by Shawn Bartek
Looking bored, she picked up a copy of Travel & Leisure. On the cover, a perfectly tanned, perfectly teethed, perfectly nuclear family walked through a perfectly phony luau. She held up the magazine to Marc.
“Don’t they look peachy?”
“Yeah,” Marc said. Ami watched him absorbing the picture.
Then he said, “I bet the prom is going to be Hawaiian themed this year.”
“Aren’t they all? Isn’t it Prom Law?” Ami said, “Why do you keep bringing up the prom?”
“Nobody ever thinks of doing a Jamaican theme, do they?” Marc asked.
“When the décor is tissue paper and shiny streamers, how would you be able to tell Hawaii and Jamaica apart?”
“I guess if I smoked a joint beforehand, I could pretend it’s Jamaica.”
“Remind me to go with you then,” she smiled.
Marc swallowed and put his hands under the table, “Speaking of that—”
In a blink, the room disappeared into darkness.
* * *
And then Ami reappeared again. The lights fluctuated in a staccato rhythm. Marc and Ami looked around the art room at other confused students.
The room continued to vanish, appear, vanish, appear. In the appearances, Marc spotted Mr. Radley standing at the light switch. The assistant principal clicked the switches on/off: code for an important announcement ahead. The broadcast flowed from the intercom, but to Marc it sounded like it was underwater. None of the words registered to him. He was too distracted by the television.
The clock had read 3:04 PM and Days of Our Lives had not started. Instead, yellow letters bannered across the screen of the old Zenith perched on a rolling steel rack. They said “Emergency Broadcasting System”. The duel-toned hum filled the air; it was a sound that always gave Marc the chills.
Missing was the typical prefix: “This is a test of the…”
The lulling tone sliced through the air and it masked Ami’s voice. This was the sort of incident that stops a conversation dead in its tracks. Marc could see no possible way to get back to the prom subject.
"What?" he asked her for confirmation.
Ami said, “We all need to meet at the quad by the parking lot.”
Chapter IV
They were nearly halfway out of the building when Ami stopped them in a panic. She’d forgotten her bag in art class. Most days, she didn’t keep anything severely valuable in it because she had already learned that lesson. Three months ago, she left her last bag at a Denny’s after pulling an all-nighter with her friends. The non-expendable stuff lost was a bracelet Scott had given her and the program from her dad’s funeral.
So it was travel light from that point on. But thanks to her mom, Ami was carrying her aunt’s precious cargo today. If it went missing, she’d be in deep shit.
“Shit, I don’t know if we are coming back,” Ami said, “I have to go back to get it.”
“What?” Marc asked, “Why?”
“My aunt’s pills,” Ami said, “I need to get them.”
Students bumped into them from all directions; Marc and Ami creating a bottleneck in the hallway. Ami could see further down the hall that Scott and Leslie were still milling around the art class. The bitterness/desire took hold and she felt the need to interrupt them. She started pushing her way back through.
“Can’t your aunt wait for the pills?” Marc followed her.
“Probably,” Ami said, “But I can’t lose them, or risk having someone else take them. My mom will accuse me of having them conveniently disappear.”
“She doesn’t trust you?” Marc said.
“Last year when she had shoulder surgery, I kinda got curious about her Oxy,” Ami said, “It was just one, but I got caught. I’ve never really lived that one down.”
They pushed through the stream of students until they got back. Ami hurried into the room and snagged her bag. On the way out, Scott actually approached her. Ami could see that Leslie was keeping her distance.
“Hey, you,” Scott said, swooping behind and wrapping his arms around her, “How’s tricks?”
Mantra time in C-minor: I will put on my happy-dog face. With my subterfuge, I will spare everyone the obligation of awkward solace.
“I’m doing really well,” Ami said, “Like, so good. What have you been up to?”
“You sound well,” Scott said, “Very alive. Full of verve. Can you believe this?”
“No,” Ami said, “What do you think is going on?”
