As on any other night, a car would drive by the entrance of the apartment complex every few minutes. However, many people just sat on their porches and tried to stay cool when normally everyone would be inside. Most of the people in the complex weren’t nearly as prepared for a power loss and simply got in their cars and headed out on the road seeking a restaurant.
Erik and his wife clinked wine glasses and finished off the pot-luck pasta. As he put his empty glass down on the table and sat back with a contented sigh, he watched his wife. She leaned back and stretched like a cat, full of grace and strength. Completely alluring. He had just come to the conclusion that there was something they could be doing that would make the night go faster when she glanced towards the pond and pursed her lip in thought.
“Wonder what’s going on over there?” she asked with a nod of her head.
Erik tore himself away from absorbing the beauty that sat across the table from him in an oversized t-shirt and little else and looked where she indicated. A handful of people had gathered at the apartment’s pool across the little pond. Brin finished the last of her wine. She glanced at her husband with a half smile that put his plans for the rest of the night back in motion. “Mmmm, I bet the pool would be great, right about now,” she said, using her napkin to wipe away some moisture from her face. It had been a hot and humid day—typical of Florida this time of year. The night would cool off, but it would take a while.
Inwardly, Erik sighed. He had to admit, taking a dip in a nice clean pool would feel nice. And there was no telling how long the pool would stay clean in the tropical environment without proper filtration.
“Yeah, looks like some of the others think so too. Let’s head on over, see what’s up,” suggested Erik. After cleaning up and blowing out the candles, they changed into swimming suits and headed over to the pool. Erik shut off the emergency radio, but slipped his pocket AM/FM radio into his shorts. As an afterthought, he grabbed a six-pack of cold beers from the cooler in the kitchen.
With only the handful of emergency lights still running on weak batteries to illuminate the pool deck, the residents were forced to light a few impromptu tiki-torches liberated from pool supply shed. The night was cloudy, so the moon wouldn’t help at all.
“Hey, you all believe what’s going on?” asked Erik, carrying a few beers with him to hand out to the men clustered near the public grills. Most of the women and children were in or around the pool. Brin went over to chat with the other ladies.
After the beers were passed out to the grateful men, introductions were made.
Stan Gibbons was a restaurant manager who lived with his wife and young daughter in a building nestled in the northeast corner of the complex. It sat across the small parking lot from Erik and Brin. They had seen each other a few times in the lot but never really talked. He had been on his way home from work at a local restaurant when he heard the news of the blackout.
“I had just pulled into the parking lot here when the radio interrupted a song and went to that annoying beep.”
“The Emergency Broadcast system,” offered one of the others, a tall, skinny black man.
“Yeah,” replied Stan with a grin. He took a long swill of the can in his hand, shot a grateful nod to Erik, and continued.
“So,” he shrugged. “I turned around and went right back.”
“Why?” asked Erik casually. He opened his own beer. He wasn’t too keen on switch hitting after all the wine he had at dinner, but he wanted to appear sociable.
Stan started to speak, then appeared to think better of that idea and took another swallow of beer instead. After a moment he said quietly, “I don’t really know. I guess I just wanted to check on the restaurant. When I got back, the power was out, of course. People were leaving, but most continued to eat. The shift manager was doing a good job of informing customers of the power outage and keeping everything calm.” He looked down at the can. “Then a woman screamed that a plane had gone down near Tampa and more were dropping from the sky across the country.” He shrugged. The other men shook their heads and looked away, lost in thought.
Erik stared at Stan. He’s lying! Erik was almost ashamed to admit the thought. Or…at least he’s not telling us the whole truth. He’s holding something back. Why did he go back to the restaurant?
Erik was about to ask another question when Stan turned abruptly to the tall black man and said, “Ah, enough about me, what about you, Alfonse? What happened in Tampa today?”
