Broken Lines Omnibus: A Tale of Survival in a Powerless World

by James Hunt

  “I’m sorry, Nancy. I just…” Mary said.

  The crack in Mary’s voice brought on sobs of her own. She had no idea where she was going, what she needed to do to protect her sisters, or how to help her mother. She closed her eyes, trying to get the picture of her mother lying on the bed out of her mind.

  “In the back,” Hank said.

  Hank was lifting a bloody, shaking hand, pointing behind him. His breaths were short, and sporadic. His lungs wheezed with effort, trying to stay alive.

  “There’s a… room… in the back… stay there,” Hank said.

  The back of the store was dimly lit.

  “It’s… Safe,” Hank said.

  Mary was out of options. She grabbed her sisters and headed to the back of the store. A small sliver of light came from under the crack of a door. Mary turned the doorknob and pushed it open.

  It must have been a room where the old man was living. There was a small cot on the far side of the room when they entered. A desk with a kerosene lamp on it, mirror, sink, and closet door filled the rest of the tiny space.

  Mary locked the door behind her. Nancy picked Erin up and put her on the bed, while Mary paced back and forth.

  “What do we do now?” Nancy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mary said.

  “When do we get to see Mom and Dad again?” Erin asked.

  Mary froze in the middle of the room. Nancy looked back at Erin, whose legs swung on the edge of the bed.

  Erin’s eyes had the uncertainty and naivetés only a four year old could have.

  “Erin, did you see what happened?” Mary asked.

  “I saw Daddy fall down and hold his stomach like he had a tummy ache, and then I saw Mom change her clothes when that man was talking to you,” Erin said.

  “Daddy did fall down, but it wasn’t because he had a tummy ache. Erin, you won’t see Daddy again.”

  “Why?”

  “Dad’s… dead. Do you know what that means?”

  “ Yes. Kimmy Sears in my class said her dad died of cancer and that she only gets to go and visit his grave. Is that what we have to do now?”

  Nancy started crying. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently from her sobs.

  Mary pulled Nancy to her. She wrapped her arms around her sister, holding her and stroking her hair.

  “Yes, that’s what we have to do now,” Mary said.

  The crash of glass hitting the floor spun all of them around to the door of the room. Mary dimmed the lamp.

  “Shh,” Mary said.

  Mary unlocked the door and cracked it open, trying to see what happened.

  Two bikers entered, crunching pieces of glass under their boots.

  “Well, look here, Pete. This old bastard’s still alive,” Don said.

  “Resilient bag of bones isn’t he?” Pete asked.

  “Please…” Hank said.

  One of the bikers pulled his pistol out. The hammer cocked back and he pointed it right at the old man’s face. Mary covered her mouth, her eyes watering. The biker squeezed the trigger and the gunshot blasted through Hank’s head. His body went limp. Mary gasped.

  “Hey, did you hear that?” Pete asked.

  “Hear what?”

  “It came from the back.”

  Mary’s heart beat faster. She retreated back into the room and told Erin and Nancy to hide under the cot. Mary ran to the closet and crammed herself inside. The closet was too small for her to close all of the way, so she had to leave a sliver of it open.

  “It was in here,” Pete said.

  The door creaked open. Through the crack she could see the barrel of their guns poking around the room.

  “I didn’t hear anything, Pete,” Don said.

  Pete let out a whistle.

  “The old man didn’t have much, did he? Look at this shit hole,” Pete said.

  Each step of their boots around the tiny room caused Mary to shudder. She breathed as softly as she could, scared to even move. She clutched the clothes hanging around her with both hands, making sure they stayed motionless.

  She could only make out parts of their faces. One of the bikers turned and she noticed a flaming devil on the back of his jacket. The devil had his head thrown back, laughing.

  “C’mon, Pete, let’s get out of here. The way this place looks it was probably rats,” Don said.

  “All right.”

  Mary watched both of them leave through the cracked door of the closet. Once she couldn’t hear the sound of their boots anymore she exhaled. Nancy and Erin crawled out from under the bed.

  “C’mon, we need to get out of here,” Mary said.

  They rushed out the back door of the grocery. They spilled out onto a small sidewalk next to a massive field of tall grass, five feet high. Mary led them behind the Main Street buildings, sprinting toward the end. Once they reached the edge of the buildings, Mary slowed down.

  She peered her head around the brick wall and saw bikers smashing the storefront windows, carrying people to the middle of the street and executing them on their knees. Then two bikers spotted her.

  “Hey!”

