them from the roll. “Here is my precious Egyptian cotton sheet.” I tear another two sheets off the roll and tell her, “And, this is your copious plush blanket.” I lay it over her legs and slide it up till it covers her chest, while shaking it slightly. “Yes my lady. If you wouldn’t mine; please hold this.” After she grabs it, I spread my sheet of plastic over me and proceed to brace myself up against the opposing wall. In just a few minutes we are warm as toast.
“On a more serious note,” I state. I cautiously and compassionately advance in asking her certain questions, but I am curious to know how she survived the last month alone. “I’d like to know more about how you got inside that hole.” Tiffany starts explaining where she left off. It seems Tiffany and doctor dad were abundantly prepared for the end of the world in their basement. By her description though, it was more like a house underground. She tells me there were loud explosion one day, followed by their place being torn apart. I figure I know what caused it. I remember the jets shooting missiles that day. Tiffany cries as she explains how she survived, but daddy didn’t.
I’m not able to figure out if this bombing was intentional, or if they were just random casualties of the New California Air Guard assault on Irreverent. I am able to figure out the basement was not designed to be a bomb shelter. I learn that she eventually was able to crawl up and out of the rubble she called home. The first thing she saw was the entire neighborhood flattened. She had no place to go so she just hung around surviving on the little food and water she rummaged out of the debris. I reason, she must have been living that way for over a month. I guess she was foraging when she slide down a pile of debris into the hole. It seems this caused the pile to loosen and avalanche the surrounding rubble over her, sealing her in. She believes she was trapped in her cold dark confinement two days before I found her.
Tiffany’s recollection takes a toll on her emotionally.
She tries not to cry, but I can see the flood gates opening. I
slide alongside her and toss my right arm over her shoulders. “Don’t worry honey; I’ll take care of you.” I inform her we need to get some shut eye. I help her to lie down on one side of the heater, while I lie down on the other side. I pull my rucksack under my head, and then prop my hands behind it. I prepare myself to rest rather than to sleep. I want to be alert to any unusual sounds. As for Tiffany, she tucks the plastic in around herself, and then asks me, “So, what happen to the goblin?” I quietly smile and think how she is still a child at heart. “If you promise to go to sleep, I’ll tell you.” She rolls on her side and slides her “praying hands” pillow under her head, and then attentively waits for my finale.
I tilt my head slightly towards Tiffany and say, “Now, where was I? Was it at the snowy part or the rainy part?” I reach my left hand around and begin tapping my index finger on my chin acting like I’m trying to remember. “It was the part where the kind little girl went to cheer the sad goblin,” Tiffany emphatically states. “Shhh, you go to sleep,” I warn her. “Okay then. The kind little girl knocks and asks, ‘Won’t you please let me in nice goblin’?” I continually stare at this fine young lady as I tell the story. My heart feels her sorrow and her pain. I think how she might possibly be about the age of my daughter; if I ever had one. “The goblin grew tired of her bothersome knocking and honored her request by opening the door. The kind girl thanked her and said ‘We’re sorry for treating you so mean’. The goblin’s pitiful tears soon changed in to ones of joy and tenderness.” I watch Tiffany’s innocent eye lids tucking in her tired eye balls slowly “goodnight.” I softly speak, “The goblin hoisted the little darling to her shoulders and proudly proceed to the harvest festival. Along the way, she made a giant beautiful Harvest Moon for all to enjoy.” Tiffany looks as if she is sound asleep. I lean over and whisper, “The townsfolk welcome her with open arms and hug her. They had a wonderful time together. From then on they always remember to pay tribute to the goblin.” Real softly I whisper in her ear, “And, all the world was right.”
Oh so softly, I kiss her head and whisper, “Goodnight honey.”
I lay here and listen to the sounds in the night. I meditate in the stillness supplicating my prayer of protection with God. There are distant sounds amidst this extraordinary quietness the fog brings. I figure the laden drenched dew is causing teetering debris to lose its battle with gravity. The occasional intermittent sounds are preceded by a symphonic concerto of subtle screeching sounds. The lurking clandestine evil mixture of the night makes me feel like I am the ghost “Eric” from “Phantom of the Opera.” I try fighting to remain alert, but the sirens of the mysterious mist sweetly serenade me to a finer time.
