The Unfolding Blackout (Book 1): A Girl Betrayed

by Aborn, A. L.

  Pushing the backpack, along with some other totes and bags, with one hand while holding the flashlight in the other is harder than I had anticipated. Finally surrendering the flashlight to the uneven wooden floor, I bring each of them down the ladder. Spreading all the goodies from the bags across my queen-sized bed, I try to think critically about what I will need. Deciding to make two piles, I start to sort the items. Waterproof matches, a flint and steel, and a water filter go into the ‘Take’ pile. Expanding, disposable wash cloths and trash bags go into the ‘Leave’ pile. In one bag, I find the solar powered items I had just gotten Jason for Christmas. There is an inflating solar powered lantern and a solar powered charger for a cell phone. Both seem too good to leave behind.

  Should I bring a tent and a sleeping bag? Wait, I’m not going camping. I’m going to my dad’s house. They have extra blankets; I don’t need to bring my own. Or should I? Half of me wants to compulsively pack as much as possible into my car. The other half wants to pack the minimum, so I don’t have to put it all away in a few days when this is over.

  A few days? I’m supposed to work on Monday. I’m a nurse and I work in a hospital about thirty miles from here. Oh, God. My patients. I haven’t thought about the hospital all day. Are the back-up generators working in the hospital? They must be. Hospitals are built to withstand power outages. We do drills in the hospital for every natural or manmade disaster you can think of. Unfortunately, all the drills are run via phones. What are they doing without them? Should I go to the hospital? What if they need me? Of course, they need me! It’s all hands-on deck during disasters!

  Wait. Is this a disaster? The power is out. That’s it. The hospital is fine. I’m not scheduled to work until Monday and the power is bound to be back on by then. I need to just calm down and focus on what I’m doing. I’ll never get anything done if I just sit here and wonder about all the what ifs.

  Okay, back to the goodies on the bed. Deciding to take the tent and sleeping bag eases my anxiety. I want to be prepared for everything. And when this is all over, I can laugh at myself when I have to put it all away.

  Packing everything from the ‘Take’ pile into the frame pack, I swing it onto my shoulders. It’s a little heavy, but it’s not like I’m going to be carrying it far. I pack two flashlights and extra batteries away as well. Now, onto the food. What do I have for dry goods that I can bring? Hmm. Saltines, tomato soup, and a can of pumpkin puree. What was I going to do with that? Pasta and sauce, two boxes of macaroni and cheese, and some tea. I might want tea. What else? Old fashioned oats? Okay. What about dog food? Meekah will need to eat too. I just bought a fifty-pound bag, I’ll bring the whole thing. There is a little left of the old bag, I’ll put that into a super-market bag and take it too. My thoughts feel jumbled and wild; this isn’t doing much to soothe me.

  Looking at the food spread along the counter, I realize my strategy is to pack everything in my cabinets. Well, what if the power is out for a while? I decide to bring it all.

  What about my books? I’m a bit of a book hoarder. I don’t like to borrow books from people or the library. If I’m going to read it, I want to own it. And I don’t like reading from electronic devices, I like to hold the real thing when I read. Joke’s on all my friends for making fun of my real books. Have fun not reading when the power is out!

  My bookshelves hold literally hundreds of books. I decide to bring an entire series that I am currently reading. It has thirteen books. That should be plenty. Wait, no, put them back. No, I’m taking them.

  I decide that I am crazy about an hour later as I am trying to pack my entire house into my car. Admitting defeat, I bring my computer, my pillows, and photo books back into the house. No need for any of those, I guess. I do end up packing some extra blankets. I like them, so I’m taking them.

  Once everything is packed, I feel accomplished. I am ready to take on this power outage. Now, how to spend the rest of the day? It’s late afternoon. How about a ride back into town? I feel like finding comfort in my fellow man. What if they know something that I don’t? Or maybe they know that this is nothing to worry about. Either way, I’m going to find out.

