight in the corners of both eyes.
Every inch of my body throbs in agony. My mind must have blocked the pain while I slept, but as my senses return, every nerve makes its presence known.
The whimpering grows louder, or maybe the fog in my ears is starting to dissipate. Something cold and wet nudges my face, followed by a puff of warm air. Dog breath. Snickers must need to go out.
Dragging a sore arm across my chest, I paw at the darkness until my fingertips meet fur. “Hey, boy. You wanna go out?” I whisper. Snickers drags his tongue across my cheek, which normally wouldn’t bother me. But given our lack of facilities, I’d really rather not have the scent of dog slobber wafting to my nose all day.
“Sure, girl! What’d you have in mind?” a gruff voice asks.
I jab my elbow to the right until it connects with his ribs.
“Oomph!” he grunts.
“Sure, hit a guy when he’s down,” he mutters. “I guess that’s what I get for trying to come between a girl and her dog.”
“Oh my gosh, I forgot you’re hurt! I am so sorry,” my voice cracks with guilt. I roll on my side toward him. “Are you okay?”
He coughs, a pathetic rattle echoing within our small space. I lean closer but can barely see the outline of his face. “I swear, I wouldn’t have done that if I remembered you were hurt.”
The light switch snaps on, casting a yellow hue that reveals just how close my face is to Aidan’s. We both squint our eyes, adjusting to the dim glow. A tapping sound, fueled by impatience, grows louder and faster, drawing our attention toward the door. How on Earth did she wake up and get moving before me?
“Come on, Snickers. Obviously, they’re too busy flirting, but I’ll take you out,” Riley teases, smirking. My cheeks flush with fire and my heart nosedives.
“Thank you,” I mouth to her, mortification blazing in my silent reply.
Using the outdoors as our bathroom is trickier this time. The sun glimpses through swirling, murky clouds. A slight breeze churns the haze around us. I can’t tell if the air looks slightly clearer or if my eyes are adjusting to its contaminated tinge. Aidan said it would carry microscopic pollutants for weeks.
Either way, morning has dawned and even the limited daylight leaves me feeling exposed. We rush through the motions and return to the confines of our quarters. We devour what’s left of the trail mix. While Aidan and I scour through the supplies in search of more food, Riley and Snickers dash downstairs for a quick check-in with Aidan’s dad.
Aidan insists his ankle feels better but he staggers with a wavering gait. He wanted to talk to his dad directly, but Riley claimed the task before anyone could protest. I’m grateful she did. The last thing he should do is try to climb back down those steps when he’s clearly in pain.
We settle on dried apricots and water for breakfast. While we wait for Riley to return, I refresh Snickers’ bowls.
Soon enough, the echo of sneakers padding stone precedes her appearance.
Aidan immediately straightens, anxious for an update on his family and friends.
“Well, it sounds like they’re doing okay, all things considered.” Her eyes shift between us nervously while she gingerly swishes the toe end of her shoe around the dirt. She knows what he really wants to ask.
“Jeff’s…not great. He can’t feel his legs right now, but they don’t have any strong medication to give him, so maybe he’s just numb from the pain.” She quickly shifts the conversation to a more hopeful topic.
“Matt’s supposed to come back today with shovels and trowels, but until then, they’re searching for weak spots on the other side.” She clasps her hands together. “They want us to stay away from the collapse until Matt returns. They’ve got more manpower than us, and your dad said it’ll be a slow and steady process.”
Aidan runs a hand through his hair. “So we’re just supposed to sit around and do nothing?”
“Actually, they want us to get that ham radio working,” she says. “We’re supposed to scan for broadcasts and try to gather what people are seeing and saying.”
“Do we even have the radio?” I ask. “Or is it down there with them?”
Riley scurries to the remaining bags we didn’t bother to carry downstairs before the collapse. She reaches in each, rooting through the contents, until a smile spreads across her face. “Jackpot!”
Chapter 70
Positioning the radio before Aidan, Riley and I crowd around him. He and Jeff had some time to play with the functions before we arrived here. Recognition flares in his eyes as he manipulates the switches.
He tunes through channels, searching for voices. It’s unlike a typical FM radio, in that the sound is either nonexistent or clear. There’s no static to blur the message. I wish there were. Our heads tilt to the floor in concentration, as if that helps us hear the broadcast better:
…inches, we’ve got inches of ash on the ground. The phones are down. Electricity’s out. We’ve got food, but it won’t last forever. I’ll do whatever it takes for my family to survive.
Does anyone have any idea how many are dead or missing? I’m in South Dakota and I can’t reach any of the family I got in Montana. I’ve got a feeling that we’re gonna find out real soon how many got the hell outta there, because they’ve gotta go somewhere. And we’re just over the border.
