Boston Darkens

by Michael Kravitz

  “Spock says, ‘Not logical.’ You need to be informed,” whispered the little angel.

  Damn, you’re right. I need to be informed. How do I do this? Should I do it in the politically correct way? I have to do a little song and dance. Maybe I can ask the lieutenant if he is going to the finals of the mud-wrestling tournament. Or maybe I can offer him front-row seats to a Gallagher show. Gallagher likes to smash watermelons with a sledgehammer. I looked at his big gun. Screw it. I am from Nebraska. I’ ll be blunt.

  “Lieutenant, if I can be so bold,” I said slowly and firmly “Yes, Mr. Randal,” he commented with complete confidence in himself.

  “How is it when we are in a nuclear containment zone? Everything electronic and electrical has ceased. Millions of cockroaches are spiking the footballs. It’s halftime, and you come out of the locker room. You have a new pressed uniform, a haircut, and a shower shave. It’s like you’re on a different channel than the rest of us.” I finished my tirade with trepidation.

  With a slight chuckle, the lieutenant answered, “You see, Mr.

  Randal, when the nuke went off, I was in shock and as stymied as you were. I checked with my neighbors. Cars, radios—there was nothing.

  The next day my commander bicycled down to my house. You see, he is an exercise fanatic.”

  Under my breadth, I said, “Like the lieutenant is not obsessive about his physique.”

  “The commander had a secured Faraday line. It was a FEMA protocol. He explained what happened. He told me that this was no drill. There were priorities that were in place,” the lieutenant explained clearly.

  “Well, Lieutenant, thank you,” I politely answered as he pointed for me to take a turn. “Sounds like your commander at the barracks is reading the same cue card as the president,” I continued as I dodged another stalled car.

  The lieutenant laughed as I went between a few more stalled cars. “Pharmacies, hospitals, nursing homes, the elderly—I guess the list is pretty large, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Randal?” The lieutenant talked like he was the adversary. “You see, Mr. Randal,” he continued as he pointed to another turn. “It is the correctional institutions that this commander was most concerned with. Many of the guards did not show up. We also had many troopers that did not show up for days. Those who did not report after three to four days were considered AWOL,” he said with great authority. “To serve and protect—that has to mean something. If not, then we are doomed as a proud and free country.”

  “Officer Ryan and I went to the correction facility,” he said with a little anger in his voice. “It was extremely tense. Some of the inmates became extremely violent. For several hours our lives were on the line. The warden and I had to make hard decisions. We both agreed that 35 percent of the prisoners had to be set free.” He pointed for me to make another right. “The warden was brilliant. The prisoners that were set free were offered a choice. If they stayed and helped, the warden would offer them a clean CORI if our country would get back on the grid.” “Oh, as for my duds and haircut,” he then said. “We have several gas generators. Snow and ice storms always knocked out the power. Morale has to be kept up. The laundry room and kitchen still functioned a few hours a day. We have to care for them, or the riots will really intensify. Food and water are rationed. The state has a limited supply. A few ships will arrive shortly under the cover of darkness.” He pointed for me to make yet another turn.

  Boston was just like many other cities. They had an outer beltway and inner beltway. Driving on the outer beltway would allow us to bypass most of the heavy traffic. However, it was a longer route. Once you crossed into the inner beltway, you were coming to outskirts of the city. This was standard with most cities on the East Coast. We were crossing that inner beltway now.

  “Mr. Randal, please turn down this residential street,” the lieutenant commanded As we turned, several brick apartment buildings came into view. As we came up to the one on the left, the three of us saw something very sickening. In the parking lot of the apartment building, there were stalled cars. Perhaps up to three-fourths were still empty. Many had left that morning for work or school. Toward the end of the parking lot, we saw three corpses.

  All the apartment buildings in Massachusetts were under rigorous regulations. Very seldom would one see debris lying around. The Board of Health gave out warnings and then citations. There were also a lot of fire and building regulations. This really created a large expense to the landlords. In turn, they had to figure this cost into the rents. There were constant evictions and many hardships. With a low-paying job, one could not afford these high rents.

