Inoculation Zero: Welcome to the Stone Age

by Ison, S. A.

  8 July

  Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina

  Randal handed Pearl the small handgun, and saw the fear in her eyes. It was a week and a half since they had lost power. Randal was going fishing today. He had mostly stayed around the house till now, but was going stir crazy. Pearl wasn’t happy about it; they both knew it was a risk. But it was early morning, and the fish would be biting. They hadn’t been bothered by the neighbors, except during the first few days after the power ended. Dean Castle had come to their home, banging on the door and screaming, demanding food. Randal had yelled for him to get off the property from behind the door. The large man had rammed the door in response. The door frame creaked and cracked, the wood threatening to split.

  Randal had opened the door and pointed his gun in the man’s face. Dean had lunged and made a grab for the gun, his eyes wild. Randal had shot him in the head without hesitation. The 400-pound man had collapsed and rolled down the stairs and into the yard. Neighbors from up the road had come running, and found Randal standing with gun in hand and the dead man at his feet.

  In a loud voice, he’d told them, “I don’t have a lot, and I don’t know if I can spare a lot, but I can give a little. If you come trying to take what is mine, I will kill you.”

  The people had moved away at that, some with satisfaction on their faces. Apparently, Dean had been visiting his other neighbors too. A few minutes later, several of the men returned with shovels. They rolled the large corpse as far away from the house as they could, and began to dig a grave. The men talked in low voices as the women went back to their homes. It was the only trouble they’d had. Now it was quiet.

  “The Ben Sawyer Bridge is stuck open from when the power went down, so there won’t be a lot of people coming from that direction. Depending on who’s left on the Isle of Palms—mostly residents, I think—we shouldn’t have to worry about them. I was over there early this morning, before you woke. The 517 is blocked and guarded, and I think they are only letting residents back onto the island. The inlet bridge is still open so residents of Sullivan’s Island can come and go, but you gotta have your driver’s license or something to show you live here. I think they also want to keep it open from some kind of trading in the future. Clive and I are going out later to see what’s what over in Mt. Pleasant,” he told Pearl.

  “You better stay safe, old man,” Pearl warned darkly, fear making her nostrils flare as she fussed with her hair.

  “I will, darlin’,” he said, and patted her backside.

  Randal spent three hours fishing with no luck. He gave up, and went in search of Clive. He and Clive drove around Mt. Pleasant and the surrounding area in Randal’s truck. They had no trouble leaving the island, telling the men at the blockade that they’d give them an update when they got back.

  It was bad all over. With no electricity, there was no refrigeration and no air-conditioning. Living on the island afforded him and his neighbors cool breezes off the ocean, but farther inland, there were no such breezes, and people sat out under trees trying to stay cool with temperatures soring into the triple digits.

  Their faces were wreathed with suspicion and fear as they watched the men drive past. There were too few people now, and they saw blood-splattered sheets turned shrouds, stacked like logs. The bodies were nearly obliterated by the heavy swarm of flies. The stench of it was hellish, though the people around seemed not to notice, their eyes bloodshot, their bodies slumped against trees and in lawn chairs, many staring vacantly into space.

  Some neighborhoods were completely vacant with only stacks of bodies, the ground around them liquid with putrefaction, Randal heard Clive gag as they watched a river of putrid sludge run into the storm drain. Randal bit down hard and swallowed, averting his eyes.

  It was worse than hell on earth; it was unimaginable. There were some dogs, but they stayed away from the bodies. The houses lay open, windows like gaping mouths with rotten jagged teeth and doors kicked in and hanging on hinges.

  “I hear some generators”

  “They won’t last for long. There’s no way to pump gas, and the gas there is will only last so long,” Randal said, his head turning this way and that, watching around him. He wove his truck around several cars that’d been left in the road. It looked like bodies were in them, and he quickly looked away.

  “I’d say it’s a good bet that generator thefts will go up,” Clive joked weakly.

  “I’d say you’re right,” Randal agreed, and both men grew quiet, lost in their own thoughts, their eyes constantly scanning.