  Meekah and I get back into the car. This time, Meekah has to ride in the front seat; there’s no room in the back after my packing extravaganza. We ride up to the town center and find several people outside of the gas station. Parking along the street, I walk up to join them. I recognize a few faces, it’s a small town, after all. As I walk closer, I can hear some people arguing.

  “This is it! What I’ve been waiting for! We are under attack!” exclaims one loud voice.

  “Calm down, Ned, you can’t know that for sure,” says another calmly.

  “No power across the whole country? No cell service? This is the beginning of the end!” the same loud voice continues.

  Oh man. I guess I came to the wrong place looking for comfort.

  Across the street from the gas station is a small grocery with a deli counter. It appears to have a generator, as the lights are on and people are coming and going through the small single door. I head that way.

  A bell jingles overhead as I walk in. There are several people in line, all with handheld baskets full of canned goods and water. As I walk through the store, many of the dry good shelves are already empty. In the back, the deli counter is open. A kind looking woman in her sixties stands behind the counter. I recognize her from the few times I have come in to grab a sandwich. “With no power, we are cooking up everything we got while the generator is still going. What can I get you?” she smiles welcomingly.

  Ahh, comfort.

  I look behind her to see several pots on the stove. A hand-written sign on the glass counter advertises three different types of soups and several types of sandwiches. I opt for the New England clam chowder and a sandwich to take home. While she packs up my order, I try to get some information. She seems a no-nonsense kind of woman. “What do you think about all this?” I ask.

  She pauses, “I’m not quite sure what to think.”

  “Me either.”

  “Some people are saying it’s just a power outage. Others say that we are under attack. Others go even further and say this is the end of times. I like to think it’s just a power outage. As of right now, that’s all we know. So, why jump to conclusions? It’s only been a few hours, for Christ’s sake.”

  Her calm statement and demeanor relax me. I like this woman.

  “Thank you,” I say as she hands over my order. I wish I could stay instead of returning to my cold house, but there are others behind me waiting to order. “Good luck,” I say sincerely as I walk away from the counter. I wait in line, pay with the last few actual dollars in my wallet and leave the warmth of the store.

  The blast of cold air is shocking as a wind blows across the parking lot, stirring my long blond hair from my shoulders. The crowd of people has gotten larger even in the twenty minutes I was in the store. I notice that some have turned and are faced down the main road. The group of onlookers blocks my view, but after a few seconds, I can hear something.

  Finally, the object of their attention pulls close enough for me to see. It’s a military vehicle. It stops in the middle of the road and men in uniform pile out. The one that seems to be in charge pulls out a large megaphone and climbs on top of the vehicle to look down upon the gathering crowd. His strong figure, dressed in green camouflage and black boots, paints a stark picture against the grey sky above him.

  I absently wonder if there are enough people here to warrant a megaphone while we wait for him to speak. Some people join us, the crowd growing larger, while others stay outside the gas station across the street. Cars on the road stop in their lanes and the drivers lean out of their open doors to listen. The woman from the counter steps up next to me and smiles reassuringly.

  When no new faces join us and the tension is so thick it’s almost palpable, he begins.

  “The power appears to have gone out all across the United States,” he booms through the
megaphone.

  Yeah, we got that much.

  “There are currently no communication devices beyond walkie talkies, which only have a short range. We are diligently working on getting an up-link to different offices to restore communications. We believe that devices like old ham radios may work, but it will take time to set them up. If you have any old equipment in your possession, we implore you to bring it to your local authorities.” The crowd around me stands stiffly and silently, taking in the words. “This morning, before communications were completely severed, we received instruction to work with our local police departments to maintain order in each of our communities and to use whatever means necessary to keep that order. We encourage all of you to work together. In the bigger cities, looting and other activities are more likely to happen than in these small towns. Work together to keep your communities strong. We, along with local police, will be patrolling this region to keep the peace. Again, we have been ordered to use whatever force necessary to maintain that peace.” The megaphone noise cuts off a squeal. The silence following his words is deafening.