I find myself floating free through this temporal tunnel in time. I stand at attention on a sunny summer’s day. I hear the General end his ceremonial speech with, “You should be proud of your achievement soldiers. Will you please help me in congratulating these top graduates?” I stand perfectly still in this darn heat wondering when I’ll be able to swipe the sweat burning my irritated eyes. Then, the applause and pride tackle me in a joyful sea of cap tossing cadets. I improvise and turn my cap in to a handkerchief before I exalt it to the sky. I feel the pats, and grasp hands slaps, as I stare off towards the distant shore. I see joyous family members ride the crest of this approaching tsunami. A multitude of outstretched chaotic arms are flung, or flinging, to rescue my fellow comrades with their hugs and kisses. I brave the wave and push through it, as I am blinded by the bright blaring sunshine sparkling off a million small brass mirrors. “Mom, Sis!” I call to them. I watch helplessly as they are caught in the undertow of the floating frenzy. I twist, turn, and struggle through the wave that’s battling to keep us apart. I raise my arms as a guiding beacon to let them know, “I’m over here!” Again, their wonderful faces bob up from the approaching surf. I hysterical hoist them a tow line by tossing my right arm, and open hand over the top of the wave. “Grab my hand momma!” I scream. Firmly secure, I tenderly pull momma and my sister
towards my embrace.
“Honey, I am so, so, so proud of you” momma tells me. I can hear her quiet whimper vibrate off my chest as this sea constantly roars with loud pounding voices. My sister tries repeatedly to tell me something, but she is frustrated in the futility of her drowning words. I see off in the distance a peaceful island. I hold tight while jerking us in and out of the waves to this secret secluded paradise.
We finally reach this tropical bastion surrounded by the shady underside of the bleachers. Sis yells, “I tried to say-I knew you could do it!” She abruptly wraps her present of love around my formal wool attire. This is surely a treat, and something I’m not use to from her. I want to return the appreciation, but she refuses to retire her salute long enough for me to embrace her. Mom joins the festivity finding just enough room to maneuver between us and the bleacher. I surrender in the serenity of this surreal memory. A strange sound permeates the moment. I hurry to reach under their embraces and secure them. I will never let them go, but this ruthless noise behind me tears me from them.
I see darkness and feel my cold hands rubbing my eyes awake. I hear a voice and several footsteps coming down the alleyway. I freeze in fear within the cold dark damp quiet. I’m very careful not to make a sound. The noise stops. I hear a slow creaking sound and the rubbing of moist wood sliding on a lubricated surface. I now hear a slow crunching sound; similar to the sound of first steps on fresh packed snow. I promptly determine the dead grass is frozen outside and someone is coming through the gap in the fence. I remain still hoping we’ll go unnoticed.
The steady stepping of the crunching sound slowly encroaches upon us. “Think, think!” I tell myself. I try and formulate a possible weapon, while I frantically joust with the decision to wake Tiffany, or not. Swiftly, I decide “no” to the latter, and my flashlight and penknife to the former idea. The sound is creeping around the doghouse as I prepare my
weapons. I methodically maneuver into position at the entrance. The sou
nd stops on the other side of the plastic curtain. My whole body is in overdrive of its “fight or flight” nature. I elevate my shaking flashlight, preparing the first part of my plan. Hopefully, I will temporally blind it long enough to stab a vital part of it. It just stands there waiting.
Leathery fingers move to my side of the plastic, and then slowly pull at it. I see its legs are covered with unusually fine material immediately confusing my logic. I patiently wait for that most opportune moment when the curtain reveals the face of this foe. I time turning on my flashlight. I see a dark face appear from behind the plastic. I shine my light at it, and then I stab at it. I blind it and see it fall away from my swipe. It slams backward on the ground as I hear Tiffany jump up. I race to leap on it attempting to cut its jugular vein. I shove my light in its face and pause. I don’t see a brand on his head. I just see someone who looks as scared as me. “Who are you?” I demand! I hold my cold steel blade against his throat as I force my light further in his face. Shaking under my restraint he mutters, “I’m Irreverent Militia.”
