THE LONELY LIVING
By
Sean McMurray
Text copyright 2013 Sean McMurray
This book is dedicated to you, Reader.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Part I: Outbreak
1
2
3
4
Part II: Survival
5
6
7
8
Part Three: Revelations
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
Prologue
The bombing of Pearl Harbor, the assassination of JFK, 9/11, they were more than just days in a history book or dates in a calendar, they were days of such significance that our world seemed to change in an instant. It seems every generation had one of these moments forcibly etched into their consciousness. They start with clichéd phrases like “I remember when” or “I was doing so and so when”, but by the time the story ends everybody is listening. Those moments forced us to stop what we were doing and stare. Like a train wreck, they demanded our attention and we succumbed to that demand not because we wanted to, but because we had to. With wide eyes we were compelled by the invisible will of history to absorb every ounce of those moments and once we’d done so, they became a part of us. As long as we have breath they will always exist. The thing about those kinds of moments is that no one was ever quite prepared for them, so it’s how we responded that made the difference. My generation’s moment, well, it went something like this…
Part I: Outbreak
1
I was asleep on my stomach, my head deep into my pillow, still wearing the jeans and hoody I wore to school the day before, when my dad came into my room.
“Blake,” he said as he shook me by the shoulder, “wake up, Blake.”
I opened my eyes slowly and my father’s blurry form came into focus. He was calm, but there was a specific urgency simmering below the surface. I knew immediately something was wrong. My father never got rattled. The whole town could be on fire with frantic people running in all directions losing their minds and amongst the panic would be my father, fully composed, calmly asking for help with the water hose. That quality helped make him one of the best quarterbacks in Minnesota’s history and later a stellar officer in the Marine Corps. He never collapsed under the weight of the moment. But there he was, speaking tersely.
“Get up and get dressed.” He ordered. “You’re going to the lake house.”
I sprung to a seated position on the bed. “What?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.
“You’re going to the lake house. You need to leave now.”
“But-”
Suddenly, a fleet of police cars came screeching down the road by our house, sirens blaring. My dad sprang to my bedroom window and peered through the blinds.
“I’ll go wake up your sister. While I’m getting her ready I need you to do something.” He turned abruptly from the blinds. “In the closet downstairs, sitting on the very top shelf is a metal lock box. Bring it to me.”
I froze for just a second, dumbfounded by the situation.
“Blake,” My father said sternly, “go!”
Springing from my trance, I hastily slipped on my shoes and tumbled down the stairs. It was hard to see, so I reached for the light switch once I reached the bottom. I flipped the switch but nothing came on.
I was perplexed. “Power’s out?”
I felt my way through the living room to the closet door. I turned the knob and opened it, and then reached my hands up on the shelf. I ran my fingers across the wooden shelf until I touched the smooth, cool metal of the box my father had sent me to retrieve. As soon as I touched it I thought of her, my mother. Inside that metal box were pictures of her. I remembered my father, teary eyed, putting them in there after she left us. But I wondered, “Why does he want them now?”
Nevertheless I grabbed the box and met my father at the bottom of the stairs. He was balancing my sister in one arm, who was draped across his shoulders struggling to keep her soft blue eyes open, and an electric lantern in the other. My father set the lantern down on the coffee table before gently resting my sister on the couch. He squatted down to slip on her shoes.
“The combination to the box is 8-30-8.” He said over his shoulder. “Open it for me.”
I put in the combination and it didn’t work. “Dad, are you sure that is the right combination?” I asked.
“Yes.” He said impatiently.
I tried again and this time it opened. “I got it.”
My father tied my sister’s shoes and turned back to me. “Hand it to me.” He commanded.
I held the lock box out in front of me like it was some kind of peace offering and my father snatched it from my hand and set it down on a nearby lamp stand. He started to reach for something inside when he suddenly paused and turned to my sister.
“Abbey,” he said calmly, “You need to get your coat on. Will you do that for me?”
She rubbed her weary eyes and nodded then hopped off the couch and scurried away, still not fully awake by her standards. My father resumed his task. He pulled out pictures of my mom, but to my surprise, thoughtlessly tossed them on the stand next to the box. Then the hidden nature of this box revealed itself. Within seconds my father produced a silver revolver not much bigger than his fist.
“Blake, I need you take this with you.”
“But—”
“—I know what I’ve taught you, but this is different.”
There were a million things running through my head. I knew my father knew how to shoot, he was a Marine after all, but he had sworn off guns like they were some kind of addiction when he returned from the war.
“Dad, I don’t know how to shoot.” I admitted, sounding embarrassed.
My father spoke in a harsh whisper. “You have six shots.” He opened the cylinder, displaying the bullets. He then extended his arms in front of himself. “When the target is close, line up the sights, release the safety and pull the trigger.” He handed me the gun. “Show me.”