  I shiver. Whatever force necessary? Does that mean they can shoot us? And there are like six guys in that truck. Is that all there is to protect us? In these small towns, there are usually one to two officers on duty at once. Many don’t live in the towns where they work. Where will their allegiance lie? In the towns where they work, or where their families are? I’ve ventured out into town twice today and haven’t seen a single police vehicle. Where are the local police now when there is a huge crowd with a military vehicle in the center of town?

  For the first time since I woke up this morning, I feel unsafe. I think the other townspeople feel the same; some are breaking off into tight groups while others are eyeing each other suspiciously. I need to get out of here. Turning to give one last smile to the sweet lady from the deli, only her backside is visible as she retreats into the store. Hurrying toward my car, I see Meekah patiently waiting in the passenger seat.

  Speeding toward home, I’m relieved to leave the crowd and Humvee behind. The thought of sleeping in my house no longer seems comforting; the stubborn side of me is finally subsiding. I think that I’ll go to my dad’s house tonight. I’ll stop at home, finish up, and head up into the woods where my dad lives. I can do this.

  Pulling into the driveway, I look around wearily. Somehow, that officer’s speech has changed the way I see the world. It feels real. Yes, we live in small towns out here, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t a few crazy people around. I know that if I lived in a city, I would probably be heading toward the smaller towns to escape looters and who knows what else.

  I hadn’t locked my door before I left. What if someone was already in my house? There’s no one here to enforce the law, no one to call for help. What would I do if someone was in my house? I need a gun. I mentally punish myself for thinking I didn’t need one before today.

  Whatever. I’m not going to stay out of my house on a whim. I open the car door and let Meekah out. She will alert me if something is amiss. Confidently, I follow her toward the house, up the porch steps, and through the door into the kitchen. Inside, it is dark. With no lights to turn on, it remains creepy. Meekah seems at ease though, so I start to relax.

  Rushing, I push the remaining candles and flashlight that I had planned on using that night into yet another bag. The few odds and ends I had left for the morning are hastily squeezed into my backpack. I glance around nervously at the street as I shove the twenty-four pack of water bottles from the pantry into the already full backseat.

  And finally, I put together a first aid kit. I am an operating room nurse; that means I have plenty of supplies hanging around. Last year, I started a program to assist surgeons during procedures and have learned different skills, including how to stitch up wounds. In the kit I received from school, there are some basic surgical instruments, along with a fairly large collection of sutures. In the upstairs bathroom, I package up all the gauze, tape, and bacitracin I can find. If things are as real as I am picturing in my head right now, I’m going to need it all.

  As I pass the freezer on my way out, I stop and open it. In the door are several nips of alcohol that my parents put in my most recent Christmas stocking. If I don’t drink them, I’ll keep them in my first aid kit. I decide to walk through the house once more, to check one more time if I have forgotten anything.

  Finding nothing else of worth that I can cram into my car, I look around the open concept living room, dining room, and kitchen. There are plants everywhere, of all different shapes and sizes. My ex had a green thumb; he could grow anything. He had planned on coming back for them at some point and I know he will be upset if I let them all die. Oh, well. I can’t lose sleep over a few plants. I give them all a healthy drink of water and shut the door behind me.

  My heart sinks a little as I lock the door and walk away from my house. What if this is the last time I walk down these steps? I quickly try to push those thoughts away, but they don’t leave entirely. Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and attempt to prepare. I’m not sure what happens next, but I’m going to meet it head on.

  Chapter Three

  Away

  It feels crowded in the car with just Meekah and I. Always up for a ride, she sits quietly, eyeing me from time to time. Backing out of the driveway, I cautiously watch the area around my car. Even though I live on a street where I can recognize all my neighbors, I fully expect someone to jump out and try to hurt me. More alert than I have ever felt, my eyes burn from not blinking.