By this time Tiffany is standing next to me with her own weapon posed to afflict it on the intruder. She is holding a stone in the air ready to smash it down. I signal her with my hand to wait, as I offer him my hand. “My name is Joey and this is Tiffany. We’re Irreverent too.” I assist him up and silently instruct him to follow us back inside. He tells me, “By the way, I’m Doug.” We move back inside the tiny cramped cold quarters and fight to find a spot to sit. I replace the plastic door and light another heater. As the light and heat grows, I ask Doug questions while he explains why he’s here.
“I saw muddy footprint heading up the alley leading to the hole in the fence. I knew the tracks were fresh,” Doug informs us. I figure the moisture and all the meteorite dust gave us away. He goes on telling us how he’s part of a group going around town trying to find others to recruit. The fog seems to have provided them a good opportunity for their
purpose. There are six others with him that are currently searching some house near the intersection a half block away. He saw the footprints and thought he’d investigate.
I tell Doug about “Project Hope.” I tell him about its purpose and mine. He informs me that he is actually from Liberty Falls. I never really thought about the name of the town before, but it is kind of ironic now. This is a town approximately fifty miles away. That is where the headquarters of their operation is located. They have only a few weapons to defend themselves, but they’ve made swords and knives. They are in contact with another Irreverent militia further north. That militia has been able to pilfer supplies and weapons by ambushing “Trinity” military affiliates. They’re stock piling the weapons until they have enough Irreverent to take on the enemy.
I hear several people crunching this way on the asphalt as Doug peeks out the plastic. He whispers towards them, “Over here.” I ask him if he has military experience while we wait for the others to arrive. He laughs at me, and then tells me “No.” His specialty is homemade steam and methane powered electric generators. Doug explains how he helps hiding Irreverent by creating electricity for pumping well water. He tells me he uses abandon satellite dishes covered with foil from things like empty potato chip bags. He then glues it to the dish surface. This concentrates the Sun’s heat on any hanging black metal container full of water. The dish uses reflected sunlight, which gets the pot to over 300 degrees. The intense heat forces steam out a nail size hole on top. The steam turns PVC blades installed on any direct current generator creating electricity; much like what Moses built. He also makes methane powered generators out of lawnmower engines. This type of DC generator is powered by capturing methane gas from the tops of septic tanks. He tells me he’ll show me how it’s done sometime. I tell Doug sometime I’ll show him how to put a “sleeper hold” on someone and knock him unconscious in less than ten seconds. We agree with a
hand shake while saying, “It’s a deal.”
Doug slides over the plastic curtain to show his approaching brothers our location. I can see they are all fairly well dressed for the weather, wearing really decent clothing. I ask him what they have on. This strikes me as odd. I haven’t seen anyone with clean new clothing in a long time. Doug opens his black rain coat and shows me he’s wearing the old olive drab U.S Army fatigues. He explains they were able to gather a load of military wear from the big surplus store in his town. “And, that’s not all,” he tells us.
We move outside and introduce ourselves as quietly as possible. One of his comrades sees me shivering and compassionately gives me the sweater he’s wearing under his jacket. I hurry and slide it over my plastic bag; a.k.a. jacket, and rub my arms with its supplied body warmth. I check the time and find that the sun will be rising in about an hour. The last two of his militia walk hurriedly towards us as I put on my rucksack. Tiffany slides the extinguished heater back in my sack then tries patting her hair down in place. One of Doug’s associates alerts us that he heard voices coming this way. They sound as if they are still about three blocks away. We all hustle down the alley while slicing the cold fog in the opposite direction those voices were reported coming from. We say our goodbyes at the intersection of the alleyway and the street, and we plan to me up later at “H.” They are traveling south, and we’re heading west.
