by Jay Vielle
“For what?” I asked.
“To survive. We have a bunch of people still here either not sure what to do or on the verge of panicking. We need to get our shit together, unite these people, and make a plan.”
I thought about that for a moment. Jake was right. We didn’t know who was here and who wasn’t. The power was still on for the moment, but that might not last. We needed to get a plan together, and Jake was already on it. Suddenly I got the sinking feeling that Jake Fisher might be my best ticket for survival. I decided then and there to join him.
“Okay, you’re the boss, then. What’s first?”
“Go to the Main Office. Get on the PA system and announce that anyone remaining is to report immediately to the cafeteria. “
“Okay, on it. What are you gonna do?” I asked him.
“Try and figure out what to say to these people,” he said, exhaling.
I went to the Main Office. No one was in there at all. The door to the nurse’s office was cracked, but it was empty too. I heard noise coming from down the office hallway from one of the assistant principal’s offices. I thought about asking permission, then remembered what Jake said, and walked into the PA room. The microphone was sitting on the table next to the machine. One big, red, “on / off” switch was right there in the front. I figured that was about all there was to it. I held in the big “speak” button and cleared my throat.
“Mmm…hmm. Uh, anyone who is left in the building please report to the cafeteria at this time. Please.” Realizing I had said ‘please’ twice, I put down the mic and walked out of the office and into the cafeteria. When I got there, Jake was in the front, sitting at one of the tables reading a book. It was titled “Hiroshima.” I lifted my eyebrows and gave him a quizzical look.
“I don’t know a whole lot about nuclear weapons, and these live in our school library,” said Jake. Beneath the book he was reading were more books and all on the same topic.
“From what I’m reading, I have no idea why we still have power,” he said. “But when I look out into town, I don’t see a whole lot of lights, so my guess is we’re on an automatic emergency generator, which explains why whenever we get a power outage the lights come right back on at a lower level. If that’s the case, it won’t be long before that generator runs out of whatever juice it’s running on.”
“So, you’re saying the power could go out completely at any time?” I asked.
“Yup. This one book says that if a bomb detonates high enough in the air, the electromagnetic pulse that results from it could literally cause a blackout across the entire continent.”
“Holy shit,” I said.
“Yeah, holy shit indeed,” said Jake. “It’s possible that some of our defense systems caught some of their bombs before they hit their targets. No telling where that might be or what the effects are, and with no news, no internet, and no radio, it’s impossible to tell what areas are affected and how badly.”
“So, are you telling me that my folks might be alive?”
“No way to tell, Eddie. But where would they go if they were?”
“Here. To find me. I’m their only child.” Jake exhaled with a flat, scrunched lip look at me.
“Look buddy, I can’t keep you here. You have choices. If you feel you need to go, then go,” he said.
“What are you gonna do?” I asked.
“I’m going to find out who’s here, take stock of what we have, get a survival plan together,” he paused.
“And?”
“And then go find my boys.”
Jake had two sons in college. Tommy, the oldest, was 21. Vinny, the younger brother, was 19. They were both in Virginia, and both were on wrestling scholarships at two different schools.
“You think, you think they could have survived?”
“I’m hoping that they’re both far enough in the mountains that they should be OK. Bigger targets would be Norfolk, Northern Virginia, even Richmond. They’re four or more hours away in the Shenandoah mountains. They could be—they should be alive. And I’m gonna find them.”
“By yourself?”
“If need be. I wouldn’t ask anyone to go with me that didn’t want to,” he said.
“Uh, no offense, Jake, but why would anyone want to go with you halfway across the mountains to find people they’re not related to?”
“Understandable. Of course, they may feel like they have to.”
“Jake,” I said. “You just got done telling me that the surrounding area could be radioactive, and you’re talking about traveling past DC to get to the mountains of Virginia. That’s a four- or five-hour drive, assuming your car works and the highways aren’t blocked. You just talked me into staying here where it was safe. So why would anyone want to leave?”
