Burn District
A Short Story
Suzanne Jenkins
Burn District
by Suzanne Jenkins
Copyright © 2014 by
Suzanne Jenkins. All rights reserved.
Created in digital format in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in blog posts and articles and in reviews.
Burn District is complete and total work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Burn District: A Short Story is the introduction to Burn District: The Series – Book One.
Leaving Pennsylvania
In a normal day, I would’ve never allowed my children to go near Route One on foot. Last night, in the middle of rush hour and scared to death, we ran across the road holding hands, straddling the concrete center median to get over to the other side. My husband, Mike was meeting us at the Wal-Mart parking lot; I prayed he’d be there. At Wal-Mart, we’d be far enough away to be safe in case Pete’s calculations were wrong.
Mike didn’t want to pick up his parents, Randy and Carol, but I insisted; I needed his mother with us. He said they’d be okay on their own, but since we had no way of communicating, not able to use our phone or the internet once we left, I was afraid we’d miss our meeting place. We needed to move together as a unit. Visceral wisdom had told me we would be clearing out soon, so after work everyday I’d packed food and clothing into the van and trailer. We would be leaving the rest of our life behind.
Prophetically, our neighbor showed up at our door after dinner. Pete was a wonderful friend. “You have to leave now,” he whispered with urgency. Bright eyed and pale, I saw the fear on his face. Pete worked for the road maintenance department of our town and was a source of information over the past weeks as rumors from high places trickled down. Pete’s boss couldn’t come right out and say our district was slated for burn, but he’d let his own people know to prepare. No one was sick in our area that we knew of and there hadn’t been any deaths from the virus yet, at least none reported publically. So I wasn’t sure why they were going to do it. What purpose did so much destruction have?
“Thank you, Pete,” I said. He didn’t say goodbye, but nodded his head at me. I looked out at their packed car. Beverly was in the back seat, crying, holding their infant daughter at her shoulder. She lifted her hand and waved goodbye to me.
My children were ready to go in minutes. I’d been honest with them about what was coming, so there was no resistance. My goal as a parent had been to make my children feel safe and secure and here I was, using fright to get perfect behavior from them. I didn’t have to say, “Let’s go,” more than once.
Mike was getting out of the shower. I knocked on the door. “Pete was just here,” I said softly. “It’s time. The van is ready, the kids and I are going to head out now. You have to go down the road.” His parents lived just a mile away. He knew what I meant and he didn’t argue, although I could see by the look on his face that he wasn’t happy with our plan. We had to leave the car behind; it had GPS, which might be used as a tracking device, and we weren’t sure that it was legal to leave our home permanently. Rumors circulated that the police stopped families if it appeared they were fleeing, forcing them to go back to their homes with the threat of arrest. It was yet another dilemma that we based our survival on rumor.
Over the weeks, people loosely divided into three groups. The Believers believed what our government was telling us, trusting that their best interest was at heart. The Rumors didn’t believe anything the government reported, pointing to the news black out and the obvious lies that we heard. Rumors listened to murmurings and rumors and tried to make decisions based on what their gut told them. I’m a Rumor. Mike isn’t sure what he believes in, and although it pains me to say this, he’s among the Doubters. The Doubters tend to think it’s a hoax, even when faced with the truth. They don’t necessarily believe the government, but think the Rumors are crazy.
Through the door, he leaned in for a goodbye kiss. “I’ll see you at Wal-Mart,” he said. I looked at him one more time and closed the door as I went out into the hall. Sixteen-year-old, Elise was waiting for me. She had her backpack on.
“I got my period,” she said. Of course, the poor kid would now have to deal with changing tampons and cramps while we were running across the country.
“Okay,” I said. “You’ll be okay. Get the others and let’s move.” Even my youngest, eight-year-old Ned was ready to go. Stoic, he was over crying. We were all over crying. Reality wasn’t as bad as the anticipation. We’ve been watching this horror unfold for weeks and now the reality was here. It was our turn to run.
“Should I say goodbye to dad?” fifteen-year-old Carin said.
“No,” I answered, putting my arm around her shoulder. “He’ll be right behind us.”
We were ready to leave. It was late autumn and getting cold; we were dressed in layers wearing our heavy boots in case of snow. I didn’t think we’d need to hike after this; we’d be pulling a trailer stocked with cans of gasoline, just in case. From what I’d read, other communities who had disbanded didn’t have any trouble finding gas stations on their run west. Gas was just so expensive to buy.
Filing out of the house, we were silent as we trudged up the hill to the road. Wal-Mart was four miles away. I told Mike not to stop if he saw us but I didn’t think he’d beat us there. He had to get dressed and do the last details; hook up the trailer to the van before he picked up his parents, throw any last minute items in. I prayed Randy and Carol were home, not out to dinner or shopping. Older people tended not to take the situation as seriously as they should. But they knew that if it came to leaving, the lives of their grandchildren were at stake, so there would be no arguing.
Word must have gotten around, spreading through the community quickly, because the traffic was worse than normal rush hour, and I saw a lot of cars filled with belongings, as a car looks when you leave for vacation. “I’m afraid we’re going to get hit,” seventeen-year-old Mike, known as Junior said.
