Surviving The Collapse

by James Hunt

  Vibrations from the explosions around the city had ended, but from his location, they were barely more than a rumble of thunder. He had gone to the roof to see where they’d hit, and his mouth dropped as he watched bridge after bridge collapse into the river.

  Manhattan was isolated now, cut off from the mainland. There were the tunnels, of course, but that was only if the people doing this hadn’t flooded them, and Rodney’s souring gut was telling him that they had.

  He moved to his couch, sitting down slowly. He eyed the bags he’d pulled from the closet that were already prepared for a quick escape. Food, water, medical supplies, clothes, knives. He had a gun. It was a .38 revolver. He owned it illegally, of course, and its only purpose was for reassurance. Never did he expect to ever use it.

  But the gunfire on the streets had prompted him to remove it from its case. And here he sat, in the dark of his apartment, his supplies bagged and sitting by the door, with his .38 clutched tightly in his hand. He wanted to get used to holding it before he went out. At least that was what he was telling himself.

  He’d prepared for stuff like this, but up until now, it had only been practice in preparation for a worst-case scenario. And now shit had hit the fan, and it was time for the rubber to meet the road. But for some reason he couldn’t pull the trigger.

  A part of it was the people he heard in the hall. His neighbors, some of them friends. People had knocked on his door, yelling his name to see if he was home, but Rodney had kept quiet. He was scared to confront them, scared to pass them in the hallway with his backpacks and his gun.

  In all his planning and drills, he’d always done things alone. He thought it’d be better that way. No one to hold him back, no one to slow him down. And it would lessen the amount of supplies he’d need to bring. But in all of his planning, Rodney Klatt forgot the one element in a true crisis situation: fear.

  Violence had erupted on the streets. People had gone crazy, and the only thing they could focus on was their own survival. They were all scrambling, searching for what Rodney had in those packs and what he possessed in the cabin up north. It was arrogant to do everything alone, to keep his thoughts and his fears to himself.

  There was safety in numbers. It was one of the reasons he’d lived in New York for so long. Here he was nothing more than a tree lost in the massive forest. In a city of nine million people, no one even noticed him.

  Three more knocks pounded on his door. “Hey, Rodney! Are you home, man? We think that there might have been an attack. Everyone is meeting on the twentieth floor to talk about it. Starts in ten minutes.”

  The knocking ended, and Rodney turned away from the door and back toward the window. He pressed his palm against the glass. It was cold and frozen, like the world below. His hand left a greasy print as he removed it and then returned to the couch.

  The cushions smooshed beneath his weight, the support of the couch nonexistent. He’d been saving up for a new couch for the past four months. One more paycheck and he would have had enough money for the La-Z-Boy he wanted.

  But there wouldn’t be any more paychecks. His job at the utility company no longer existed. Nothing was going to be the same. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye, the flick of a switch.

  Rodney released the revolver and set it down on the cushion next to him. He ran his palms up and down his thighs. His jeans were cold like the window. The weather was already seeping into the building. It wouldn’t be much longer until it was just as cold inside as it was outside. Night would be worse.

  He knew the bulk of people would stay in their homes, telling themselves the power would come back on. But Rodney knew better. The combination of the power, his phone not working, and the broken cars below all told the same story. An EMP had gone off. Everything with a computer processor in it was fried. No more utilities. No more transportation. No more food and water coming into a city that depended on it every day.

  Nine million people. The number was too staggering, too unreal. It would take another couple of days before people started to become really violent, maybe even less considering the frozen tundra that New York was about to transform into. He had to get out. And he had to get out now.

  Rodney sprang from the couch and donned the backpacks at the door. He rechecked his inventory in the bags. It was enough for the journey north and then some. He swung the straps of the pack over his shoulders and then reached for the revolver. He lingered a moment, looking at it before he placed it in its holster. He placed his hand on the doorknob of his front door but then froze.