“Eventually, there might be circumstances,” he said evasively.
“Circumstances?” I asked.
“Things may evolve over the next few weeks or so. You never know.” As he was speaking, people started wandering into the cafeteria, and Jake lowered his voice as they entered.
“What are you trying not to say?” I asked, this time a little concerned at what he might be holding back. Jake put his forehead into his hands, closed his eyes, then exhaled again.
“Jake!”
“Okay, well, I’m not trying to be dramatic, and I’m not trying to scare anyone, but I’m thinking ahead now, trying to put myself in other people’s shoes, and my gut tells me that it won’t be long before this place comes under siege.”
“Under siege,” I exclaimed. “What the hell?”
Some people turned their heads my way, and Jake waved downward to indicate he wanted me to lower my voice. He gave them a reassuring nod, then grabbed me and walked just outside the doors where we could talk.
“In times of crisis, people can be pretty stupid. They’re impulsive, greedy, self-centered, and they tend to panic. Pretty soon, people who have survived will start running out of food and water. If the rest of the town is like this school, places have been deserted and people are trying to assess what they do and don’t have. If they’re already mostly out of electricity, it’s possible they’ve noticed that the school has some lights on. That will attract them like moths. When they realize they’re locked out, they’ll start banging on the doors. If nobody lets them in, someone will start going for the glass, and in case you haven’t noticed, this place has a lot of glass. There aren’t too many places where we could hole up and defend ourselves.”
“Why do you think we’re going to have to defend ourselves,” I asked, horrified.
“Human nature,” Jake said. “Extreme situations bring out the extremes in people. Extreme good, extreme bad. Extreme heroism. Extreme villainy.”
“Jesus. You think people will come after us just because we’re here? And did you just use the word ‘villainy’ in a sentence?”
“I did. And I do think it’s possible. And when they do, one of two things is going to happen. The trusting folks in our group will want to let people in. If those people are known to us, no big deal. We have other people in our group.”
“That’s thing one. What’s thing two?” I asked.
“Those same folks let people in, those people turn out to be dangerous strangers, and we are forced to defend ourselves. Violently. Maybe lethally.”
“Shit, Jake. You think it will come to that?”
“I don’t know. I mean I really don’t. But do you want to face either scenario if you can help it?”
“No. No I don’t.” I thought about it for a minute. “So, you think staying mobile is the answer?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Ironically, the first thing I feel like we have to do, though, is set up and fortify this place. Even if it means eventually we can’t stay, for now I feel like we need this place to be a stable environment,” he said. He shrugged and said, “I’m going with a lot of gut here.”
“That’s because at your age it’s what you have most of,” I joked. He shot me an eye roll.
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bsp; “You know you’ve always been hot for me and my gut,” he smiled. Almost a real one. Smiles have been few and far between with Jake since then. I laughed a little. Laughing felt necessary.
Jake put his arm on my shoulder and said, “You big flirt.”
Jake was a teacher here when I was a student. I had always thought he was pretty cool, but sometimes he could be preachy in class, and as a standard teenager, preachy people can turn you off a little. Any teen being told what to do by an adult bristles a little, even if it’s a no-nonsense thing. That’s what teens to. Getting to know Jake as an equal was another matter. I returned to Hunter’s Run to teach after finishing college. I even taught in the same Social Studies department as him. Seeing him from the other side of the teacher’s desk was a very different view. Jake Fisher was a bit of a ham.
I had eaten lunch with Jake almost every day since I first got hired. He’d had a big sense of humor. He was a big prankster, a big smart-ass. I think he enjoyed being the faculty clown. He always was picked to M.C. events, like the pep rally, talent shows, stuff like that. He was the classic host. Everybody seemed to know and like him, even the students who never had a class with him. He was kind of like the local celebrity, on everybody’s good side. It sounds dumb to say out loud, but I felt like the cool new kid when hanging out with Jake. It gave me some “street cred” with my fellow faculty members. As one of the youngest on staff, I was desperate to be taken seriously, and befriending Jake made it a lot easier.
