Apocalypse Drift

by Joe Nobody

  The stairwell was especially busy this morning. The footfalls of several tenants echoed in the cathedral- like openness, most of them probably heading off to receive their handouts of food and water.

  As she reached the 14th floor, Helen had to sidestep quickly as another tenant’s trash bag had torn, spilling the contents down several steps. She couldn’t help but wonder if rats would climb 14 stories to eat. She supposed they would. After all, she did.

  When she reached the first floor, she pushed open the emergency handle and entered the building’s modest lobby. Passing the row of mailboxes made her nostalgic for the normal life of just a few months ago. It had been so long since there was any postal delivery; she wasn’t sure where she had put the mailbox key.

  Helen paused at the doublewide glass door that signaled the entrance to the building. It was always wise to scrutinize who was loitering on the street these days. The buckets in her hand were valuable, and there had been rumors of people being killed for less.

  She exhaled when she noticed the National Guardsmen were on the next corner this morning. They looked like science fiction robots with their uniforms, helmets, and black guns. Seeing their breath streaming away from their faces enhanced the creepy effect. If they kept to their normal routine, they would be posted there all day, and that meant there wouldn’t be any trouble. Perhaps things are looking up, she thought.

  Rushing out into brisk winter air, Helen hurried toward the trash heap. She passed by a young soldier keeping vigil at the corner, and he smiled at her. I bet he’s lonely, she thought. Without thinking, she paused at the curb and glanced at the crossing signal. She had to grin at the habit – there hadn’t been any signals for a long time, let alone any traffic to dodge.

  When she reached the other side, a different guardsman whistled at her. I bet he’s really lonely, she mused. Paying no attention to the flirt, she hurried down the street to dispose of her garbage. She made it to within two blocks when a wall of stench assaulted her nose. It was too far to hold her breath the entire way, but she tried. The odor was so overpowering, she knew it would hang on her clothing for hours. I wonder if that solider would whistle at me if he could smell this, she thought.

  The vacant lot was almost completely full of trash bags of all colors. Weeks of rotting garbage festered in the open air. Small rivers of goo ran from the dump and into the gutter, slowly making its way toward the nearest sewer drain. Helen gagged once, but managed to toss her bag onto the ever-growing pile.

  A woman leaning from a nearby open window was watching Helen. After the bag settled on the pile, the lady yelled out, “Thanks for that. I hope the new dump is next to your apartment.”

  Ignoring the taunt, Helen retreated toward the elementary school where the FEMA trucks would deliver some sort of rations. She hoped today would be cheese and bread. After that, it was just a few blocks to where the water trucks would fill her buckets.

  The line at the elementary school was longer than she expected. Hundreds of people formed a single file that snaked for almost six blocks. At every intersection, a soldier oversaw the crowd. At every other corner, a military vehicle was parked. Helen was glad they were there. When the FEMA trucks arrived with their first delivery, there had been a lot of trouble. Some people didn’t want to wait in line, while others thought they should be given extra food. A single punch lead to out and out rioting in the street. Helen had witnessed one man pull a gun and start shooting. The military guys would keep the peace.

  Helen scurried to the back of the line and took her place. The trucks weren’t there yet, so it would be a while before the line started moving. Ten minutes after arriving, she glanced behind her to see the line had now grown, extending another full block in length. If those trucks don’t show up soon, she thought, there’s going to be trouble. I can just feel it.

  It was smart for a single girl not to make eye contact. It had always been that way in New York, but especially now. Helen couldn’t remember the last time she had seen a policeman. Gunshots were an almost nightly occurrence. As she waited for the line to start moving, she could hear the conversation of several men behind her.

  “I had to hike all the way over from 52nd this morning. I waited in line all morning, and the trucks didn’t show up yesterday at all. It looks like all the people from that area had the same idea, and the line here rivals a Coney Island roller coaster. I’m going to be here all day,” said one.