  Before the loss of power, he and Pearl had spoken with their children. All were safe at Alison’s family camp in the mountains. They’d taken in plenty of food and supplies, and Cory’d said all was well. Randal was thankful for that, and he was also glad he had warned them to put away supplies.

  “You think those nuclear plants up north are gonna explode?” Clive asked abruptly, looking over at Randal.

  “I’d say it is a good possibility. If not explode, meltdown, if they haven’t already. I’m hoping the prevailing winds will keep any radioactive fallout clear of here.”

  “I hope so too. There isn’t anything we can do about,” Clive said.

  “Well, I don’t think it will be fixed any time soon. Anything around there will be a dead zone for decades.” Randal felt a shiver go through him, and his hands tightened on the wheel.

  “That poor kid, Roy, hasn’t a clue,” Clive observed, not unkindly.

  “Yeah, that boy just don’t know what’s what. Him thinkin’ the government was gonna come in and save us all.” Randal laughed, shaking his head.

  Roy had helped the men bury Dean’s body, and had asked about someone coming to save them all from the power outage. Both men had looked at the kid with pity and stunned amazement. They’d told the kid that they were on their own; no one was going to help them.

  “The kid has nearly fallen on his ass,” Clive said, once more shaking his head at the boy’s ignorance and innocence. “We’ll live how they lived in my grandparent’s day. It’ll be hard, but we can do it.”

  “You’re probably right Clive. And I figure we can survive if we keep our gardens, go fishing, and collect rain water. We can also boil salt water and save the moisture with plastic stretched over the steam. We can also use sea water to flush our toilets; that’s what me and Pearl have been doing. We’ve been taking our rolling trash bin down to the beach and filling it.”

  “I thought I saw you two pulling that big black bin. Figured you were moving a body,” Clive joked, his toothy grin splitting his stoic face.

  “That kid’s going to need our help, what with his young wife and baby girl,” Randal said.

  He mopped his brow, and turned the truck for home. He’d seen enough, and it was getting late. He didn’t want to worry Pearl.

  “I agree with you. We have to save ourselves, which means we have to catch our dinners, we have to make our own drinking water. We have to defend our own homes and we have to kill our enemies, which means anyone who comes here to take what we have. And make no mistake, they will come.” Clive stuck his arm out the window, his hand surfing the wind.

  “We’ll all have to work at staying alive, and work hard. We have a whole ocean full of fish and crabs. My wife’s garden is going well, and she’s saving seed. We’re going to try to plant another garden, and she’s going to give some of the seeds to the other ladies. Roy’s wife will have to learn how to grow food,” Randal said.

  Turning on to the bridge that led to the Isle of Palms, he dug out his wallet to show the guards at the blockade. Clive pulled his wallet out too. When they reached the blockade, a tall thin man, John, came to the window.

  “What’s the word from the world out there, Randy?”

  “It ain’t good John, ain’t good at all. Lots of dead and empty neighborhoods. People sittin’ around. Not sure what they’re gonna do when the food runs out,” Randal said, wiping the sweat from his face.

  John leaned to
the side and spat tobacco onto the ground. “We’ll keep an eye out. It won’t be long before they try coming here.”

  “Figure that’s so. How’s fishing?” Clive said.

  “It’s good, going gigging for frogs tonight.”

  Randal and Clive hummed in approval simultaneously, making John laugh and shake his head. He turned and gave a signal, and the dump truck and old van moved apart, allowing Randal to pull his truck through. He saw several men with guns and bats. One man sported a machete hanging from his belt. He figured these men had things well in hand.

  Los Angeles, California

  Larry and Jake hid within the walls of Jake’s apartment. Both men were trying to be as quiet as possible, and sweating heavily. Someone was in the apartment, turning over furniture and pulling things out of the kitchen cabinets. Larry had come over earlier from his apartment, four blocks away. He’d been on his way home from the library when he’d seen a group of armed men in his apartment. They’d been tearing everything up.

