The volume of voices was low, mixing it with the bus radio and the talk between the drivers. Passengers muttered words of concerns, asking the bus driver if the road was clear and would we make it out.
“They gave us the all clear,” the bus driver replied. “Just a lot of buses and trucks in this lane moving people out like you.”
It was a good explanation and people accepted that until we reached the merger at the end of the bridge and came to a grinding halt.
It was the first time we stopped.
No one made much of it until we didn’t move. The clock ticked away, the silence was thick on the bus. My heart raced out of control every time I looked at my watch.
I took it off and shoved it in my pocket. Looking at it wasn’t making the bus go faster.
The bus driver stepped off the bus as we all watched, then he got back on and grabbed the radio. “This is seventeen,” he called over the radio. “I thought they cleared the lane. Anyone know what’s going on?”
There were a few blips of static, then finally a voice. “They had it cleared. Civilian traffic broke through and now it’s all jammed up,” the person said. “We’re at a stand still on Bigalow.”
Bigalow was the road that drove straight toward the city but was my like a bypass and looped around the edge of downtown.
My heart dropped to my stomach.
We weren’t moving.
In fact, it didn’t look like we ever would.
My God, despite all my efforts, crash course in survival, the packing, the planning … it didn’t matter.
We were trapped.
EIGHT – STEEL BOX
“Has anyone heard anything?” I called out, looking around. My phone was buried in my bag and it was quicker to ask.
The moments that followed, after finding out we weren’t going anywhere, were a soup of emotions and behaviors. Crying and panic, anger, a couple rushing to get off the bus.
The bus driver urged calm.
“Anyone?” I asked again. “I know it’s close, has the news said anything?”
“I’m checking now,” 2C said.
“Why bother,” said the woman across the aisle. She had been quiet the entire time, alone on the bus. A woman in her mid to late fifties with shorter brown and gray hair. She looked tall, although it was hard to tell with her sitting down, but she was thin, a weird thin. As if she was heavy at one time.
I looked over to her and she kept biting on her bottom lip. Nibbling quickly and nervously.
“Excuse me?” I asked politely.
Her head moved a bit when she talked, again, a product of nerves and there must have been something about that bottom lip because when she spoke only her top lip was animated.
“Why bother,” she repeated. “There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere far enough to run to.”
I turned around to 2C. “Anything?”
“I’m looking ...” his words trailed. “Now.” Slowly he lifted his eyes to me and I watched his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed harshly, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “They are saying take cover. The police and military left their posts. No one’s out there keeping order, that’s why the lane is jammed.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Jesus.”
“Mommy,” Macy whimpered.
I grabbed my bags and held out my hand to her. “Come on, we’re going.” I looked at the woman across from me and spoke gently. “Wil you come with us?”
“No, no.” She shook her head. “I’ll meet my maker here.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I slipped into the aisle, pausing to let 2C get out. “You’re coming, right?”
“Sure, why not.” 2C said.
“Where are you going?” Another man on the bus asked. “There’s nowhere to go. We’re too close to the city.”
“We’re at the edge of the orange zone,” I said. “I don’t know if that will matter, but I have to believe it means some sort of hope.” I moved forward.
“Yeah, well, be realistic. In this area there’s only hope if you find a lead bunker underground.” Pessimist man said.
I stopped.
“What?” 2C asked.
I knew he saw it. I felt my entire face change expression.
“What do you know?” He asked.
“Steel,” I whispered and locked eye. “I know where to go.”
2C inched back to let me through. “Lead the way,” he said.
I started to, then when I got to the front of the bus, I saw 2C was talking to the woman
“Please come with us,” he said. “Won’t you? She said she knows where to go.”
The woman looked at me, then 2C, she nodded and stood.
Both of them headed my way. Pessimist man was behind them. I didn’t know if he was following or going his own way.
It didn’t matter.
Just as we reached the front, the bus driver said, “Sit back down, looks like we’re moving.”
The bus jolted slightly as he took it out of the parked gear.
“We’re moving,” Lip woman said. “Should we sit down?”
I looked down at my bare wrist then to 2C. “Should we sit?”
He shook his head and leaned to me speaking softly in my ear. “There’s no time.”
Hearing him say that made my stomach thump and I hurried to the door. “Let us out.”
“I can’t, we’re moving, we ...
I then blasted my loudest, almost maniacal voice. “Let us out. Now. Now! Now.”
“Fine!” The bus driver yelled, and the bus doors opened.
People on the bus were screaming for us to hurry.
No worries there, I high tailed it off the bus and on the bridge.
2C, the woman and pessimist man exited the bus and it rolled at its snail’s pace.
“Traffic is moving,” the woman said. “Did we do the right thing? I listened to you,” she said to 2C. “Was it the right thing?”
“Trust me. It was.” He looked at me. “How far is it?”
“Not far at all. How much time do we have?"
“Not much,” he answered.
“I need to know how much is not much. Do we run, walk, what?” I asked.
“Bombs will come about fifteen minutes to half an hour after times up.”
“Okay,” I said. “So, when is time up?”