“Stay into the shoulder as far as you can,” I yelled. Carin was holding his hand, switching places with him so he’d be inside as we lumbered along. Junior was what my mother had called my heartache child. Born with Down Syndrome, he was the sweetest boy, my man-child. He did well in school in spite of his issues, but this exodus was going to be the most difficult on him. He liked his routine as we all did.
“We’re making good time,” I yelled. “We’ve only got two more miles to go. Daddy’s probably waiting for us.” Traffic was so horrible; I didn’t see how it would be possible. Cars stretched for miles ahead of us; I could see red brake lights at a stand still and then moving forward, trailing up the hill. Watching for Mike wasn’t an option; we were walking along a treacherous stretch of shoulder that slid off into a deep ditch, a guardrail next to a foot-wide path past traffic rushing by us in spurts. I was holding on to Ned’s hand, and Elise was in front of me. If a car bulldozed into us, we’d all be killed. I wanted everything that happened to us to happen as a family. Only Mike would be spared. I shook my head to get rid of such thoughts.
It took nearly an hour to reach Wal-Mart as we’d planned. “I have to go to the bathroom,” Ned said.
“I’ll take him,” Elise said. I hated to let them out of my sight, but I needed to stay vigilant, I needed to keep aware of the surroundings. I’d heard through rumors that a crop-duster type plane overhead was a big sign of impending trouble.
And I wanted Mike to see me when he arrived.
Besides Wal-Mart, two other safe places according to rumor were the turnpike and the interstate. Evidently, no major roads were ever bombed. The devastation was specific to neighborhoods of single-family homes, apartment buildings, and for some reason, hospitals. That made no sense to me. In the weeks since news of the first burn, rumors of underground hospitals existing had surfaced.
“Mom, there’s the van,” Carin said. I looked where she was pointing, and saw my mother-in-law, Carol waving madly, crying. Our old van had four bench seats, so there was room for everyone to be comfortable. I’d sit in back with Ned and Junior, Randy was in front with Mike, Carol and Carin behind them, and Elise would have a seat to herself until we picked up my friend, Kelly. I’d packed every square inch with food and water, blankets and pillows.
“Grandma’s crying again,” Mike Junior said sadly. “I’ll give her a kiss.” I instructed Carin to take Junior to the van and I’d wait for Elise and Ned. My husband got out and walked toward the kids, putting his arms around them, Mike looking over his shoulder at me. I turned to the store just as the kids were coming out. We quickly walked to the van.
“There’s not much left in there,” Elise said, nodding her head back to the store. “I think word got out.”
She was repeating my thoughts. My daughter was becoming my ally and it made me uncomfortable; I didn’t know how to traverse that fine line between friendship and motherhood. But then it occurred to me that where we were headed, the things I worried about for her no longer mattered. She was finished with school for the time being, dating was a thing of the past, for a while anyway, and her appearance and clothing no longer mattered at all. I reached over and gave her a one armed hug.
“Oh, oh mom,” Ned said, noticing Carol. “Grannie’s crying.” Poor Carol was so worried and I knew the tears were for us. Her grandchildren were very sensitive to her feelings.
“Give her a big hug when we get to the van,” I said. He nodded his head.
Mike had hooked up our eight-foot long trailer to the back of the van and it contained the gasoline, a portable toilet, more food and water, and camping gear. My dad, Steve was supposed to meet us with a fifth-wheel that was big enough for twelve people, but I hadn’t been able to reach him for a week. I hoped he was at our meeting spot in Yuma.
I feel awful about my dad, the sole caregiver to my late mother. We pleaded with him to come to us, to let us help him. I can’t think about them right now. I just pray he’s okay and waiting for us at the remote acreage he owns along the Mexican border. Right now, it sounds like the safest place on earth.
We got into our places in the van. Mike turned to look at me. “You okay?” I nodded my head.
“It’s just like we’re going on a camping trip,” I said cheerfully, not fooling anyone. “I’m excited.”
“Me, too,” Randy said. “I even brought my fishing gear. You ready to fish, Junior?”
“Yes, sir!” Mike Junior replied. “I love to fish. I love to clean the fish, too.”
“Ew!” The typical fish guts conversation ensued with hysterical laughter from everyone. It was a great way to defuse our anxiety.
We’d pick up Kelly on our way to the turnpike; she’d been ready to go for months and like us, just needed the prompt. Mike pulled into her driveway at seven sharp. I could see her sitting at the kitchen table alone, reading a book and eating dinner. It made me sad. Well, she wouldn’t be alone again for along time. I tapped at the door, stretching over the porch rail so she’d be able to see me if she looked out the window first. She saw me, and ran for the door.
“Really?” she asked, worried, figuring out quickly why we were there.
“Really,” I answered. She went through to the dining room and grabbed her backpack.
“I’ve got food ready in bags, too,” she said. I followed her into the kitchen, realizing she’d prepared cooked food for all of us, something I didn’t even do. From the freezer, she pulled out a bag of ice, and placed it into a long chest cooler, piling bags of frozen food on the ice. Mike came in from the van to see what the hold up was. I’d detected a little chemistry between Kelly and Mike in the past, and because of it, I didn’t trust them together. I’d be careful that they weren’t alone often.