  Now there was litter everywhere. There were broken windows and a dreadful stench. We drove very slowly. We could see the corpses and a scrawny dog.

  All the corpses belonged to young male. One was white, and the other two were minorities. The sickening part was there was a dog grabbing the arm of one of the deceased. The dog was trying to pull the body, but to no avail. It was scrawny and desperate. Lieutenant Mallard told me to pull in. Within fifty feet of the dog, he ordered me to stop. He slowly exited the car.

  Never taking his eye off the dog, he walked slowly toward it. The scrawny dog sensed the intruder. Slowly the dog turned its head. Then crouched and snarling, the dog dug in. It seemed that this was his.

  At this point he pulled out his revolver. To me, all life was precious, even that of animals. A rabid dog, a sick dog, or a dog that draws blood is usually put down. Some animal lovers would take their animals across the state line to New Hampshire. It seemed their laws were different, which is strange because New Hampshire was a lot more conservative. They just seemed more lenient with dogs. In Nebraska, I always lived with dogs. They served not only as pets but as a warning system too. When I moved here, I never wanted a dog. The homes were too close. The highways were busy, and neighbors complained about barking.

  As you enter New Hampshire, it is all congested. In a short drive, the houses spread out. It is a different existence than Massachusetts. The snowfall and cold are much more extreme. It really is a state for the outdoorsman (or woman). There’s snowmobiling, hunting, hiking, camping, and shooting. It is a beautiful state, but when the fall leaves turn color. It is really God’s panoramic shot. Parts of New England and Japan have the best color changes in the world.

  I did not cover my ears. I could not look as the lieutenant put the dog down. It was just one humane shot. He then walked to the car and signaled to Officer Ryan. They opened the trunk. The lieutenant took out two body bags. He also had gloves and two masks. The two officers put their masks and gloves on. Office Ryan had a small bag of a white powdery substance. With great respect, they placed two of the three in body bags. Officer Ryan sprinkled the white powder on all three bodies. My guess was that it was lye. It would kill the scent so stray animals wouldn’t go after them. Both Officer Ryan and the lieutenant placed the bodies at the end of the parking lot.

  The lieutenant picked up the casing to the spent cartridge. He slowly walked back, wearing a very solemn look.

  “Mr. Randal, your best guess as to what time it is.” He took out his pen and notepad.

  “My best guess it is 9: 30 a.m.,” I told him with confidence.

  The lieutenant wrote down the time. He walked out to the street to see what landmarks he could see. He carefully drew a diagram of the building and where we would leave the corpses. Man, this really sucks. I just wanted to check on my mother-in-law and give a ride to the two officers. There is no rubbish being picked up, no traffic. To me, this was not normal. We were in a highly populated area. There should have been countless people walking around.

  The noise of the spent bullet did seem to draw attention. As we looked up at the various apartments, we could see people looking out from the windows. The lieutenant was very savvy. He told us that he would walk from here. He went back into the trunk and pulled out two bulletproof vests. He put one on, and so did Of
ficer Ryan. I looked at the lieutenant with a little anger.

  “What am I? A sacrifice? An expendable, useless chauffeur?” I said as I looked him in the eye.

  “You worry too much, Mr. Randal.” He went into the trunk and pulled a third bulletproof vest. “Really, Mr. Randal, you will be the safest of the three of us,” he said assuredly.

  “Why is that?” I asked as I put on my chest protector.

  “There are some very bad people who know we are here.” He got his rifle with the scope on it. “They want your car more than they want weed, crack, or anything else. Your car is the granddaddy. It is one thing that they can use to make themselves feel really important,” The lieutenant said as he checked his rifle and his sidearm.

  “Should I get the shotgun out?” Officer Ryan asked the lieutenant. “Yes, I will start walking first on the left side of the road. You will be behind me on the other side. Stay around fifty behind me,” the lieutenant said. It sounded like he had done this before.

  “Mr. Randal, you stay fifteen feet behind Officer Ryan. You should be fine. They want the Buick without bullet holes. That means they have to go through me and Officer Ryan. They know if we are going into Boston, we are also coming back this way,” he said without much emotion. “I have dealt with a lot worse.”