“We have nine minutes.”
Instead of panicking or freaking out, I held onto my daughter and moved onward at a steady but quick pace.
I always imagined on true onset of war, or if there ever were bombs coming we’d hear the sirens of the civil defense blaring all over.
There were none. Anyone who could have rang the Lamar’s had long gone and left post. In fact, there were no sounds. No screaming or sirens.
Everyone had left, taken cover or were sitting on buses stuck on the bridge holding out hope they were getting out.
I spotted a sole person running here and there. That was it.
We made it off the bridge and through the intersection that led to the barricade of Liberty avenue.
“When we get inside,” I stopped to tell the three of them. “Grab water from the kitchen. We have bottles. You ...” I looked at the woman.
“Joan,” she said. “My name is Joan.”
“Joan, can you just start grabbing tablecloths. We need those. Just grab them.”
“Yes. Yes. Absolutely.”
“Where are we going?” 2C asked.
“About two blocks past the barricade,” I replied as I started to walk again. “To my work.”
“Mom, are we gonna be chased by zombies?” Macy asked.
It was an off the wall question, considering I had been honest with my daughter. Wanting to get moving and not get into any explanation, I muttered a, “No. No, we aren’t.”
She grunted a ‘hmm’ and I noticed she wasn’t moving. I peered down to her and saw her focus elsewhere. I shifted my gaze to the direction of her stare and saw the police car twenty feet away. The driver’s s
ide door was wide open, but the rear window behind it was smeared with blood.
“Are we going?” 2C asked. “We need to go.”
After telling Macy to stay put I walked over to the squad car. When I neared it, I saw a forehead resting against the window. There was a person in there, and I inched even closer. The face was hard to make out, it was streaked with blood. The second I got a good look, his eyes popped open, causing me to jump back.
Before I could scream or react, he mouthed the words, “Help me.”
“Oh my God. Someone give me a hand.” I reached for the door handle as Joan made her way to help.
She forced a nervous, closed mouth smile locking eyes with me as I opened the squad car door.
When I did, as I suspected, the young man rolled out, catching his balance somewhat before completely landing on the concrete.
Both Joan and I reached down to him.
He looked up at me. “Thank you.” His voice was hoarse.
I froze when I looked at his face.
“Do you know him?” Joan asked,
I felt a slight ache for this young man. He was someone’s son, someone out there was worried about him and he was forgotten and abandoned in the back of a police car. The bloody forehead had to be from his constant attempts to do whatever he could to get help. Even if it meant banging his head against the window.
“I don’t know him, but I recognize him,” I said. “This poor kid was arrested yesterday morning.”
Almost in shock, Joan asked. “He’s been in there this whole time?”
“Can we go!” Pessimist man shouted. “The nine minutes has come and gone. We’re on borrowed time.”
“What about the handcuffs?” Joan asked.
“We’ll figure out something,” I said. “We don’t have time right now. Can you walk?” I asked him.
“Lead the way,” he replied.
“We’ll get you cleaned up when we get there,” I assured him, he took my daughter’s hand, moved hurriedly down Liberty to the Peaceful, Easy, Feedary.
I kept looking back. Joan didn’t leave his side.
No more was said the rest of the hastened journey. The keys to the restaurant where in my backpack, and I opened the front door.
It hadn’t been looted nor the windows busted like a lot of other shops.
Once inside I repeated my directions of grabbing water.
But told them all to hold off on the tablecloths as I went behind the hostess counter and grabbed a box.
“Where are we going in here?” 2C asked.
“To the basement,” I answered. “There’s a huge walk in cooler. Interior safety, so we don’t get stuck. There’s a walk in freezer down there too, not as big. We’ll need the tablecloths for warmth.”
“Until the power goes out.”
I looked inside the box to the remaining small, oil table lamps. “Joan, help me gather the little lights before we whip off the tablecloths.”
“You’re very smart, you’re thinking ahead,” Joan said.
“I’m not that smart, trust me.”
“What about me?” the young man asked. “I can’t do much.”
“Yeah, you can,” I told him. “Get my daughter to the basement. The doors in the kitchen. We’ll be right there.”
He agreed and walked to the back with Macy.
It was a lot of rushing, pessimist man taking cases of water downstairs while Joan and I gathered up the tablecloths and whatever else we could think of.
I tossed my duffle down the stairs so my arms could be free.
I wasn’t sure what 2C was doing, he was rummaging around the kitchen and his arms were full when he stepped into the dining room, announcing. “Times up.”
We had cut it close.
So far nothing had happened, and I still held on to hope that it wouldn’t.
Once downstairs and securely in the fridge. 2C dumped the lettuce bin and I heard the pulling of tin foil.
“Everyone shut off your phones and give them to me,” he said. “Hurry.”
I had to reach in my backpack for mine. It was already off, I handed him it and the power packs. “What are you doing?”
“Making a faraday cage.” 2C shrugged. “Not sure if it will work, but it's worth trying.”
I paced back and forth looking up to the ceiling as he buried the electronics in foil, then covered the bin.