Erik filed the quick subject change away as something else to think about during the coming days. The only black man introduced himself as Alfonse Johnston, a programmer for a tech firm up in Tampa. He and his wife Charone had recently moved down from New Jersey in the spring. He had a real passion for computers and electronics and he, more than most, felt the unease of being without power. His whole world revolved around electronics and computers. Without power, he felt useless. His company had been forced to evacuate when the airliner crashed outside Tampa International Airport shortly after the power went out in the early afternoon. He was still a little shaken up and had drained the beer Erik offered in a few large gulps.
“After I picked up Charone at the hospital—no, no, she’s okay,” he said as the others expressed sudden concern. “She’s seven months pregnant. She had a routine doctor’s appointment today so I took her in to town with me on the way to work.”
After a round of smiles and congratulations, Alfonse continued. “Thanks, it’s our first. Gonna be a little boy,” he beamed. Then his face fell. “The ride home was a nightmare. Man, people were out of control on the highways. I heard on the radio that the plane that went down was carrying some sort of biological weapon. I have never seen traffic like that. People were runnin’ each other off the road. I’m serious,” he said, looking at Erik. “Some dude cuts me off doing about 60, right?” he said, moving his hands to represent two cars. “Then, before I could even honk my horn, this truck flies in from the right, almost hits me, and clips the guy that just cut me off! That guy goes flyin’ off the road to the left…I couldn’t even try to get a look because someone else cut me off. I thought I was gonna have a heart attack!”
“What did you see in Tampa before you left? Were you near Ybor City?” asked Erik.
Alfonse crushed the empty beer can in his large fist. “Yeah. It was like something out of Mad Max. It was weird. People were putting up hurricane shutters. They were watching everyone drive by. I mean, I didn’t want to walk, but just the looks on some of the faces. Man…it was like nothin’ I ever seen.”
“That was this afternoon?” asked Stan.
“Yeah,” Alfonse shook his head. “I still can’t figure it out. It was like they knew something was going down so they were getting ready, you know? Boarding up all the Latino joints, but anyone else, the whites, the blacks…they were just standing around talking. I mean, I’m black, so I’m almost used to seeing people look at me like that—but these guys were watchin’ everybody.”
Another man spoke up, “You heard about the race riots?”
Alfonse looked down. “Yeah. I don’t know why the hell some people got to ruin everything for the rest of us,” was all he said. It sounded like an apology.
“Well, I think I can safely say, that we’re about to see some shit hit the fan in Tampa.” The man looked around, satisfied he had everyone’s attention. “I’m Ted Jenson. Deputy Sheriff. From what I hear, the riots are being called “race riots” but nobody really thinks that’s what they are.”
Alfonse looked up with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Right, right—what the hell they got to complain about, anyway? No jobs? Lot’s of people without jobs right now—it ain’t a black thing anymore.”
Ted sipped his beer thoughtfully. He lived across the hall from Erik and Brin. He explained to everyone that he had two sons, and lived with his wife who had a son and a daughter, all from previous marriages. Ted joked that his family was like the modern Brady Bunch, as a kid squealed and jumped into th
e pool to the laughter of playmates.
“So, pardon me for asking, but how come you’re not out there…I don’t know, patrolling or something?” asked Erik.
“Sheriff’s decided that this side of town was not much of a threat for rioting or looting and sent home anyone who wasn’t already scheduled to work. North Sarasota is another matter.”
“What do you mean, North Sarasota? I’ve never heard of that,” said Alfonse.
“How long you been here again, man?” asked Erik with a grin.
“Just since the spring, why?”
“Oh. Well, you should know, North Sarasota is the low income side of Sarasota. Our own little seedy underbelly,” quipped Ted.
“The ‘poor side of the tracks’. Got it,” replied Alfonse. He looked uncomfortable, like he didn’t belong here in the affluent side of the city with the white men with whom he shared a beer.
“It’s close enough to cause concern, but not heavily populated enough for real fear. It’s late July and that means off-season, so there aren’t a lot of tourists runnin’ around anyway,” continued Ted as if Alfonse had never spoken. “If this had gone down in November, it’d be a nightmare. There’d be panicking Snowbirds out there like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Snowbirds?” asked Alfonse. “Never head that one before.”