  The meeting. All those people I know, friends I’ve made since moving here, they have no idea what’s happening. They have no idea what’s going on, and that’s not going to change anytime soon. It’s not like the six o’clock news will be airing tonight, and they can’t get online to research.

  But was that his problem? Was it his fault they’d chosen not to be prepared, informed? No, it wasn’t. So why couldn’t he leave?

  Rodney let go of the doorknob and leaned up against the wall. His stomach twisted into knots. That nauseating feeling he associated with bad Thai food and roller coasters spread through his body. He shut his eyes, shaking his head. “Shit. Shit-shit-shit-shit!”

  Quickly, and before he changed his mind, Rodney opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, beelining it toward the stairwell. His feet fell quietly against the steps, the floor numbers descending numerically on his way down.

  The bannister was cold against the palm of his hand, the metal smooth as he glided down. He passed the twenty-eighth floor, then the twenty-seventh. The twenty-sixth, twenty-fifth…by the time he reached the twenty-fourth, he found himself slowing a little. He passed a woman he didn’t know in the stairs on the twenty-third, who was frantically running upward. He frowned at her as they passed, though she didn’t pay him any attention. She was covered in dust and snow, her eyes wide and focused on nothing but the steps in front of her.

  Rodney knew she was one of millions following the same instinct. Get home, get to family, find my friends. What he had observed from his window on the thirtieth floor wasn’t chaos at all, simply a reorganizing of value within the city. And right now, that value was people. People who knew things, people who understood what would happen next. People like him.

  Rodney stopped on the twentieth floor and stared at the exit door. He glanced toward the stairs leading downward. And then, just as quickly as he’d left his apartment, he exited onto the twentieth floor. He couldn’t save everyone. But he might be able to save a few.

  ***

  By the time Kate reached the thirty-fifth floor of the apartment building, the muscles in her legs were jelly. Gasping for breath, she shouldered open the exit door from the stairwell and clawed at the wall to pull herself toward their apartment.

  The weather had frozen her stiff, and every step forward was jerky and spastic, akin to the walking dead. Some of the apartment doors she passed were open, the residents inside peeking out to watch her pass. If they spoke to her, she didn’t hear them. Only two thoughts consumed her mind. Get to her family. Get them out of the city.

  Kate found their apartment door open, and when she stepped inside, the fatigue in her muscles and the pain in her joints vanished. “Holly!” She sprinted into the apartment and found her daughter on the couch with Mrs. Dunny on the chair across from her. Kate exhaled. “Thank god.”

  “Mom?” Holly pinched her eyebrows together, sitting up from her position on the couch, the blanket falling from her chest.

  “Mrs. Hillman!” Mrs. Dunny jumped from her chair as quickly as her old bones would allow, her jaw slack as she gawked at Kate. “My god, what happened?”

  Kate cried, squeezing Holly tight. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  “Kate?”

  She spun around and saw Mark exiting the bedroom, his tie undone, hanging loosely around his neck. After a moment’s pause, Kate flung herself into his arms.

  “Jesus.” Mark squeezed back, his han
ds gently prodding her body, trying to make sure that she wasn’t injured. “Where did you come from?”

  Kate finally pulled back, wiping away tears that smudged the snow and dirt against her cheek. “I was on the train when everything shut down. And I saw the explosions.” She cleared her throat. “I got your message that Holly was sick before my phone died, and I just… I just… had to get home.”

  Mark cupped his hands on her cheeks. “You were out there?” His expression retained worry but showed signs of relief as he pulled her close. “Thank god you’re all right.”

  “Mrs. Hillman, what is going on out there?” Mrs. Dunny asked. “What were those explosions?” Her eyes grew large and fearful, and she clasped her hands together in front of her sagging bosom as if she were praying.

  Kate stepped back from Mark and took a seat on the couch with her daughter. Her body groaned in thanks for the rest, and she leaned into the soft cushions. Heat still lingered in the apartment, and her face thawed. “Nothing is working. Cars, phones, no power anywhere in the city.”