One time at lunch it was just the two of us. In the quiet moment I had asked him why he was such a goofball all the time. The answer I got surprised me.
“Lowers people’s expectations. People don’t take me seriously, so I rarely disappoint them. Opponents don’t take you as a threat, let their guard down. Then you can swoop in. If I act like the ‘aw, shucks’ country boy who’s always joking around, folks don’t expect much. Makes them lose focus. It’s a distinct advantage.”
I must admit that took me by surprise. He’d fooled me, at least to an extent. There aren’t many middle-aged, white wrestling coach types who strike me as open-minded intellectuals. But Jake was. Knowing his military background with the Marine Corps, I was even more surprised that he wasn’t homophobic. He never had a problem with my being gay. He joked about it all the time. Called me “Princess,” always did off-color stuff; but I knew he wasn’t judging me. I’m not sure how I knew—I just did. I don’t think for a second he was closeted, or even bi-curious. My Gay-Dar didn’t go off at all around him. But he made me feel comfortable being me around him, and that was important.
“I don’t care who you kiss, or where you piss, Princess,” he used to say. “Just try and keep those effeminate little hands off my world-class arse. This thing deserves better.”
That was before. Now, Jake was different. His demeanor changed. That smart-ass had disappeared into someone quieter, more calculating, more stone-faced. Not that world-wide thermonuclear war wasn’t reason enough to put a damper in your sense of humor. It was. But I think that phone call flicked a switch. He was on the phone with his wife, Laura, when the phone went dead, and the big bombs hit DC. That killed something inside him. All he seemed to have left was a desire to find his sons. A primal drive. I’m too young to really understand that. I’m not a parent. Hell, I’m still a kid by comparison with most of this faculty. I’m half Jake’s age—so how could I possibly understand his mindset? All I knew was that Jake Fisher was sharp, tough, and a friend--and the safest place in a world gone mad was as close to him as I could get.
CHAPTER 2
The cafeteria started filling up. Most were teachers, but a few students trickled in as well. The kids were the ones that had no families to go to. The poor, wretched, huddled masses that Lady Liberty speaks of wanting to give shelter to. Many of those kids were ones you’d predict. They wore Goodwill clothes, stayed on the social outskirts, and didn’t quite fit in. Others were a shock. Lots of really bright, really awesome kids are actually alone in life. A surprising number of kids come to school because school is all they have. Teachers are parents, counselors, and friends. Some teachers might provide the only positive exchanges those kids will have all day long. Those were the kids who were filing into the cafeteria now. They had no place else to go anyway.
Jake asked me to get a head count. All told, there were 36 people there. Some teachers, some kids, some staff members and assistants, and two custodians. The custodians were crucial, because they held the keys to literally every room in the building. It seemed like a lot of people to me. I mean, why would anybody stay here when the Holocaust was going on outside? Yet here I was myself, inexplicably. And considering that the school had over a thousand kids, about a hundred teachers, and a couple dozen support staff, it was obvious that the vast majority of the Hunters Run community actually had fled very quickly. People sat down at the cafeteria tables looking somewhat in shock, unsure of what to do. Jake went to the podium in the front of the room and spoke up.
“Thanks for coming here. This is all very difficult for all of us. I understand that. Many of you have questions that probably no one here is going to be able to answer. While we’re here we can trade what we know, discuss what we don’t, and formulate a plan for survival for the foreseeable future.”
Jake walked over to one of the custodians, Randy, who was in his school uniform with a light blue collared shirt and navy pants. He whispered something to Randy, who nodded, then left the cafeteria.
One girl started crying, and another came over to hug her. Her soft sobs gradually evolved into heaving ones, and the girl hugging her began to cry as well.