“Emergency pep rally?” Scott said.
“Maybe,” Ami said, “Wouldn’t your girlfriend, the soccer star, know about something like that?”
“I’m not dating anybody, remember? But she’s my friend. You know, you could ask her that yourself, she doesn’t bite,” Scott said.
“I don’t need to,” Ami said, “It’s not really something I think about.”
Marc tried to push his way closer to Ami, “Uh, we should go.”
“Hey, you guys should wait for us. Leslie is waiting for Jodi and we can all head out together.”
“Nah, we gotta go,” Ami said. But just as she said this, Jodi appeared. She was sipping on a straw from a nearly finished Starbucks drink.
"Screw trig, I was sick of that crap anyways," she said to them, "I heard we’ll be out tomorrow, too."
“I think you’re enjoying this too much,” Leslie said.
“I would rather drown and burn in a sea of napalm than listen to Mr. Biggs drone on about triangles,” Jodi said.
“Maybe you’ll get your wish,” Scott said.
Ami was now regretting coming back for the pills. She didn’t want to listen to the vapid back-and-forth of Scott’s new friends. She clung to Marc and began to use him as a bulldozer through the hallway. The rest of them trailed behind her like she was Moses.
The stream of students rolled through the front doors of Big Sky High and into a sea of teens overflowing its courtyard. The quad was large enough to accommodate the entire graduating class for an aerial yearbook photo, but packing in the entire student body was a challenge.
Their newly-grouped gang was part of the last stragglers out of the school and they were stuck at the back of the crowd. At the other end of the courtyard, there was an empty podium. Within the deep sea of faces pointed towards the podium, there were regions of joy mixed in amongst the concerned expressions.
From the back of the crowd, it was difficult to see anything up front except for the thin silver microphone sparkling in the sun. The heads of a few faculty members appeared. They whispered into each other’s ears and nodded, and then Mr. Benson tapped on the microphone.
“Students,” he said, “Although I want to first assure you that you will be safe and secure, it appears that we have an emergency on our hands.”
Clearing his throat, he continued, “About two miles east of town, a train has experienced a derailment of cars carrying chemicals that are generally considered to be toxic. There are two cars that are causing the most concern to authorities. These two cars have derailed themselves in such a way that they are on the brink of falling off the bridge and into the Clark Fork River. These two cars are carrying chlorine gas. Should the cars fall into the ravine and the tanks rupture, this chlorine gas would quickly and catastrophically pollute the air and it would no longer be hospitable for residents to breathe. They do not know how long the cars can remain in their current position and they are sending emergency crews to East Missoula so that they can secure the tankers. As a result, the short version is, it’s been recommended by authorities that the town be evacuated as soon as possible.”
Oh shit, Ami thought.
“As I mentioned, crews are on their way to save the tankers from dropping off the bridge. It will take the delivery of the proper cranes and other equipment to secure them. It is unknown how long this will take and there is a probability of failure, so the authorities are not taking any chances by letting residents stay while the rescue effort is in progress. We are assisting in the
coordination of the evacuation.”
Oh shit, Oh shit. Dana.
Are you fantastically fucking with me, Universe?
“We insist that those of you with the ability to car-pool do so for this evacuation. Traffic to the stated rendezvous points is going to be unnaturally heavy and it is not necessary to travel one person per car. If you can, we insist that fill your car to capacity and choose the car with the most gas. Please, I stress this point: less cars, less traffic, the smoother things will go. Your cars will be here when you return. There is a citywide effort to get those without the ability to carpool onto buses out of town and meet at predestined locations.”
See, it’s okay, somebody will get her. But how will they know she’s there? She’s a needle in a haystack.
“Rendezvous points have been divided by our current location. The Red Cross has staged emergency shelters for temporary residency. We’re in the southwest section of town; our meeting point will be Hamilton. You are directed to go south on Reserve Street and connect to Highway 93 to get there. There will be instructions on the radio regarding how to find the advised meeting locations.”