I took the gun and just held it for a few seconds. I had the idea of how to fire a gun. You would’ve been hard pressed to find a kid in my generation who hadn’t played a first person shooter video game or watched a violent action movie. But it felt both strange and surreal to actually hold one in my hands. It was heavier than it looked.
“Show me!” My father repeated.
I did my best to imitate the stance he had taken. He adjusted my arm and my grip on the pistol then said, “Tell me the steps.”
“Line up the sights. Umm…release the safety and then pull the trigger.”
My father nodded approvingly, “Good, but wait until the target is close. It’s not as easy as it seems on TV.”
My little sister’s voice beamed at us from across the room. “Is that a gun?” She asked accusingly.
I instinctively hid the gun behind my back. My father dropped to a knee in front of Abbey.
“Don’t you worry about that, Abbey.” He slowly zipped up her coat. “I need you to be a good girl for your brother, okay?”
“You’re not going?” She said with genuine worry.
“I need to go to the church and make sure everything is okay, then I will meet you there.” He said reassuringly.
“Promise?”
He held out his pinky finger.
Abbey hooked her tiny pinky finger around his and he said, “I promise.”
He pulled her in against his chest and hugged her tightly and then stood up. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the keys to his Chevy Cobalt.
He tossed me the keys and said, “You remember
how to get to the lake house?”
I caught them and nodded apprehensively. “Yes but I—”
Once again he was short with me. “I know you don’t have your license, but you know how to drive, right?”
I nodded almost shamefully.
He motioned with his arm. “Come on.”
He picked up my sister, and then grabbed the lantern. Guided by the soft blue light cast from the lantern, I followed my father to the garage. He set the lantern on top of the Chevy and then went to work buckling Abbey into her booster seat.
I stood indecisively behind him. He saw me standing there out of the corner of his eye.
“Get in.” He snapped.
Without hesitation I did as directed and climbed into the driver’s seat. I started the car and felt the engine purr beneath me. My father finished buckling in Abbey.
“Your brother is going to take care of you, but you need to be a good listener and do what he says.”
She nodded with wide eyes on the verge of tears, and then said softly, “Remember your promise.”
My father leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “I will.”
He closed the door and then came to my window.
“You have it with you?” He asked.
I patted the front pocket of my hoody. “Yes.”
“Are you sure you know the way?”
“Yes.” I said, annoyed.
“Don’t forget to give your sister her shots.”
Suddenly, there was the rap of distant gun fire outside, causing me to jump off my seat.
“You need to leave.” My father said anxiously. “Don’t stop driving until you get there. You hear me? No matter what is happening around you, just drive.”
“Dad, what is going on?” I asked. “Is it terrorists?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He ran to the garage door and lifted it up. “Go now!”
I slipped the car into reverse and backed out the drive way. Abbey kissed her hand and pressed it against the window as we drove away. I took one last look into the rearview mirror and saw my father slip a picture of my mother into his pocket.
2
The streets and houses of the cul-de-sac where I lived were completely dark. I found it both eerie and disquieting. I drove slowly with both anxious hands rigid on the wheel as if at any moment thousands of paratroopers from some foreign country were going to descend from the sky, or the earth below me was going to rupture and split spewing lava in every direction. Whatever was going on, I tried to convince myself I was ready, but in reality, my mind was spinning with the most maniacal imaginations and all I really wanted was to jump back in bed and burrow under the covers.
I drove down the darkened road toward Burbank, a blue-collar town of roughly 20,000 people, nestled picturesquely against the Red Lake River in a small bowl shaped valley which by that time in the fall was speckled with orange and red trees. Burbank was my home and the home of the fighting Monarchs of James E. Davis High School. The place where my father became a local legend after leading his football team to the town’s only state championship, the same place where I was nothing more than a wall flower and a constant question mark in the eyes of everyone who recognized my famous last name.
As I approached the hill that led into downtown Burbank, the little bit of light emanating from the valley told me that at least part of the city still had power and for some reason I found that comforting. I eased my grip on the wheel and relaxed my breathing. But as I came to the peak of the hill, I was hit with a heavy dose of smoke, a kind I’d never encountered before. It wasn’t campfire smoke or chimney smoke, the best I could compare it to was industrial smoke, the kind that spews profusely into the atmosphere from towering smoke stacks. It filled the car forcing me to pull the neck of my hoody over my mouth and nose while sending Abbey into a coughing fit.
“Cover your mouth and nose like I am.” I said through my shirt.
Abbey did as directed. “What’s going on?” She asked.
The Chevy descended nose first down the hill and I saw that half the town seemed to be on fire and black smoke was pouring into the air and hovering like a fog above the valley. The red and blue lights of the plethora of fire trucks and police cars flickered on the surface of the tranquil river.
“Blake, what’s going on?” Abbey asked again.
“I…I don’t know,” I answered. “A fire.”