“Yeah, it’s what we call the Yankees that come down here every year from about September through the spring. They avoid their own winters and come down here like migrating birds for the warm weather. Snowbirds,” replied Ted with a grin.
“They act like seagulls,” added Stan.
“How so?” asked Erik, sipping his drink.
“Well, they fly down here, make a lot of noise, shit all over everything, then fly home.”
The men shared a much needed laugh and watched the women and children play by the pool for a few moments. It almost seemed like a normal summer night. Almost. The usual glow to the north west in the night sky that signified Sarasota’s light pollution was gone. Erik looked up and marveled at the staggering number of stars to be seen.
“Yeah, I only work day shifts, so I’m not going back out tonight,” announced Ted to get the conversation going again. Erik noticed his pager and cell phone were attached to his belt. He had the close cropped military style hair cut common among young cops in this part of Florida.
“You in the Army?” asked Erik, nodding at the haircut of his newly acquainted friend.
Ted laughed. “No way—I’m a Jarhead, through and through.” A few of the others chuckled and looked at Ted differently. Not only a cop but an ex-Marine.
Erik filed that away in his mind—useful information should things get worse. He and Ted had met a few times and exchanged pleasantries when they were moving in, but hadn’t really stopped to talk. Erik realized he had been living near these people now for months and didn’t really know any of them. Guilt rose up inside him.
“What about you?” asked Ted, with a gesture towards the last man to speak.
The slightly stooped man in the disheveled clothes spoke up. He looked like he hadn’t bathed in a few days and had the beginnings of a beard to match. “Name’s Henry Grimes,” he practically glared at the others. “I live back there,” he threw a thumb over his shoulder towards the rear wall of the complex. There was a small, squat building with four units directly behind Erik and Ted’s building.
“Ain’t here because I want to be either. My kid’s with me this weekend, and she just had to come down to the damn pool. This kinda stuff makes me sick.”
Ted seemed to bristle. “What kinda stuff? Standing around being civil with your neighbors?”
Henry stared at the cop. Erik could see he wanted to say something but held his tongue. He flashed a lopsided grin and narrowed his eyes. “What, like you think if the power hadn’t gone out you guys would still be hangin’ out like bestest buds?” He motioned with his hands to dismiss the whole group. “I don’t like people. I don’t care about the rest of the world. Ever since that bitch ripped my heart out, the only thing I have to live for is my baby girl. The rest of the world, including Ybor City,” he shot at Erik, “can go to hell as far as I’m concerned. Rather be piss drunk on the couch if this really is the end of the world.”
“So,” said Erik after an awkward pause. “I’m Erik Larsson. My wife Brin,” he waved to her by the pool. She waved back and smiled. The other guys nodded and waved. “We live over there next to Ted,” he said and casually indicated his building across the pond. He tried to cover his anxiety at being the youngest of the group. The next youngest looked like Ted or Alfonse.
“Whaddya think about all this crap going on today? I mean, really?”
“Aaah, just the power went out. Who cares? It’ll be back on tomorrow,” said Henry, taking a final swig from the beer Erik gave him.
“Yeah, well…I’m not supposed to say anything yet…” said Ted, leaning in conspiratorially. “But, we got word from Tallahassee over the State Trooper frequencies that the Feds are running scared. Word is, Governors are gonna be on their own for the next 24 to 48 hours—maybe longer. Washington is still trying to figure out why the riots got started in the first place. Haven’t been this bad since the ‘60s for cryin’ out loud. It’s like they were coordinated or something, strange as that sounds. Word is martial law is going to be declared in a few of the cities if it keeps up.”
“Jesus…” said Erik.
“Can’t have that…” Henry chirped sarcastically.
“Hey, this is serious!” said Stan. Henry belched in reply.