What would ‘Replacement Mom’ do? Gotta call the police, gotta call Real Mom.
“There is unfortunately not enough time for you all to coordinate with your families. Do not panic about this. Do not attempt to return to your homes. This is why the effort is going to be tightly organized, so that everyone will be able to move out in an orderly fashion. You will be reunited with family once the tankers have been secured and the evacuation has been called off.”
Take your ‘Do Not Panic’ and stuff it up your panic room.
“We will get through this together and I can’t recommend enough that as you might need help, that you consider helping others whenever you can. I would advise all of you put your cell phones to good use for a change and tell your parents not to panic and that you will be safely on your way to Hamilton.”
The strength in Ami’s legs left her; they felt like putty. When she saw the students begin to make their way to their cars, the situation began to feel very real. Gears were in motion and there was no button to stop the machine.
Shit, this is all happening right now. They’re shipping us to Hamilton. I gotta tell someone or something.
Just when she thought things were getting a little better. Her life had a scab that kept tearing off and each time it did, the wound worsened. Who knows how bad it’s going to be this time?
Dana.
I am responsible for my little sister and I am on the other side of town.
Chapter V
She took two deep breaths and dialed her mother’s cell phone. After suffering patiently through a terrible pop song, Ami got her mother’s voicemail.
“Hi, Mom,” Ami said, “So…you should probably call me. I hope that you are having a great time. Have you seen the CN Tower, yet? Amazing. Okay. I’ll go ahead and cut to the chase now that that’s out of the way. There was a train derailment in East Missoula. You know, the East Missoula that’s like a mile from our house. That one. There’s toxic gas that could poison us all or something…they’re evacuating the town to different meeting places. We were directed to go to Hamilton, but Dana is still at home. I haven’t called her yet, but I’d sort of kind of like your input. Kind of like now!”
If ever there was a time for Ami to lament her mother’s awkwardness with technology, it was now. Pam now owned two types of smartphones; hers was an Android and she kept Martin’s Blackberry for easier texting. It managed to come out of the wreck without a scratch.
But it didn’t matter because Pam never answered either phone. They’d sit at the bottom of her purse (on silent, of course) until she was ready to play one of her word games. The sights of Toronto must have been cutting into her play time.
Ami sent her Mom a text: Close down the fruit ninja game and call me ASAP…911!!!
Then she attempted her home phone. There was no answer.
“Dana,” she yelled into the phone, “Daaaaaaaaannnnnaaaaa. Look, maybe you’re parked in front of the TV, but call me, it’s a real emergency here and you have to try to call Mom or 9-1-1. See if any of the neighbors are home or if you see anyone outside. But call me when you get this message.”
“Did you get your Mom?” Marc asked.
“God damn it, no,” Ami said, “She can’t even work one cell phone, I don’t know why she needs two.”
“Hey, don’t worry,” Marc said to her, slightly appearing as if he was moving in for a hug, “Everything’s gonna be alright.”
“Oh, Marc,” Ami sweetly smiled at him, “You’re supposed to be my friend that doesn’t say stupid placating shit like that.”
Marc laughed, “As you wish. We’re all going to die. Especially Dana, the gas is going to get to her before it gets to us.”
“Oh, too far right now,” Ami shoved him, “But that’s better.”
Cell phones attacked the faces in the crowd as swarms of teens made their travel arrangements.
Ami tried her mother again. Nothing.
She exhaled and started her mantra again.
‘I want to have a good day today’. Think about what you have to do. Pare it down to the next steps. What would ‘Replacement Mom’ do?
The police would be the next step. Ami rang 9-1-1. It was busy. She rang it again. Still busy. Again. Busy.
She spotted Ms. Ford standing a few yards behind them, waiting for her section of the crowd to begin movement. Ami pushed through to her.
“Ms. Ford, hey,” she said, “Look, I have a real problem.”