  Mary grabbed Nancy and Erin’s hand. She pulled them along, searching for a place to hide behind the stores. She jiggled the handle of each door she passed. They were all locked.

  The shouts from the bikers were getting closer. She didn’t know where to go. She didn’t know where to hide. She took her sisters and ran into the tall grass as far as she could and then dropped to the ground, pulling both of her sisters with her.

  The grass was thick. Mary couldn’t see anything around her or between the tall brown and green blades. She kept her hand over Erin’s mouth to silence her sobs.

  “Do you see them?”

  “They’re not in the buildings.”

  “Where’d they run off to?”

  “Check the grass.”

  Mary brought her finger to her lips. She hushed them both quietly. All three of their bodies were shaking. Mary covered her own mouth with her hand; afraid she might give away their spot. The voices of the bikers taunted them.

  “Come out come out wherever you are.”

  “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  “Yeah, why don’t you come out to play?”

  Mary could hear the movement of grass being swept aside and the steps of their boots on the blades, rocks, and dirt. All of a sudden she could see the grass move and then…

  “Hey!” a distant voice shouted.

  “What?”

  The biker’s foot was only twelve inches away from Mary’s face. She looked up, but couldn’t see the man’s face through the blades of grass.

  “Jake wants everybody back now. Quit jackin off over there and head to the motel.”

  “All right.”

  The grass shifted, but stopped as the sound of the biker’s steps faded away from her. Mary kept her hand over her and Erin’s mouth for a few more minutes until she was sure she they were gone.

  Mary rolled onto her back. The grass scratched against her exposed arms and legs. Erin crawled up next to her and Nancy’s breathing was quick as she hyperventilated.

  “Mary,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “What do we do now? Where do we go?”

  Erin rested her head on Mary’s chest. Mary had her eyes closed and could feel the warm sun shining down on her. Her body felt tired, expended.

  “Let’s just lie here a few more minutes,” Mary said.

  Day 9 (Mike’s Journey)

  The airport terminal was stuffy, and the springs in Mike’s cot squeaked when he rolled over. It smelled like a musty towel, but it beat lying on the ground. He pushed himself off the cot and rested his boots on the floor. He’d slept with his shoes on ever since the fire at his house.

  Nelson and Sean were still sleeping on their cots and the To family, Fay, and Tom were sound asleep as well.

  Mike lighted a candle and weaved around the cots toward the kitchen door. He pulle
d his pocket watch out, running his fingers along the smooth surface before he opened it, checking the time. 7a.m. The watch snapped shut and he quietly pushed the door open and headed toward the front to meet Clarence.

  Clarence sat crouched behind one of the check-in counters. He leaned up against the wall with a rifle over his lap. Whoever was on watch could see the entire front of the airport and could stay well hidden from the vantage point he had chosen.

  “How was your shift?” Mike asked.

  “Quiet. One guy walked by, but never came in.”

  “What would you have done if he had?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  Mike could see the struggle on his face. It was something Mike had experienced himself, back in his neighborhood. He tried helping. He tried giving advice, but it fell against deaf ears. When the people around you begging for help resort to strangling you, it’s time to fight back. Mike hoped that it wouldn’t come to that for Clarence.

  “The longer this goes on the more desperate people will become,” Mike said.

  “I know.”

  Mike watched Clarence fumble the rifle awkwardly in his hands.

  “You know I’ve never even fired one of these things before,” Clarence said.

  “You haven’t?”

  “Firearm training isn’t a part of the TSA program.”

  Mike grabbed the rifle. He flipped it on its side exposing the safety lever and making sure it was clicked on and pointed away from them.

  “Rule number one when handling guns. Never point it at another person unless you’re ready to pull the trigger.”

  Mike brought the rifle up to his shoulder and peered through the sights, scanning the front of the building.

  “When you aim you always want to bring the gun to your eyes, not the other way around. When you’re handling a rifle or shotgun keep the butt of the gun firmly tucked against your shoulder. It’ll help with the recoil when you fire. When it’s time to shoot, you want to squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull it,” Mike said.

  Mike handed the gun back to Clarence. Mike watched him keep the end of the barrel away from the two of them and he brought the rifle up to his shoulder.

  “And know where the safety is. You don’t want to be in a situation where you forget it’s on and when you go to squeeze the trigger nothing happens,” Mike said.

  Clarence’s thumb found the lever on the side of the rifle and flicked the safety off. He put his finger on the trigger.

  “Wait,” Mike said.

  Clarence lowered the rifle, taking his hand off the trigger.