  “Yeah, it was like that on my way home from work.” Mark took a seat on the armrest. “Once everything shut down at the office, I came straight home. They wanted me to stay, but with Holly sick and me not being able to get ahold of you, I couldn’t stay.”

  Kate placed a hand on his knee, and Mark rested his hand on top of hers. She smiled. “I’m glad you came home.” She looked at Holly and suddenly remembered the medicine in her jacket. “I stopped at a pharmacy on the way here.”

  “They were open?” Mark asked.

  “Not exactly.” Kate unzipped her jacket, and out spilled the medicine and antibiotics. She handed Holly the cough syrup and then gathered up the rest and placed them on the coffee table. “The bridges are gone, at least the ones across the East River.”

  Mark ran his fingers through his hair and stood, pacing back and forth in tight circles. “If the bridges are down, then that means they’ll have to use the ferries to bring help over.”

  “I didn’t see any boats working on the river either,” Kate said, removing her jacket and flinging dust and snow to the side. “There isn’t any way off the island except for the tunnels, which I didn’t want to chance coming through on the way here. Not with those people—”

  “What people?” Mark asked.

  “You didn’t see them?” Kate asked.

  “No. As soon as the power went off, I came here. I told you that.”

  Kate recoiled from the bite in Mark’s answer. She frowned, and he flapped his arms at his sides, sighing.

  “I’m sorry.” He returned to his seat on the armrest. “It was hard being in the dark. I didn’t know where you were, Holly was here alone, and—” He slouched and rubbed his face. When he peeled his hands from his cheeks, they were a bright red. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  Kate grabbed his hand. “Me too.” She turned to Holly and held her hand, which was warm with fever. A sick child in a world with no hospitals and no doctors.

  “Listen, we need to get out of the city,” Kate said. Strength returned and steadied her voice. “It’s bad out there right now, but it’s only going to get worse.”

  “What about the Hudson River bridges?” Mrs. Dunny asked. “Are they still up?”

  “I don’t know,” Kate answered. “But after what we saw out there, I doubt it.”

  “We saw?” Mark asked.

  “Huh?” Kate replied, turning to him.

  “You said ‘we saw.’”

  “Oh. There was this kid on the train. He helped me with an older woman and got her some help.” Kate’s voice grew distant. “We stuck together until we got to the Williamsburg Bridge. We were on it when it collapsed. I don’t know if he made it. There was so much gunfire.”

  Mark shot out of his seat. “Christ, this is like 9/11 on crack!” His cheeks reddened further, and the vein along the side of his neck throbbed. “You’re right, we need to get out of the city.” He spun around, facing Kate. “Did you see what they looked like? Where were you when they started shooting? Did they follow you here?” He arched his eyebrows on that last question.

  Kate stood. “I don’t know who they are, what they want, or where they are right now.” She pulled Mark out of earshot of Holly and Mrs. Dunny. “We shouldn’t be talking about this in front of Holly. It’s not anything she needs to hear.”

  “So what do we do?” Mark asked. “We try and go to the tunnels? How are we supposed to move her when she’s sick? What if she gets worse? What if we have to stop? What if we run into those people on the streets?”

  “One problem at a time,” Kate answered.

  “We should go to the meeting on the twentieth,” Mrs. Dunny said.

  “What meeting?” Kate asked.

  “I heard some of the neighbors talking about it.” Mrs. Dunny opened her purse and rummaged inside until she removed a stick of gum. “Management wanted to get everyone together, see what people knew.” She popped the gum into her mouth, her attitude rather nonchalant about the whole idea. “Personally, I think it’s just to keep people from going crazy.”

  Kate nodded. “We should go.” She turned to Mark. “Can you stay here with Holly?”

  “Me?” Mark gestured to Kate’s appearance. “You show up like that and people will think the world is ending.”

  “Isn’t it?” Kate asked.