  Another man asked, “How did everyone react when they figured out there wasn’t going to be any delivery?”

  “Oh, there was plenty of foul language and upset people. The army guys put it down pretty quick. Ya know, I’m surprised they still maintain control. There ain’t that many of ’em. I heard they ain’t even issued bullets.”

  A third voice chimed in, “I’ve heard that, too – but who wants to find out for sure?”

  Helen relaxed a bit when the assembly behind her broke into laughter. Such talk made her nervous, but she had to admit wondering about the same thing. She was still living with her mom when Hurricane Sandy had hit five years ago. They had an aunt that lived up in New Rochelle, so Helen’s mom had decided it was a good time to visit her sister before the storm arrived. Still, they had been without power for a few days and had watched, horrified, as the people on Statin Island and Queens suffered for weeks. There had been violence and looting then, but that was just a small part of the city. Now, even with things much worse, she never saw more than nine or ten of the soldiers at the same time. If things continued to degrade, that didn’t seem like enough to maintain order.

  The rumble of an approaching engine drifted down the street drawing her attention to the front of the line. Great, she thought, the trucks are finally here.

  Standing on her toes, she craned her neck to see if the line had started moving. A few moments later, she recognized the now familiar echo of a bullhorn, and a muffled male voice sounded up ahead. A minute later, a military vehicle came rolling down the street, a male voice broadcasting, “Please disburse – there will not be any FEMA deliveries to this location today. Please disburse. Deliveries should resume tomorrow.”

  The line of stunned and disappointed people didn’t react at first. Helen saw some people simply hang their heads in despair while others stared, mesmerized in disbelief at the truck bearing the bad news. Helen felt a twinge of hunger in her stomach at the news. This wasn’t the first time the trucks hadn’t shown up, but now she didn’t have any reserve food. She decided to take her buckets and head for the watering trucks – there was nothing else to do.

  As she began to move away from the line, the background din of voices began to increase in volume. Grumblings and curses floated through the air; she could feel the stress level starting to rise. Helen quickened her pace, searching for an escape, not able to cross off of this street for another block. Up ahead she noticed several people gathered around the Humvee at the corner. She had to pass by that intersection on the way to fill her buckets.

  The crowd gathered around the soldiers numbered about 50 people. Most of them were either asking questions or venting their frustrations at the stone-faced troopers standing beside their ride. As Helen scurried closer, she noticed a few of the more animated individuals pointing fingers at the troops. A couple of steps later, she quickened her pace, recognizing an angry fist as it waved in the air. Dozens of frustrated, hungry people were joining the throng. One of the older soldiers hopped up on the bumper of the truck. He spoke into a radio, scanned the mob and spoke again. Helen jumped when he pointed his rifle into the air and fired a shot.

  The discharge echoed off the buildings on both sides of the street. Some passersby ducked, others began running. Most of the crowd near the military guys hurried away, scurrying half-bent at the waist and holding their ears. But not everyone ran.

  She was sure that the incident had the opposite effect than the soldier intended. Rather than disperse the crowd, it attracted attention, and Helen was shocked to see lots of men and women
change direction and step toward the guardsmen.

  The crowd reformed so quickly Helen couldn’t see a way to get past without pushing her way into the dense and angry group. She decided to go around the opposite corner and watch for an opening, partially protected in a nook older architecture frequently affords.

  The soldier who had fired his gun roared into the radio again while peering over the top of the growing throng. People were yelling insults, shouting questions, and screaming curses at the guardsmen. Helen noticed the stoic faces normally displayed by the soldiers had been replaced with expressions of fear and concern. She didn’t blame them.

  More and more people entered the area, most attracted by the spectacle of something different. Movement from up the street caught Helen’s eye, and she noticed another army truck rolling to join the first. The driver started honking his horn to warn the people overflowing into the middle of the pavement.