  “Rule number two: never put your finger on the trigger unless you’re ready to fire. Just keep your finger extended beyond the trigger until you’re ready to shoot,” Mike said.

  “Right,” Clarence said.

  Mike grabbed the rifle out of Clarence’s hand and clicked the safety back on. He threw the rifle strap over his shoulder and clapped Clarence on the back.

  “We’ll take it out back for target practice after breakfast,” Mike said.

  “You’ve taught people to shoot before?”

  Mike paused, trying to overcome the lump forming in his throat.

  “Yes.”

  ***

  Tom and Fay gathered the empty wrappers and cans from breakfast and threw them in the garbage, which was overflowing.

  “It’s your turn to take it out,” Tom said.

  “Fine,” Fay replied.

  Fay tied the open ends of the trash bag together and lifted it out of the can. The bag caught on a crack in the can and split open, dumping trash all over the floor.

  “Goddamnit,” Fay yelled.

  Tom laughed. Walking back through the kitchen, his laughter echoing through the food court.

  Fay threw up a middle finger. She picked up the pieces of trash and dumped them back into the can. Once the mess was cleaned up she dragged the can to the front of the airport.

  The can slid across the pavement until she reached the dumpster on the side of the building. She placed the can right next to it, and just then heard a gunshot go off. She immediately ducked for cover.

  “Shit,” she murmured.

  She glanced around looking for the source of the shot, keeping her head covered. She squinted further down the tarmac and saw Clarence, rifle in hand with Mike behind him, aiming at something in the distance.

  Fay covered her ears as the gunshots continued to ring out. She walked to them and could see that both Mike and Clarence had ear protection on. She screamed their names and when that didn’t work she threw an empty soup can at them. She hit Mike square in the back.

  Mike took the earpieces off. Clarence clicked the safety on and leaned the rifle up against his shoulder.

  “What the hell are you two doing?” Fay asked.

  “Mike’s teaching me how to shoot,” Clarence said.

  “He’s pretty good,” Mike said.

  “Well, it took me a couple tries, but I finally got one.”

  Fay walked up to them and saw a row of soup cans set up thirty yards away on top of a luggage carrier.

  “You really think this is a good idea? I thought we weren’t supposed to bring attention to ourselves,” Fay said.

  “Most people run away from gunshots, not toward them,” Mike said.

  Fay grabbed the earpiece off Clarence’s head.

  “Where’d you get these?” Fay asked.

  “Found them in the ground control locker rooms,” Clarence said.

  “Can I try?” Fay asked.

  “Sure,” Mike said.

  Fay put the earpieces on and Mike grabbed the rifle from Clarence. He showed her how to hold it and gave her the same advice he’d given to Clarence.

  Fay brought the rifle up to her eyes. She kept the stock snug against her shoulder. Her finger hovered until she finally rested it gently over the trigger. The sights along the end of the rifle shook slightly as she tried to balance the gun. Once the gun felt steady she lined up her shot, squeezed the trigger, and the can went flying.

  “Shit,” Clarence said.

  “Nice shot. You’re a natural,” Mike said.

  “What?” Fay screamed.

  Mike patted her on the shoulder and gave her a thumb up. She smiled and then noticed the crowd behind her. Everyone had gathered outside. They were all looking at her and cheering. Fay’s smile slowly faded. She handed the rifle back to Mike and took her ear protection off.

  “Where are you going’?” Clarence asked.

  Fay ignored him. She ran between Jung and Jenna and headed for the side door, which led her to the food court. Once she was inside she sat on her cot, her shoulder feeling the strain from the recoil of the rifle.

  Clarence walked in behind her, panting from the short jog he made running after her.

  “What was that about?” he asked.

  “Do we have any more Ibuprofen?” Fay asked.

  “I think so, but, Fay, why’d you leave like that?”

  “Where is it? I don’t want my shoulder to be too sore.”

  “Fay.”

  “What?”

  Fay’s voice was harsh, accusing. She saw the open look of apology across Clarence’s face. He held his hands out and sat down on the cot next to her.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  “It was a lucky shot. That’s all.”

  “That’s why you ran? Because you hit the can?”

  “No.”

  “Then why’d you take off like that?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Fay…”

  “I don’t want to talk about it!”

  Fay bolted from the cot, leaving Clarence by himself. She ran through the food court and past the check-in desks by the front entrance of the airport, her feet carrying her to the other side of the airport. She ran around security ropes and jumped over fallen displays until there wasn’t anywhere left to run. She leaned her hands up agai
nst the wall, her chest heaving, trying to catch her breath.