by Russ Watts
“Oh! I’m – look, it’s just me and Don and Chris performing last rites here.”
“Last—? Did this company just close down under me?”
“I don’t know how permanent it is but those were the exact words from the acting CEO: ‘Close and secure all operations until further notice.’ Then the networks went down. We don’t even have phones. So how we’re going to get that ‘further notice’ is something of a mystery.”
If the bottom had fallen out of my stomach at the sight at that car, the ground dissolves beneath my feet at the sight of the box behind her desk, packed with Giselle’s framed photos and knick-knacks. “Yes,” Giselle says, “we’re all out of work now.” She sniffs loudly, draws herself up. “Look, I don’t mean to be short with you but—” Giselle pulls a stack of vouchers from beside her desk. “Take all of these! Get out of town while you still can! Just take the rental and go!”
“Did you get authorization for that? I waited for your call yesterday.”
Giselle freezes. Her Hot Librarian face is awful to behold: “I don’t know where you’ve been getting your information,” she says, “but people started dying yesterday, my mother among them. I know you’re tired of hearing me apologize but I was distracted.”
“Of course,” is all I can think to say.
“I’m sure your teenagers would want you there to help them bury their mother. I’m burying mine tonight. They’re picking her up from the house. They’ll bury her in some mass grave. Like in some awful Third World country!”
Her eyes squeeze shut. Fortunately, I only have to endure a moment of this before a sandy-haired young man leans out the door behind Giselle. “You the guy from Colorado Springs? Supposed to interview with Rob?”
“That’s me.”
“Rob’s dead. His wife called in this morning.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” says Giselle, weakly. “I probably should have mentioned that.”
“Figures,”” I say, but not to Giselle. It seems everyone’s dropping dead these last 24 hours. Which means Claire….
The sandy-haired young man shrugs. “I don’t know if you’ve been listening to the radio but it might be a while before you can get home. The acting governors of Kansas and Missouri have activated their National Guards. They’re closing the borders and sealing off the cities against looters. Anyone not in an official capacity working downtown has to go home and stay there until further notice.”
“Shit!”
“We’ll give you a call once things are up and running,” says Giselle.
“Giselle, look, I’m sorry. Thanks for—“
“No! No….it’s okay. Seriously, I’ll call you. We’ll need everyone who’s willing to come in to work. Good luck.” Giselle gives me a game smile. Bless her never-before-broken heart, she’s going through every letter in her emotional alphabet, looking for an attitude to sustain her.
“We got to go,” the young man says. “All of us. Now.”
“Good luck to you, too.” I take the vouchers from the counter and walk to the elevator.
The doors close and I realize I’m not getting paid. My family is doomed to homelessness. In the middle of a freakin’ plague.
Will it matter? Will anyone notice we still haven’t paid our mortgage payment? Maybe Giselle was right, maybe she wasn’t just blowing smoke. Maybe she meant that about calling in everyone who was willing to work. It stands to reason that if this many people are out they’ll need people to help run things once this all settles….
I’m pulling out into the street when the military Humvee blocks my path. Hard-faced bastards in cammies carrying M4s surround me. I roll down the window.
“State the nature of your business,” barks someone with staff sergeant stripes.
“I just checked in with the people at my office,” I say. “I’m on my way back to the hotel.”
“You’re going straight back to the hotel.”
“Yes, I am.”
A 2nd lieutenant steps up and whispers something in the sergeant’s ear. He walks away.
“Go to your hotel,” says the sergeant. “Stay there. In half an hour we’re locking down these streets. If you don’t have a reason to be out, you will be shot. Understood?”
“Got it,” I say through clenched teeth. “Thanks, Sergeant.”
I see Guard patrols at the entrance ramps. They’re likely up and down the Interstate and not all sergeants and 2nd lieutenants are going to respect the suit and the executive SUV. I request an alternate route back to the hotel on the GPS and thread my way through the city.
Bleeding Kansas Available now through www.severedpress.com and Amazon