“Do they know how many terror attacks? What about the military, aren’t they whoppin’ someone’s ass by now?” asked Stan.
“I’ve had my shortwave radio up and running and I can’t get anything out of Canada…I guess that’s not so unusual, but the news I picked up from London was talking about reported wildfires out west. Anyone hear anything about that?” said Erik.
“How did you get radio stations from England?” asked Stan.
“He said he had a shortwave radio—it’s great for long-range communications. If you have the right antenna, you can pick up signals from around the planet,” explained Alfonse. Finally something he felt comfortable talking about: electronics.
“Yeah—and I do. I got a clip-on speaker-wire antenna wrapped around the ceiling of the closet. I pull it out and clip it to the antenna on my cheapie shortwave radio. I was picking up signals from South America and Europe, no problem,” replied Erik. “About a week ago I picked up a signal from China. Some Christian ministry operating out of some city over there I can’t pronounce. It was kinda cool.”
“A buddy of mine up in Denver is into HAM Radio. Damn. Wish I had some of his gear right now. Bet those guys know all the news by now. Wonder if they got riots up there too?” pondered Ted.
“I was planning on taking the Technician exam and getting my HAM license next month…” said Erik. “I guess that’ll be on hold for a while. I just wish I had bought the radio first. At least I could listen in…”
Alfonse took another drink from his beer. “I got a cheap little alarm-clock radio, but that’s about it. A stereo I guess, but without power, it ain’t worth shit. ‘Course, if the power was still on, I could plug us in to any radio station that broadcasts over the internet.” He shrugged.
Talk died down as the men turned to their own thoughts, listening to the noise of the crickets and frogs that surrounded them. The burning tiki-torches cast a campfire-like glow around the pool deck as the children ran and played and women gossiped.
Erik leaned against the railing and looked west across the still pond towards his own apartment building. Its silhouette was small compared to the three and four-story buildings that comprised most of the complex.
“I wonder how many people live in this place?”
“I heard last week when I went to pick up my mail that we’re still only 60% full,” said Henry, looking south towards the darkened shells of the last three apartment buildings
still under construction. “I know in my building, there’s only two of the four units occupied. We’re over on the southwest corner,” he said pointing in the darkness. His building, another one level structure like Erik’s, was right up against the rear wall of the apartment complex.
“My building is full. So’s the one next door,” Alfonse replied, jerking his head towards the three-story building just on the south side of the pool. Motioning to the opposite side of the pool, towards the duplicate three-story building, he said, “I don’t know about that one though.” The two large apartment buildings flanked the main office building which sat directly in front of the main entrance and was attached to the pool deck.
“Ours is full too,” announced Ted, finishing off his beer.
Erik nodded. “So where is everyone? I don’t see any candles or flashlights…there’s nothing, other than those kids playing in the grass.”
“Oh, I saw a whole mess of people head out around sunset,” said Henry darkly. “I’d be gone too if I didn’t need gas. But, with the power out, I’m not about to go joyriding with the other idiots out there.”
“Why not?” asked Stan. His tone suggested he’d be just fine if Henry were gone.
“No power mean no gas at the gas stations. Think about it,” was the acidic reply. He crossed his arms and took the posture of a petulant child as he leaned against the railing.
Alfonse shook his head at Henry. “Yeah. Lot of folks just wanted to get in the air conditioning or find food, I guess. I was out messing with my car, trying to catch the news on the radio when I saw a few families leave. Even saw one guy pack up his SUV and drive off like they weren’t coming back. You’d think they knew something we don’t.”
Erik scratched his neatly trimmed goatee thoughtfully. “What are they gonna do when they run out of gas? Don’t they know there’s no restaurants open? Brin and I went to the grocery store right after the lights went out, but without a lot of cash we couldn’t get hardly anything,” Erik decided to bury his embarrassment over not being ready with cash. If things became as bad as he was beginning to fear, embarrassment would be the least of his worries. He didn’t want anyone to realize exactly how much food he and Brin had squirreled away in their apartment.
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