  “I’ll stay with Holly,” Mrs. Dunny said. “I don’t need to hear a bunch of people hooting and hollering about stuff they don’t know anything about. It’s all just speculation. This thing will blow over. It always does.”

  The old woman spoke in a frame of mind that Kate found most of the elderly did during times of crisis, and she had noticed that in New York, the habit was twice as bad.

  Kate knelt by Holly’s side. “We’ll only be gone a minute, but we’ll be right back, okay?”

  Holly immediately looked past Kate and to her father. “Dad, do you have to go?”

  Kate’s heart fractured at the words, and she let go of her daughter’s hand as Holly reached for her father.

  “We’ll only be gone a little bit.” Mark kissed her forehead, and Kate forced a smile. “Promise.”

  Kate turned toward the door, but Mark grabbed her wrist. She spun around. “What?”

  He looked her up and down and then grimaced. “Might want to change.”

  Kate examined herself. “I’ll make it quick.” A trail of dust and snow followed her into the bedroom, and she wiped her face as best she could with what water remained in the pipes, which was ice cold and burned her skin.

  A few smears of dust and frost lingered on her neck and ears, but she looked more like herself again and less like the ghost woman she had seen in the reflection of the shop windows she’d passed. She closed her eyes and gripped the granite of the sink’s counter, fighting against the trembling and fatigue of her muscles.

  All right, Kate. You’ve got to go into this thing with both eyes open and figure out how to get your family off the island. That is the priority. After that, it’s finding a safe place for Holly and Mark to stay until whatever is happening is over. Then it’s off to get Luke.

  Kate opened her eyes, and nodded at her plan of action. And then, as if to test herself, she slowly lifted her hand and held it out flat, concentrating on keeping it steady. But it wouldn’t stop shaking, no matter how long she stared at it.

  Chapter 7

  When Rodney opened the door to the common area, he slammed the edge into a man standing nearby. The commotion triggered every head in the room to turn.

  “Sorry,” Rodney said, squeezing through, his backpack smacking into a woman’s shoulder as he closed the door behind him. It clicked shut, and he sidestepped toward the back behind the crowds.

  The manager shook off the disturbance, clearing his throat. “As I was saying, the power is out in the entire building.”

  “Cell phones aren’t working either!” a voice shouted among the crowd.

  “Nothing’s working!”
another added, and so began the low rumble of dissent.

  Rodney kept quiet, wanting to see, wanting to hear how they’d react. While he hadn’t left yet, that didn’t mean he wanted to die here, and there still might be someone useful he could take along. He had what everyone wanted: a way out.

  “Everyone, please!” the manager shouted, arms extended high and over people’s heads. “I understand everyone’s frustration, but the purpose of this meeting is to unearth the facts of what we know and don’t know.”

  The door opened again, and this time Rodney’s was one of the heads turning to see who entered. It was a woman and man, presumably husband and wife. The man was fairly put together, but the woman had flecks of dirt and snow littered in her hair. He thought about the explosions and then furrowed his brow. Had she seen what happened?

  “If anyone has any information about what is going on, please, now is the time to let your voice be heard.”

  Rodney watched the woman and the man whisper to one another. Then the man nudged the woman forward, and she slowly raised her hand.

  “I was out there,” she said, shouting above the murmur of the crowd. Again, heads turned, and the room went silent.

  The manager up front motioned her toward him. “Let her through, let her come up here.”

  The crowd stepped aside, and the woman moved past. Her steps were slow but deliberate, as if she was biding her time and thinking of what to say. She looked nervous, due either to the crowd or to what she’d seen outside.

  By the time she reached the front of the room, the murmur had started up again, but it shushed itself when she stepped up on the chair, hovering above the crowd. She kept her fists balled at her sides, and she cleared her throat.

  “My name is Kate Hillman. I live on the thirty-fifth floor with my husband and daughter.” She swallowed, scanning the crowd, and she finally relaxed her hands. “I’m a pilot with Nova Airlines, and I landed at LaGuardia this morning before the attack.”