  A woman clutching a baby in one hand while guiding a toddler in the other was trying to circumvent the mob. Helen didn’t see exactly what happened, but suddenly the newly arriving truck’s tires screeched and smoked as the driver slammed on the brakes. Helen glanced over just in time to see the small child and the woman flying through the air, landing on members of the crowd, and knocking a few people to the ground.

  Almost complete silence followed the event. For what seemed like a long time it was very quiet, everyone too shocked to make noise. The calm didn’t last.

  All at once, a chorus of angry voices split the air. Two guardsmen from the new truck sprang out of the back, attempting to push their way toward the injured woman and children. Several men blocked their way, shaking fists and screaming insults. Helen watched as an older man grabbed one of the soldiers by the shoulder – an effort to spin him around and get his attention. The uniformed man slammed his rifle butt into the fellow’s stomach, sending him reeling to the pavement. After that, insanity ruled and mayhem ensued.

  Out of nowhere, bottles, bricks, rocks and even a street sign flew through the air, impacting all around the soldiers. Ducking behind their trucks, the guardsmen seemed stunned and unsure of what would happen next. The barrage of projectiles kept increasing as more and more people joined the fray.

  There was no way Helen could make out the object, one small projectile in a blizzard of flying debris. Nor could anyone know who threw it with hundreds of arms launching spit at the soldiers. A bright flash and then a whooshing sound, quickly followed by yellow and red flames sprouted around one of the army trucks. Someone had thrown a bottle of gasoline. Before anyone could react to the blaze, shots began tearing through the air. Helen instinctively ducked low, the supersonic ripping noise of bullets flying over her head. She saw bodies fall in the street as hundreds of people began screaming, fleeing in every direction.

  Not everyone ran, however. Helen couldn’t believe it when several men carrying baseball bats, shovels, and rakes charged the army trucks from a different direction. Again, a volley of bullets tore into the attackers, but they didn’t stop. From all four directions, the frenzied crowd descended on the soldiers, and within seconds, it was over. Angry men were standing above the dead guardsmen, some of them kicking the bodies and shouting profanity. Others were rummaging around inside of the trucks. Helen saw several men running away with the black rifles, evidently scavenged after being dropped by the dying peacekeepers.

  As she watched the throng pillage the army trucks, the ground under Helen’s feet began to feel odd, almost like it was trembling. A distant buzzing turned into a full-fledged vibration, and Helen actually thought for a moment that New York was having an earthquake. The shaking pavement was soon joined by a whining drone that Helen had never noticed before. She chanced a peek around the corner and realized a huge tank was rumbling at high speed straight at her. Its gun was pointed into the center of the crowd. As she watched, mortified, small white twinkling lights shone from the front of the tank. The blacktop and concrete around the mob erupted. Spouts of debris jumped off of the street like small geysers of black water as a wall of lead bullets slammed into the main body of rioters. Blaring shouts of tortured panic filled the air, the confused mob scattering in every direction except toward the death spewing from the front of the steel monster. In a few seconds it was done; the survivors scattered, scurrying away.

  Helen couldn’t tear her eyes from the street scene before her. There were twisted, mangled bodies everywhere. Dark, crimson pools steamed into the cold air, the crackling fire engulfing the military transport. A few people were only wounded, their cries of pain and anguish filling the air.

  The tank rumbled to a stop right in the center of the intersection, an electric hum sounding as its massive gun surveyed left and right. Two truckloads of men closely followed its arrival. The new soldiers leapt from the back, spreading out in an arch, their weapons at their shoulders, ready to fight. Other troops rushed to the wounded, carrying green bags stenciled with red crosses.

  Helen’s mind begged her to get out of there. She was scared the soldiers would think she was involved in the riot. She pulled herself from the pavement, willing her legs to work, and began to move away when a voice yelled, “Halt!”