“What can I take out?” he asked. She pointed to a box of canned goods.
“That box, and my briefcase,” she said. We’d bring our technology along, even though we shouldn’t log on to the internet. Who knew what might happen in the next weeks? Everything might be resolved quickly, we hoped. She took one handle of the chest and I took the other. We got it out to the trailer without dropping it while Mike was at the back opening the door.
“The trailer is officially full,” he said. We walked around to the side door of the van and Kelly got into the seat with Elise.
***
Mike had just pulled onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike when the first blast hit; we could feel it before we heard it, the percussion hurting our ears and jarring the van, the cars around us slowing down. It took a minute for the source of the blast to sink it. It was why we were running, after all.
We couldn’t see out the back window because of the trailer, but Mike and Randy, looking at the side view mirrors, both screamed, “Oh my God!” Just fifteen miles from home, the flash of fire lit up the night sky all the way to the turnpike. Wal-Mart had to be blown away. The children began to cry, Ned clinging to me, and Junior perseverating.
“What happened? What’s wrong? What happened? What’s wrong?” Carol leaned over the seat hugging him and whispered words that I couldn’t fully make out, but I heard safe and, strangely, controlled burn. She was repeating a story told by government leaders that moving a community out for their own protection, doing a controlled burn, would halt the spread of the virus we were running from. But it was a lie. They didn’t move anyone out. They bombed whole communities with the residents still in their homes. I thought of my neighbors; Jeff and Margaret, childless, who decorated their house for Christmas each year just for my children. Or Grace and her ancient mother, Elizabeth, who brought dessert to our house every weekend because Junior once told them I was always on a diet and wouldn’t give him sweets.
The crying and jabbering in the car finally quieted down as I thought of my house, of the kitchen with the expensive appliances I just had to have, working overtime for a year to acquire, now rubble. I sacrificed spending the last days of my mother’s life working for a stupid refrigerator.
For the next hours, we drove in silence. I could hear whispering; look at that house on fire! Western Pennsylvania was dotted with fires we could see in the distant foothills, the eerie beauty increasing my confusion. Wasn’t this proof? Why did people still believe? Going through Ohio was the worst in spite of not seeing active fires; because of the dark, we couldn’t see damage, but you knew it was there because the acrid smell of burnt lumber interlaced with burnt flesh filled the air. If Mike had any uncertainties when we left Pennsylvania, they had to be resolved by now.
At four in the morning, Mike pulled into the first rest area on the Indiana Turnpike. Not sure if we’d been followed, we didn’t know if it was illegal to run from your district unless it had been quarantined. It looked like everyone had gotten some sleep. I was shocked that the children hadn’t complained, not once. And no one had asked to go to the bathroom. Usually on our road trips, it was an hourly request.
“Who needs to go inside?” Carol said. I woke Junior up.
“Better take the opportunity to go, all of us. I’ll stay with the van,” I said. Mike and Randy whispered while everyone unbuckled, getting out of the car to go to the concession.
“Pop, don’t you want to go?” I asked.
“I’ll wait till the others get back,” he said, looking around the area. I knew there was danger, a packed van and a utility trailer with a lone woman sitting it in might be attractive for the roving bands of thieves I’d heard of.
Kelly had told me a
bout it. “My cousin called me; Cousin John, in southern Illinois. He said we can come there if things escalate; they haven’t had any problems. He said there are rumors that gangs, worse than any heard of before, haunt the northern Midwestern cities, Detroit, Toledo, and Chicago. He said they prey on travelers on the run. When we leave, we should try to hide that we’re running.” That made sense at the time, but now I could see how impractical it was to think we could hide anything. We had nine people and everything needed to sustain our lives. Hiding in the van wasn’t going to happen. I told Randy what Kelly had said about gangs.
“Ha! That’s why Mike and I carry guns and Carol has one in her purse. It’s legal with a conceal permit in all the states we’re going through but Illinois, so forget staying with Cousin John. We’ll lock them up in the safe when we reach the state line if we have to. But you can believe we won’t stop for anyone, not unless they’ve got flashers goin’ and then we might keep moving anyway.”
Were the cops crooked? I wondered about that, since the first news came out. What would they have to gain? Kelly said it was the pack mentality vs. Hitler and Jim Jones. Because of what was happening, it made the masses vulnerable. Leaders and manipulators would rise to the top; it was inevitable, according to Kelly. Randy turned from me to look out the windshield just as my family emerged from the concession. The girls were in the front, followed by Kelly and Mike, followed by Carol, holding the boys hands. Even in the dark at a distance, Kelly stood out. Whatever she was saying had my husband’s rapt attention.
“You better watch that Kelly,” Randy said. I bit my tongue to keep from saying what I really wanted to say.
“She’s safe,” I replied, not believing it.
“A man is a man,” Randy said. “My son is not immune.” The idea that my father-in-law could say something so inappropriate about Mike infuriated me, but I decided I had to let it go because I secretly agreed with him. We were on an adventure that could lead to our death; I had to let go of jealousy.
Burn District_Short Story Prequel to the Series Page 1