  The lieutenant started to walk, looking through his scope. When he got about fifty ahead, he signaled for Officer Ryan to start walking. I was very tense. The lieutenant was at high alert. He seemed very confident. After he walked a good twenty minutes, we saw a few of the young gang members. They were on top of the roof of a four-story brick building.

  First there were three. The lieutenant signaled for us to stop. Then five more came out. Damn, there were eight of them all with 9mm guns. No wonder there were no people around. This was a lot worse than Providence. They were all young males, mostly minorities, but two were white.

  “You’d better be bringing that Buick for us. These are our streets,” their leader said.

  The lieutenant, who was as cool as cucumber, raised his rifle and walked toward them. God, what big brass ones he has. He stopped about sixty feet in front of them.

  “Go ahead. There aren’t enough of you. I am fast and extremely accurate. He turned on the red beam. Instead of shining it against the leader’s head, he pointed it at the man’s chest. This way he could see the beam on him. Four of his followers turned tail and ran. “Come on. Let’s get this over with. Your gang is going to need a new leader in five seconds.” The lieutenant took complete control.

  He started to count loudly and fast. Five. Four. Three. At this point they all left except for one. He was a big dude, not the leader but definitely a bully and thug. The lieutenant pulled out his revolver and ran after him. As he entered the door of the building, Officer Ryan ran to the front of the building. I pulled the Buick closer. I held on to my rifle. After a tense three to four minutes, the lieutenant came back out. “All clear. They are cowards. They like to terrorize innocent people. They figured we were a special tactical unit,” he said as he continued to look around. “I have been ordered not to shoot unless they shoot at me. That is a bunch of crap. This is the main road coming in and out of Boston. We are in a state of emergency. These maggots have to be dealt with. The commander and governor needs to know how grave this is.”

  We traveled another hour on foot. There were no people for almost a half an hour. Finally as we got closer to downtown, we started to see people walking on foot. Up ahead we saw a barrier. Behind the barrier there were several personnel members from an army guard unit. The sergeant signaled for us to stop.

  “You made it through the little war zone,” the sergeant said as he walked around the car. “Open up the trunk please.” He checked the lieutenant and Officer Ryan’s IDs. “Nice Buick,” he said as he was finishing his inspection.

  “Somebody has to help those civilians that are trapped back there,” the lieutenant said to the sergeant.” If something is not done soon, they will die. They are afraid to come out of their apartments for fear of being robbed and shot.”

  “We know the situation is bad. We have orders not to shoot at civilians unless someone shots at us. There is also a jurisdiction problem. Someone has to explain this to the governor. We are trying to get a few armored units that work,” the sergeant remarked as he waved us on.

  Driving from this point on was safe. Hundreds of people were walking and milling around. Traffic consisted mostly of bicycles and Rollerblades. We saw a few vintage cars too.

  Like ours, most have a state police banner on them. Hopefully they had not been confiscated. I really was afraid to ask. It might open up a box of worms. We drove at a slow pace.

  It was weird. Hundreds and hundreds of people eyed us. Both the lieutenant and Officer Ryan pulled their revolvers out. They both kept them in their laps. All of us were nervous about any kind of flash mob. I had never seen so many young coeds. I think Randy could have had a field day out here with his Buick. I knew I had to keep this to myself. He was a good boy. I didn’t want him to turn to the wild side.

  The whole area seems to be clean. There were many volunteers wearing armbands. They had various duties. Some were cleaning the trash. Others were trying to move the stalled vehicles out of the way. At least the inner city seemed safe. When we drove within a mile of the government center, we saw two lines of people. At the end of each line, there were local police with rifles and dogs. It was a food line. It was a basic meal of meat veggies and very little meat. Good water seemed to be in short supply. I would be afraid to give the city water even to an animal. The other line was a heck of a bit shorter. It was a VIP line for volunteers with armbands.