  Helen froze mid-step. The back of her knees felt like ice, she was so frightened. A soldier approached her from behind, scrutinizing the empty buckets still clutched in her hand. She managed to meet his gaze, discovering it was the same guy who had smiled at her this morning on the way to the trash heap.

  “I know you,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I…I…I was in l-l-li li line for food,” she stuttered.

  “Did you see what happened here?”

  “Ye…yes.”

  “My lieutenant’s going to want to talk with you. It’s okay – you’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

  On wobbly legs, Helen stepped where he pointed, using the barrel of his gun. She marched around the corner, and they headed toward the closest truck. She tried desperately not to notice the bodies and gore that filled the street, choosing instead to focus on the activity of the living in front of her.

  A slightly older soldier was obviously in charge, issuing commands in a staccato voice and constantly pivoting his head to observe the area. As Helen and her escort approached, his expression changed to annoyed curiosity. The man beside her saluted and informed, “Sir, I found this woman crouching around the corner, she claims to have witnessed the entire event.”

  The officer’s eyes softened as he took Helen in. The moment faded quickly, but she would have sworn there was something more to his gaze than would be expected.

  “Ma’am, I will need to take a statement from you. Are you injured in any way?”

  Helen blushed at the concern for her well-being. It seemed like it had been a long time since anyone had asked, let alone cared. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  He nodded and smiled. “My name is Lieutenant O’Connor. Patrick O’Connor. My first priority is to secure this area. I’m afraid I have to ask you to remain here for a little while until I can take your statement.”

  Helen didn’t want to be there. After witnessing the terrifying, horrific massacre of so many people, her first instinct was to go home and cry into her pillow. She started to refuse the officer’s request, but something stopped her. Why didn’t she turn and run? It was all so confusing, her mind flashing images of the people falling dead in the street. Trying to make an excuse to leave, Helen looked at her watch, the concern showing on her face. “I need to get back. I live on the 20th floor, and I have to use the elevator to carry water up to my apartment. The electricity will be turned on soon, and I don’t want to miss it.”

  Lieutenant O’Connor understood the young woman’s reluctance, reading her excuse for exactly what it was. “Ma’am, trust me on this…you’ll feel better if you give a statement. Talking about what you experienced will help. Later, you’ll be glad you did. I can tell already this incident should not have happened. This was badly managed and wrong.
Your words might ensure something like this never occurs again.”

  Helen didn’t know how to respond. O’Connor was so confident, so reassuring – just listening to him was calming. More and more soldiers were arriving on the scene, many of them gathering around, waiting on the lieutenant to give them directions. He looked at Helen and said, “I’ll see to it you are escorted home safely, so don’t worry about that. And, I’m sure we can help with your water situation.”

  Without waiting on a response, he turned to the young man who had found her and ordered, “Private, escort this young lady to my Humvee, and see to it she is issued food and water.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pat turned to issue orders to the waiting soldiers, never giving Helen another glance.

  A few moments later, Helen found herself sitting in what she would have called a Hummer. Her escort went to the back of the big vehicle and returned with two MREs and two bottles of water. “Do you need anything else before I get back to work?”

  Helen was surprised at the generosity, almost embarrassed. “No. Thank you so much for these, but I don’t need this much. Don’t you guys need this food?”

  The man looked down at his boots and said, “I’m just following orders. Keep them, we’ve got plenty today.”

  He jogged off, leaving her sitting in the passenger seat. It was warm inside, and the heavy doors and steel frame made her feel safe. She really didn’t have much to occupy her mind while she waited. She watched Pat as he commanded the men…listened, observed, and worked. She couldn’t help herself – checking to see if a wedding ring were on his finger. There wasn’t one.

  Twenty minutes later, the lieutenant strolled over and began asking her questions about the incident. Helen did her best to recount what she had seen. The officer seemed especially concerned over who initiated or escalated various phases of the clash. He asked for clarification on several points, meticulously noting her exact words. Helen felt like she was being interrogated at times, but appreciated his need for the details.