“What do we know?” a young male teacher asked. The teacher was Mark Longaberger, a social studies teacher who had been at the school three years. Jake looked around as if to direct traffic. An older female Physical Education teacher, Robin Eaves, held up her phone.
“I got people in Missouri who said Chicago is gone. No survivors. They had no power but were able to tweet out some things from the Midwest. St. Louis is on fire. People are looting and killing each other. The National Guard was called, but only fifteen Guardsmen showed, and they were demolished by the mob in a matter of minutes. It sounds really bad out there.”
“I got cousins in Texas,” said Melanie Richmond, the school secretary. She was a single divorcee who had no one to go to when the bombs dropped, having moved far from her home in the Lone Star state to marry her now ex-husband. “They say that the border wall is coming down in places. Houston is nearly empty. Parts of the city that were devastated by Hurricane Harvey only a few years back and not yet rebuilt were in flames. Everybody on the coast is trying to get their hands-on fuel for their boats. Lotta shooting going on in Texas.”
“That’s because everybody in Texas is a gun-toter,” said Al DeFillipo, a science teacher in his early forties. “I bet they’ll all have shot each other by the end of the week.” Melanie shot him a scowl.
“They’ll need those guns,” said Wes Kent. “Mexicans will be streaming in trying to take stuff by now.” Wes looked at me when he said it. Kent was an ultra-conservative math teacher. He didn’t approve of me on several levels—starting with my ‘ungodly choices’-- and he also tended to lump every Hispanic into the simple group known as Mexicans.
“Eddie’s Peruvian, Wes. And everybody everywhere is trying to deal with this whole situation,” said DeFillipo. “And that attitude—and guns—are what got us into this mess.”
Al, a science teacher through and through, was a liberal atheist. He was constantly in a verbal battle with Wes. The number of times I got drawn into debates during lunch in the teachers’ lounge were too many to count. I was glad that Al stuck up for me. It’s a lot easier being gay and Hispanic in America in the 21st century, but the country’s recent extreme politics recently had dominated nearly every debate. People tended to be fervently to one extreme or the other, and vocal about it. The number of folks who landed in the middle were pretty quiet about their politics. Reaso
n was not something we saw a lot of in those days, and while Al was definitely on my side, he was also pretty aggressive about it. I just wanted to exist. I didn’t necessarily want to be a gay activist, or an authority on Hispanic immigration. Most of the time I just wanted to be me and be treated normally. Neither Wes nor Al ever really let me do that. Jake, however, was another matter.
“OK,” said Jake. “Let’s keep this productive. It sounds like there’s chaos pretty much everywhere, and devastation in quite a few places. We’re going to have to hold together for protection and make some plans.”
“Sounds like you have something in mind, Jake?” The question came from Lou Orville. He was a Math teacher working his way through grad school. He was young and able-bodied and coached the football team.
“I do,” Jake said. “To be ready to ride this thing out—whatever it is—we’re going to need to do some planning. The way I see it, we should be out of power already. I’m really not sure how we kept it this long. The only thing I can figure is there is an automatic generator, and it can’t have much fuel left. We need to go to the ice machines in the cafeteria and the training room and put as much as we can in coolers as soon as possible. We also need to inventory the food in the freezers here and see what will spoil first, what can travel, and what needs to be heated. We’re gonna get start getting hungry soon, and we’ll need to make rations, decide if we want to venture out and see what’s out there. You got a head count yet, Eddie?”
“I got thirty-six, Jefe,” I said, using the Spanish word for “chief” or “boss.” Jake cracked half a smile at that. He had been a linguist in the Marine Corps after his injury and was pretty fluent in Spanish.
“OK, thirty-six. Is anybody here on a special diet or allergic to anything?” Jake asked.
“Me, Coach.”
A big hand went up. It was Glen Billings, the heavyweight on the wrestling team. He was a Type 1 diabetic and had been on an automatic pump at one time in his life. He’d had some real struggles over the years, and given the scenario now, he had to be nervous.