  Detouring, Larry had rode like a bat out of hell to Jake’s apartment. Once there, he’d helped Jake gather supplies and put them in the small hidden room behind the wall at the back of his closet. Jake had made the room as a hiding place for his dope some years back. Jake was a little crazy and paranoid, but he’d done a good job with the hidden room. It wasn’t big, but thankfully both men could fit inside. Clothing, boxes and junk camouflaged the makeshift door.

  After readying the room, they’d made sure Jake’s door was locked. Both men had sat at the windows, peering around the blinds. Within an hour, two men had arrived at the apartment complex. Larry and Jake had heard the men kick in Jake’s neighbors’ doors, and heard screams. When they’d heard gunshots, Larry had suggested they go hide in the closet.

  That had been nearly an hour ago. The two men were still in Jake’s apartment, tearing everything apart.

  “When are they going to leave?” Jake whispered harshly.

  Larry couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the terror in Jake’s voice. Making a low shushing noise, Larry whispered, “Quiet bro, just sit tight. They’re going to get tired of breaking shit and leave. You got nothing here.” Reaching blindly, he patted Jake’s arm, trying to comfort him.

  There was a loud crash, and the door to Jake’s bedroom was kicked in. Both men jumped, startled. Larry put his hand over his mouth to quiet his panicked breathing. They waited in agony as they listened to the men in the room.

  “This place is a shit box. There ain’t nothing here.” A deep baritone, sounding much like Barry White’s voice, grouched.

  “True dat, brah, there ain’t crap worth havin’. This fucker must have been poor as hell,” the other man said.

  Larry froze as he heard the door to the closet open.

  “Look at these fucked up clothes, man,” Baritone Barry laughed, yanking clothes from their hangers.

  “Yeah, we’d be doing him a favor if we killed him.” The other man laughed hard.

  “Come on, man, let’s blow. There are more apartments here to look into.”

  Larry sat motionless; he could hear Jake’s heavy breathing beside him. He felt the sweat trickle down his torso. It tickled, and made him want to rub it away. He didn’t. He didn’t dare move a hair. He wasn’t sure how long they sat and waited, but finally they got up the courage to crawl out of their hiding place.

  “Dude, they tore my place apart,” Jake said, stunned.

  “I know, man, my apartment is the same way. I think we’re going to have to move up our plans on leaving this place. It just isn’t safe here anymore,” Larry said.

  He and Jake had talked about going into the Los Angeles hills, to look for a place away from the death and carnage. The streets had become a dumping ground for bodies, and murder and wholesale slaughter were part and parcel of living here. There was no food, and no clean water, unless it came in a bottle. A bottle of water could get you killed in a skinny minute.

  “I know, but are we ready for it?” Jake asked, still staring around his apartment. His shoulders were slumped forward, his mouth trembling.

  “I don’t think we have a choice. When it gets dark, I think we need to head out,” Larry said. “I got the book from the library, which was where I was before I came here. I found the survival guide and took it. The doors weren’t even locked,” he mused.

  “Okay. Let’s see what kind of supplies we have.” Jake turned and went back into the closet. He pulled out Larry’s backpack and his own, both heavy.

  Larry went back to the front door, but he couldn’t close or lock it. It had been kicked off its hinges.

  Coming back into Jake’s room, he said, “We’ll have to be fast, I can’t lock us in. Once we have everything packed, we go back into your closet until it gets dark. If anyone comes in and we’re out, they’ll take our stuff and kill us.”

  Jake’s head seemed to wobble like one of the bobble-heads, his mouth trembling even more, and his eyes began to tear up. Larry reached over and grasped his upper arm firmly.

  “Hold it together, bro. I need you to hold it together.”

  Tears fell down Jakes face, but he tightened his lips and nodded.

  Dumping the contents of both packs onto Jake’s bed, they began to sort through them. Larry tossed some of the clothing; they needed room for the water bottles and food. They had four cans of pop-top canned chili, a crushed box of Twinkies, a box of pop tarts, ten sticks of jerky, and an assortment of microwavable meals. They each had six bottles of water. It wasn’t a lot, but it was all they had, and Larry hoped it would be enough to last them until they found a place to stay that had food. He was also hoping the survival guide he’d found could help them find plants to eat.