  I did bring two bottles of spring water. Man, I did not realize how valuable that water run turned out to be. I was using one for the three of us, and I would use the other to barter with when I reach the hospital. The day was cloudy with light rain. Here in Boston, there was a somber dress code. At least it was today. Light jackets and sweaters seemed to be the rule. The state color should have been gray, not blue. College kids and yuppies dressed a little cheerier. Most big money people, like lawyers, doctors and financial analysts wore gray or black suits. It was the musicians and professional athlete who dress to kill. Their outfits were like big neon signs that said, “Look at me. Aren’t I great?” The doctors, lawyers, and financial wizards tried to stay under the radar. After all, they took a good part of our money.

  After a few more miles, we are at the government center. It was another emotionally draining trip. Survival was taking its toll on all of us. No small talk, just silence. No radios, just the car engine. It was almost like being among the walking dead. After several more minutes, we came to another barrier. This time it was the inner sanctum of the deal makers—the nerve center of our state. It was like being in the green zone of Baghdad. We had to park our car and proceed on foot for the last three or four blocks.

  The street was blocked off. The staff removed out the stall cars. The area was made into official parking lot with twenty-four-hour security. There was only one way in and one way out. Guards with rifles stood at both exits. There were several other vintage cars and vintage motorcycles. There were also two cruisers from Bangor, Maine. The EMP must not have affected them. Everyone who parked here needed an escort to the governor’s office.

  “Mr. Randal, Officer Ryan and I are going up to meet with the governor,” the lieutenant said to me as he received a receipt for the Buick. “The hospital that you want to go to is about a twenty-minute bike ride from here.”

  “Bike ride? What the hell!” I said in bewilderment.

  “Yes, Mr. Randal, a bike ride. You are gracious with your car. If you drive and park your car there, it will be gone within a few minutes. I will send a patrolman with two bikes. One for you and one for him,” the lieutenant said with a firm voice.

  “But I have a gallon of spring water and a little food to barter w
ith the doctors,” I said.

  “That’s fine. We have baskets for carrying parcels. It is a common thing,” the lieutenant said as he started walking away. “We’ll meet here at fourteen hundred hours.”

  “You mean 2:00 p.m., Lieutenant? We’re not in the military anymore,” I said, but I doubted he heard me. How the crap do I know when two o’clock is without a watch or cell phone? I thought. This is really getting complicated. Why couldn’t we keep this simple? I could drop the two officers off and go to the hospital. I would check things out and get back to Alice by lunch. Now I had to wait for a patrolman and take a bike ride. It felt like I was part of the Brady bunch. Right now I could take a shot of whiskey just to calm my nerves.

  I waited for close to thirty minutes in a parking lot with guards that look like they could be serving at Buckingham Palace. At least they could have let me back onto the main street. There was no TV so that I can look at the coeds. That could have made for thirty minutes of blissful memories. God created those pretty little creatures so that men could smile. Once they smiled, the dentist could say, “Oh boy, do you have a credit card on you?”

  I looked up, and there was the patrolman with two bikes. Mine had a basket in the front. At least it was not a woman’s bike. In this politically correct world, anything would fly. Even Milton Burrill, a famous actor, dressed as a woman almost a century ago. It was his shtick. I did not care for it, but it was accepted then. Nowadays it’s like Sadie Hawkins day occurs multiple times a year.

  The patrolman handed me the bike with a basket attached. We also had two chains with locks on them.

  “You have a .22 rifle with you,” the patrolman said as he pulled out a strap. “I don’t think you will need it around here, but it is good to have. If anyone did see us, they would likely back off.” He also gave me a light jacket with state police on it. He indicated to me that it would make this venture less complicated, which was music to my ears. He was in good shape. He was middle-aged but not a jock. It looked like he ate donuts with his coffee. At least his morning coffee. God gave me a reprieve. No more Captain Americas. If we ever get back to normal, I would have two quests. One would be to find that Indian chief from Connecticut and thank him all over again. The second would be to find each of the policemen who helped me and buy them a cup of coffee. In honesty, the lieutenant had gained my respect. I wished they still had the red light district. I could buy him two tickets as a thank-you gift. Knowing him, he would arrest me for corruption.