“Will this hold? Will this work?” Joan asked. “What do you think?”
She was asking me. “I know they reinforced the floors three years ago.”
“This is insulated,” pessimist man said. “Cased in steel. As long as it’s not a direct hit. We … we may have a shot at this. Good thinking,” he told me. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
I looked at my daughter who sat on a produce crate, a black tablecloth draped across her shoulders. I walked over to her and sat down near her, taking her in my arms.
“Maybe it won’t happen,” Joan whispered. “Maybe we'll get lucky.”
We sat there in a fear filled silence, waiting, saying nothing. It wasn’t long before we had an answer and we knew Joan’s words were mere wishful thinking.
Reality struck.
The interior light in the cooler went out.
It was happening.
NINE – BREATHE
I didn’t believe any of us knew exactly what to expect. I know I didn’t. It was completely dark inside that cooler. I could see in front of me, and the only sense I tapped into was the feeling of holding onto my daughter in the moments before it started. Once it did, once we were positive the bombs were falling, I felt like I had been swallowed into some sort of black abyss of terror. Unable to see, only hear and not knowing what it would bring was frightening. Were we close or far enough away? It started as a slight rumbling beneath our feet. It grew louder and louder until we heard the bangs and crashes and the roar of what sounded like a freight train rolling right over our heads. Just as it started to calm it rolled right back again. What was happening? Was it one bomb, two? I just didn’t know.
It sounded and felt like the entire world collapsed above our heads. Things rattled off the shelves and things banged against the cooler.
With walls of the unit so thick with insulation and steel, and noise too loud, it was conceivable that it could collapse like a house of cards at any moment.
Once it was quiet, once I felt confident enough to exhale, holding my daughter and breathing out in relief that we were fine and made it, 2C lit a flashlight.
“Is everyone okay?“ 2C asked.
I nodded, but I don’t think he saw it. “There’s a flashlight somewhere in here, a bigger one. One in the freezer as well.”
“I’ll look for it,” 2C said.
Joan blurted out a, “No. Not yet,” and she fumbled with the box. “You might want to save that flashlight for another time. Okay?”
A few sounds of a flicking lighter and she lit the first of a little table lantern.
She grabbed another and lit that. Placing it on the other side of the cooler.
My daughter groaned a tearful. “Mom, I’m scared.” Then wedged against me.
“So am I.” I pulled her closer if that was possible.
Holding her tight I looked over to notice that the lanterns gave the room a soft glow.
Pessimist man grabbed his backpack, digging into it. Strangely enough he pulled out a notebook and pen, then looked at Joan, “Could I have one of those lanterns? I won’t be that long”.
Joan handed him one, lighting it. And then she proceeded, oddly, to start picking up the heads of lettuce that 2C had dumped on the floor. Probably to make room.
The young man with the handcuffs had scooted to a corner, his bloody face looked terrified.
I was in shock and unable to move, yet Pessimist man wrote fervently in his notebook.
“What are you doing? I asked.
“I’m working on how long we can safely be in this room and breathe.”
“You mean before the air runs out?”
“Running out of oxygen isn’t the concern” he said. “That’s not our worry. It’s how long before the air turns deadly. And even before that, we could be useless.”
“Are you a scientist?” I asked.
“More like a farmer,” Pessimist man said, “We breathe in the air, but every time we exhale, we exhale about 5% CO2. That builds up. Each time we exhale we disrupt the balance of oxygen and CO2. The higher the CO2, the more deadly. We’re all stressed, whether we like it or not, we’ll breathe faster, producing more CO2. We’re in here, we’re going to feel tired, that’s not boredom, it's CO2.”
I asked how long.
“Ten percent level is deadly, so I'm assuming three percent CO2 is the highest level we can go to be safe.” He scribbled. “This room is maybe twelve by twelve, eight feet high. That’s 1152 cubic feet. We as humans, exhale one point seven cubic feet each per hour.” He held up his finger. “That’s high ended. That’s talking, breathing heavy, worrying. Now going by the cubic feet of this room, that is thirty-four point five hours before we reach three percent. Take each person in this room, we’ll say four point five,” He pointed to Macy then wrote down, “And multiply that by one point seven, the amount of CO2 we produce per foot. That means we’re producing seven point six-five cubic feet of CO2 per hour, divide the hours in this room by that, you get ...”
“Four and a half hours,” Joan spoke softly. “Before we hit three percent.”
He looked at her. “Did you just figure that out off the top of your head?”
“I’m a … I have a knack for math,” she said nervously. “Always have. Doing that same math, it’s …” she paused. “Fifteen hours before the room hits that level.”
He wrote down to check and looked up surprised. “You’re right.”
“I hate math,” said 2C.
“So, what do we do?” I asked.
“We have no choice,” he answered. “Every three or four hours ...” He looked at the entrance of the freezer. “We open that door.”
TEN – FAMILIAR
What was out there?
I asked 2C to borrow his flashlight and I examined the ceiling of the cooler. Was it dented or warped, was the entire restaurant sitting above us and any single movement above would crush us?
Nine Minutes Page 4