“Your art project will be safe, Ami.”
“Heh. No, it’s a real problem. My sister, she’s at home right now. Alone. I mean as far as I know, she’s still home. I just tried to call the house and she didn’t answer. I just tried to call 9-1-1 and it’s fuh—excuse me, frickin’ busy. I need to tell somebody, do you know if there’s anybody that could help?”
“Oh crud,” Ms. Ford said, “That’s not good, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light. I can try to snake my way up to Mr. Benson, see if he can talk to anybody. I did hear that there are sheriffs door-knocking houses. You said she didn’t answer?”
“No, she didn’t answer,” Ami said.
“Well, we could hope the police got to her?” she said, “She should be fine, then, right?”
“I don’t know. That sounds right. I mean, I hope so,” Ami automatically nodded and thought that since Ms. Ford had the appearance of a grown-up and was clearly older by about ten years, she probably knew better. But there was one teensy red flag waiving somewhere in her head, “But I guess I’d like to be sure, you know?”
“Say, I’ll try to call you when I find anything out from Mr. Benson. You have your phone on you?”
Ami gave Ms. Ford her number.
She held Ami’s hand and said, “It’s gonna be all right, Ami. You just be concerned with getting yourself out of here. Mr. Benson will be able to get in touch with somebody. Your sister is going to be fine, okay?”
There was that tone again: Don’t worry your pretty little head, Ami. Everything’s going to be alright. She recognized it as the same tenor she’d hear from everyone if she faced the slightest problem. It was nice that people cared, but it didn’t do anything to actually help the situation.
What would ‘Replacement Mom’ do?
A moment of clarity struck Ami. It didn’t feel right to rely on Ms. Ford’s promise. She would have to make sure Dana was okay.
Maybe a sheriff did make a door knock. Maybe she could sit tight until she found out. Maybe she could be ninety-nine percent sure Dana was taken care of.
It’s that one percent, though. The one percent that carries more weight than the other ninety-nine. It makes no sense statistically, but emotionally it means the world.
Anger began to simmer below the surface. Tragedies were determined to knock off the Gibbs one by one. First, it was the sheet of ice, hidden underneath half-a-foot of fresh snow. Now it
was this goddamned freak accident. And this one had the potential to kill two birds with a tanker-shaped stone. What would be next; her mom’s plane crashing on the return trip?
She could not see herself in a world where she let Dana stay at home, choking to death on gas, while Ami ran away.
That scenario led to a grim logic: Would I even want to be alive if that happened? So what does it matter if I take the risk?
She would be the hero running back into the burning building. She would be the one diving into the water after a child in peril. She’d jump in front of the bullet.
At the least, she would be her dad, carefully lighting the pilot light on the gas furnace. She would be her dad, carefully driving their family during a heavy rain. She would be her dad, carefully checking out what that noise was.
Fuck you, gas tankers. Let’s rock.
Chapter VI
Marc had to borrow Ami’s phone. He was one of ten people at the school that did not use a cell phone. Technically, he owned one, his parents purchased him one, but he’d leave it at home almost all the time. It kept the leash from becoming too short. Staying disconnected had its merits.
This strategy never really had any indication of a flaw until now.
He didn’t want to call his dad. This was now an invitation to a major scolding about Marc’s tendency to “forget” his phone.
Marc dialed his dad’s number. It went to voice mail and Marc said, “Hey, it’s me. Uh, you’ve probably heard about the bad news with the train derailment. We’re supposed to go to Hamilton, but I think I’m going to end up in Frenchtown. I just realized you probably didn’t recognize this phone number. This is Ami’s phone. I’ll try you back in a few.”
Marc hung up and Ami’s phone immediately buzzed with an incoming call from Robert Nelson.
“Hey, dad,” Marc said, “You get my message?”
“Where is your phone?” his dad said, “And don’t tell me you forgot it. That’s too many times this month.”
“I forgot it,” Marc said.