All hell’s broke loose. People are looting, taking whatever they need. I’ve got to provide for my family, but if I go out there and get shot, where does that leave them?
The more we hear, the less I want to know. While some voices are deeper than others, an air of panic wafts through each of them. Aidan flips the radio off and looks to us. “Maybe we can find an emergency broadcast message. You know, something official. These people we’re hearing…we don’t know if what they’re saying is true.”
I don’t voice my disagreement, but if these people are lying, they’re pretty good at it. They all sound anxious to me.
He turns the radio back on, manipulating the switches until we land on a disembodied female voice that reminds me of a newscaster:
Thanks for joining me today for The Frequence Sequence. I usually talk about timely tips and noteworthy news in the amateur radio world, but today’s podcast focuses on a much heavier topic. Yellowstone.
We all know it’s erupted. My sources tell me that Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, and Colorado are smothering under feet of volcanic ash. Like an avalanche of a pretty nasty cocktail of splintered rock and glass.
And right at the source, it sounds like lava is oozing across the landscape—a fiery blob of destruction. We can only hope that anything in its path will escape before it’s consumed.
The Midwest is faring a bit better but the ash blanketing its landscape will most certainly kill plants and animals, crush roofs and collapse structures, and short all sorts of electrical equipment.
Riley’s hands tremble and my stomach tumbles. Aidan told us a lot of this would happen, but it wasn’t real then. It was just a college kid sputtering off textbook scenarios. Hearing it in an official-sounding voice alters our reality once again.
I’ve got to get out of here, away from the words declaring our nation’s collapse.
Chapter 71
Rocketing to my feet, I anxiously snatch my dust mask and Snickers’ leash. Stunned, Aidan and Riley snap their heads up.
“I need some air. I’ve…gotta get out of here for a few minutes.” Holding the leash up, I sweeten my tone. “Snickers, you wanna go out, boy?” He obliges, trotting over. I quickly affix the hook to his collar.
“You really shouldn’t breathe in that air any more than you have to,” Aidan cautions. “I know you’ve got your masks, but they’re not exactly foolproof.”
“Snickers needs to go out,” I insist, shifting from one foot to the other. Never mind that I planted the idea in his little brain.
Riley rises, swiping dust off her pants. “I’ll come too. Unless you’d rather not have company.” She’s probably eager to get away from this too.
“Always room for one more,” I say, plastering a smile across my face. I raise my eyebrows at Aidan.
“Alright,” he says slowly. “Don’t go too far, okay? I’ll stay here and keep listening. My dad was right. We’ve got to know what people are saying out there.”
We push out the creaky door, stopping to jam the wooden doorstop into the opening so we can slip back inside upon our return. Trailing behind Snickers, he leads us around the building. The sun’s valiant effort to shine is once again thwarted by murky clouds. I guess this is pretty mild compared to areas that have inches or feet of ash.
“So, what do you think’s going to happen?” Riley asks quietly. “I thought that things would stay relatively calm around here and we’d just need to wait for the ash to clear. But how realistic is that when the other side of the country has to
dig itself out with no electricity and phone lines down? What happens when they run out of basic necessities?”
“They’re already looting,” I say. “And this just happened. I think once they run out of places to loot, they’ll move on. To places that still have supplies. To anywhere that’s better off than where they are.”
“Like East,” she mutters. “I really wish Aunt Robin came with us.” I nod, worry twisting my insides.
“I wonder where Aidan’s cell phone ended up?” I question. “Maybe we could try to call her.” Riley nods enthusiastically.
“Yeah, we can still convince her to come with us.”
Sirens wail in the distance but otherwise an unnatural calm descends upon the landscape. The air is charged, as if each molecule hovers in anticipation of further injury. The fur along Snickers’ spine raises and he dashes back to the cave entrance. Trusting his instinct, we stumble but keep up and clamber back inside. Will anything ever be “normal” again? Besides losing our parents, it feels like all sense of structure and society are slipping through our fingers with every passing minute.
When we return, Aidan’s still fixated on the radio. This time a deep voice fills the chamber. The slow, smooth drawl would be best suited for a honey-coated bedtime story; instead, it wields paranoia:
Think about it. There are so many ways people set themselves up to be monitored. Cell phones, fitness trackers, GPS systems…if one entity gathered all that information, it could keep an eye on almost all of us. And even for those who don’t have any of that stuff, how many live with someone who does? So, bam! Big brother is always watching.
Aidan switches the radio off and rakes a hand through his hair. His wide eyes intently watch our approach. His skin reflects the dim yellow lights, brandishing an unhealthy pallor. I’ve never seen anyone display withdrawal symptoms, but that’s what comes to mind—a doomsday information junkie who just lost his last connection to conspiracy theorists.