  They both climbed back through the closet and into the hidden room. Both were silent. It was only a few more hours until dark. Fires ran unchecked across the sprawling city. It was no longer tinsel town; it was carrion town, full of death and destruction.

  The air was stifling in the small room, but the smell of putrid decomposition hadn’t made it into the walls. They could smell burned rubber and plastic, along with jet fuel from the downed planes all over the city. Larry had passed crash sites, walking a wide arc around them. He didn’t want to see what was there, and the smoke and air was toxic with the burning fumes.

  “I think it is about time to go,” Larry said softly, waking Jake, who’d been snoring softly. They crawled cautiously from the closet, listening intently for any other intruders. Hearing nothing, they went into the living room.

  It was dark outside the door, but not quiet. Gunfire in the distance was punctuated by small explosions and distant screams. The hair rose on Larry’s arms, and he rubbed them hard, trying to bring the trembling under control.

  “Okay, dude, it’s now or never. Let’s just stay to the shadows, and head north toward the hills,” Larry said, trying to sound brave and positive.

  Jake nodded, his eyes large and filled with fear once more. His body jerked as he walked, and Larry thought he was having a hard time controlling the shaking. He couldn’t blame him; he was scared to death himself.

  Hugging the buildings as they went, they stayed clear of any fires that would cast light on them. When they found some dirt, they both rubbed it on their arms and faces. With the dark clothes they were wearing, they blended into the darkness around them. They were quiet, and listened for any human activity. They stayed away from everyone.

  Both had witnessed a group of men taking what they wanted and beating the poor survivors to death. Going door to door and apartment building to apartment building, gangs would descend and, like locusts, consume everything in their wake. The police and National Guard were nowhere to be found.

  Larry and Jake figured they were on their own. Their lives had become a nightmare, and they hoped that by leaving the city limits, they might be able to survive. Vehicles had run out of gas, and gangs roamed the streets. Anyone caught out was killed. They heard pitiful screams in the night. Jake drew closer to
Larry, nearly treading on his heels.

  It was a difficult journey. The air was smoky and smelled strongly of burnt flesh and burnt rubber. Larry kept swallowing so he wouldn’t puke. His eyes stung, and he gagged when a particular nasty smell squished up from beneath his feet. He didn’t look, but hurried on.

  “Hold up. I think we gotta back track. I see some dudes up ahead. Let’s go back a block, then go round that burned-out car dealership,” Larry whispered quietly, pointing back up the road they’d come down.

  Jake nodded, and turned to follow Larry. The only weapon they had was a steak knife. It wasn’t a lot compared to the people who held guns and bats and large pipes. Making their way around the burned-out car dealership, they headed up the slope; there were more trees ahead of them. To Larry’s relief, they were finally getting into the hills of Los Angeles and away from the burning city.

  The dawn’s first rays found them higher in the foothills. They quickly sought out a hiding place in a culvert under the road. Both were exhausted. Jake nearly fell on top of Larry, then put his back against the concrete wall. They were well hidden. The air was still heavy with smoke, but farther away from the city center, it wasn’t as bad.

  “Can I have a drink?” Jake asked, wiping the sweat from his face.

  “Sure.” Larry opened his backpack and pulled out a bottle of water. “Here, eat this too,” he said, and handed over a strip of beef jerky. It was only about three inches long. It wasn’t much, but they had to make their food last.

  11 July

  MS Aloha Pearl, Pacific Ocean

  The Aloha Pearl rocked gently on the blue sea, dead in the water and going nowhere. Two weeks had passed since they’d lost power. Captain Ellis Lumberman had known then that what was left of their lives would be a living hell. There were fewer crewmembers now. Lilly and Mike had opted for death earlier that morning. Neither wanted to watch the passengers die a slow agonizing death; nor could they stand to eat, knowing others starved to death. Standing on a balcony, they held onto each other, their eyes closed tight, their captain and first mate, Chuck Wilter, standing with pistols at the ready. They’d asked the couple if they wanted to say a prayer before they were shot.