“Where are all the people?” Abbey asked. “Do you think they’re still inside?”
“I don’t know Abbey?”
She leaned forward in her seat. “We should help them.”
“We’re not stopping, let the firemen handle it.”
“But—”
“— I said no!”
Abbey folded her arms, thrust herself back against the seat in frustration and mumbled under her breath, “Dad would help.”
“Well, Dad’s not here.” I snapped. “So, deal with it.”
I ignored her belligerent glare and we continued down the hill. I flipped on the radio, hoping that it would provide some answers as to what was going on, but all we got was static and dead air. At that moment, I was sure that there had been some kind of terrorist attack.
“They must’ve used some kind of Electric Magnetic Pulse to knock out the radio and probably cell phones too.” I wondered aloud. But I had no way to check that. I wasn’t allowed to get a cell-phone until I turned 16.
Shortly, I had the same question Abbey did, where were all the people? There was a major fire in the city, you would think that we would’ve passed some sort of traffic moving away from the fire, but we didn’t pass a single car. As we reached the bottom of the hill I found my answer. Just across the bridge a barricade had been set up. I assumed to keep people from the fire. I drove to the end of the bridge and stopped. The smoke was thick and it was difficult to see the other side of the river. A moment later, two silhouettes formed amongst the smoke and approached us. They were carrying something and as they stepped closer I saw that they were wearing army fatigues and carrying assault rifles.
“What’s the Army doing here?” I said to myself. I glanced back at Abbey and saw that she was scared. I tried to reassure her. “It’s okay, they’re here to help us.”
“It’s not that.” She said surprisingly. “You don’t have your license.”
I hadn’t even thought about that and suddenly the two soldiers approaching the car were that much more menacing. I resigned myself to pretending to be older than I actually was and hoped that they didn’t ask to see my license.
The two men advanced to the car and tapped the window. I took a resilient breath and rolled it down. I lowered my voice, trying my best to hide my quiver. “What’s the…the problem?”
They looked at me like I was a complete idiot and then one of them said, “We need you to turn around.”
“O-Okay.”
I started to roll up the window when one of them reach inside the door and stopped me. “Wait.” He asked suspiciously, “How old are you?”
“Ah…Seventeen.” I answered.
“Let me see your license.” He ordered.
The image of my mostly empty wallet sitting on my nightstand flashed on my mind. “I…I...”
“You don’t have a license do you?” He asked accusingly.
“No. I mean yes I have one.”
He stared at me hard. “Well?”
The other soldier leaned in and pointed. “What’s in your pocket there?”
My gaze darted down to my pocket and then straight forward. I had forgotten the gun I had tucked away in my hoody. Immediately, my heart was threatened to beat out of my chest as I felt as if I was under the unyielding light of an interrogation room. “Umm…”
The sweat forming on my brow was about to betray me when the street across the bridge lit up with gunfire. The soldiers jerked their bodies into a firing position, stocks at the shoulders.
The soldier nearest to me spoke rapidly into his shoulder com. “Command,
this is Rodriguez, what the hell is going on?”
The other end was silent.
“Command! What is your—”
He was interrupted by the monstrous roar of an 18 wheeler as it plowed headlong through the barricade, its trailer completely aflame. Abbey screamed and gripped my shoulder. I slammed the car into reverse and punched the gas pedal. I jerked my head back just in time to see the back end of the Chevy slam into the base of a large sycamore tree.
“Abbey, are you alright?” I asked.
She pointed forward and yelled, “Look!”
I snapped my head forward to see the 18 wheeler careening towards us. “Abbey, get out!” I screamed helplessly.
She had her head down in prayer while she covered her ears with her hands.
I quickly unbuckled then wrenched myself around and pulled at her seatbelt. “Help me!” I implored.
She lifted her head and opened her frightful eyes. I instinctively pulled myself over the seat and covered her with my body and we braced for our impending doom.
3
I would say that my life flashed before my eyes, but I would be lying. It wasn’t like it was supposed to be at all. The laws of physics didn’t bend to allow the world to nearly slow to a stop. If anything, the world seemed to speed up. Before I could inhale one last desperate breath, I heard the unflinching squeal of rubber on pavement and the terrible whine of a big rig engine grinding to a stop. As if my body had melded with the world around me, I felt the force of the metal behemoth halt then ebb like a wave returning to the sea. I opened my eyes slowly and was greeted by bright light. I thought for a quick moment that perhaps I was in heaven, but the noise I was hearing was not the melody of angelic voices. It was the rumbling growl of an idling diesel engine and the heavenly light was from the big rig’s high beams. The semi had jackknifed to a stop, for reasons I did not know, a mere fifteen feet away from our Chevy.
I turned slowly to Abbey. She opened her eyes and smiled with vindication. “I knew it.” She said in innocent vindication. “I knew God would stop it.”
The Lonely Living Page 1