  Turning my car out of the driveway and up the hill, it’s just getting dark enough where my headlights are necessary. I’ve never worried about driving in the dark before, but now it feels as though there are things watching me from behind every tree. At the top of the hill, the main road heads east or west for most of the state of New Hampshire. It’s a simple two-lane road, stretching lazily through several small towns before it merges with the interstate. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles are white in the twilight. I take a right and drive through the center of town for the third time that day. The military vehicle is gone, probably off to another small town. The crowd has dispersed, and few people are out. I drive on.

  On any regular day, it would take me about thirty-five minutes to get to my dad’s house. About half the way is backroads and I can’t wait to reach them. I feel vulnerable on the main road. Crossing the line into the next small town along the twenty-mile route to my father’s, I begin to smell smoke. Around the next curve, a house is on fire. My favorite old house, a faded yellow colonial with a view over a creek and farmland has huge flames raging from almost every window. I slow to a stop on the deserted road; where are the police officers? The firetrucks? A pang of panic shoots through me. There is no one here. I want to call the first responders, but I can’t. It hurts my heart, but I press the accelerator and leave the fire behind.

  After the burning house, my pulse has skyrocketed. It feels like my heart might burst out of my chest. Is this what happens in one day? One day of no power and people lose their humanity? Their sanity? I’m suddenly racked with anxiety about the days to come. What will happen to us? I think about my brothers and sister that I never got in touch with. I picture my mom with my grandmother, hoping that they are playing cards behind locked doors and not hiding somewhere. My stomach is roiling.

  Fifteen minutes pass. Very few cars pass me on the road. Every time the lights of another car pass me, I feel my upper body tighten up. I’m afraid of everyone suddenly. It feels irrational, but I can’t help it. It’s almost full dark by this point. Up ahead, my headlights glint off something. The shape of two cars parked across the road blocking traffic materialize out of the darkness. I slow the car to a stop.

  What should I do?

  I don’t want to get out, but it’s like watching a train wreck; I can’t seem to stop myself. Meekah is growling in the passenger seat, but it’s almost like it’s coming from another world. It doesn�
��t even register. I leave the car running and the door open and walk up to the first vehicle. The cold air slaps me in the face after the warmth of the car. It’s an older style sedan, kind of beat up. Typical with teenagers around this area. As I get closer, the silhouette of someone in the driver’s seat becomes visible. My heartbeat starts doing triple duty, but I press on. The driver doesn’t move as I get closer.

  Cupping my hands around my eyes, I press them against the glass of the passenger side window. I can just make out the features of the driver. Maybe a teenage boy. There’s something weird on his hands, kind of drippy and dark looking. Blood. I’m a nurse. Why did it take me so long to recognize blood?

  A small hole in the front of his face finally takes shape as my eyes adjust. I’m only glad I can’t see the back of his head where the exit would be. Stepping back from the car and looking around, Meekah’s barks finally click. What am I doing? Who did this?

  Running back to the car, I jump into the driver’s seat and slam the shifter into drive. I have four-wheel drive, I’ll go around. There’s snow to the left of the road, near the woods line; plenty of room for my car to make it around. I press down on the accelerator, hard. Much harder than necessary.

  Turning off the road, my car edges into the snow.

  At first, it goes fine. Then, a horrible thump comes from under me as the car dips down to the left and suddenly Meekah is tilted dangerously above me, scrabbling at the seat with her claws for purchase.

  Of course, there are rocks in this ditch. Big ones.

  There’s nothing else to do, I try to keep going.

  The car moves a little more, evening out.

  Hope spreads through me, I can do this. I am going to make it out of this ditch.

  The movement of the car is barely at a crawl, even though I keep pressing down on the ‘Go’ pedal. Steering back and forth, willing the car to gain traction and move farther, the car stops. I try to put it in reverse, still no movement. Oh fuck. I think I’m stuck here.