The fog seems even thicker here. We make it to the intersection of the streets as the fog temporarily reveals the name on street sign. I remember my grade school was just a few hundred feet down from this intersection. I take this thick fog in to consideration and decide it’s too dangerous to travel. We’re likely to fall in a crater, or come upon an LD before we even know it. Plus, I think the school might be a place to pick up some rudimentary things I’ve been wanting. I decide we’ll hide at the school till the fog lifts. We turn and head towards the school.
I swing open the rusty wrought iron gate that’s been unlocked for many years now. I immediately feel the rush of so many good memories flow over me. Now the place looks like the decrepit mansion on the hill from “Citizen Cane.” We maneuver up the shattered concrete steps leading us inside the main corridor. I shine my light carefully towards the floor and look around. The roof is gone, for the most part, and many of the walls have caved in. I try and locate the stairwell that leads down to the place where I am hoping will have what I am looking for. I look at Tiffany and notice she is barely able to keep awake. This will also probably be a good spot for her to nap for a few more hours. I see the lower entrance exactly where I remember it, but it is mostly hidden by leaning broken book cases in the main hallway. We slide carefully behind them and attempt to descend to the lower level.
There is just one obstacle hindering our descent. It’s nothing that will stop us though. The hand rails are missing, but all the stairs are still intact. The metal stairs have fared much better than any part of the building I’ve seen so far. Tiffany asks, “Where are we going?” I tell her, “To the ‘Janitor’s Room’.”
We make it down to the bottom of the stairwell. I face the light towards where I remember the room being. I recollect it being at the end of this hall just past this litter of broken desks, and the protruding roots sticking out from the cracked walls. I try not to say anything that might scare Tiffany, but this feels like a horror movie. It looks like a crucible filled with grabbing arms reaching out trying to snatch us. I get the “he bee gee bees” walking around these things. I pray along the way the thick metal door to the “Janitor’s Room” is unlocked. I sigh in relief to find it is.
I open the door to an orchestra of screeching violins and tell Tiffany to wait here for a minute. I proceed inside while wiping away a zillion cob webs with my spinning arm and flashlight. I carve a path down the steps, and then call
Tiffany to come in. I shine the light up to the door to watch Tiffany reluctantly descend the darken flight of metal stairs. “Yep, just as I remember it,” I tell her. “I use to come here and talk to old George the janitor. This is a combination room. There are the boilers,” I mov
e my flashlight to show her, “And, there is George’s nap room.” I walk behind the boiler to the closet not expecting to find anything, but I see the bed old George would hide out and nap in. I think about him every now and then. He might have been a bit lackadaisical, but he was a superfluous body of wisdom. He took me under his wing teaching me a lot of wise things about life. I reach in my sack and retrieve some “Canned Heat.” I light it and place it on a small end table next to George’s old napping bed. I invite Tiffany to rest as I swipe the dust away from the bedding. I cough, but she seems too tired to care. “Sleep,” I tell her. “I’ll get you up in a little while.” After I help her get situated, I head out to find some goodies.
I try and remember where the school supplies were kept as I journey back towards the stairs. I stop in one of the old class rooms along my way and find the first ingredient on my “wish list.” I see the chalk that is still in the slot at the base of the chalkboard. I gather all I can find, and then place it in my hand. I see the teacher’s overturned desk and check inside it. I find three unopened boxes of the white stuff, and a “baggie” to put it in. I think, “Life is good!” I continue gathering all of it while placing it in the baggie. I seal it and then slide it into my rucksack. I stand here a moment reverently recalling my childhood memories of a sweeter time before moving back out into the dark scary hallway.
I jostle by the debris in my attempt to make it to the far end of the dark dirty corridor. I occasionally stop in other classrooms along my way checking for items I on my “wish list.” I find more chalk and crayons, and eventually the supply room. “Ah, rock salt and filters.” The school stored bags of the salt to melt winter ice off the exterior steps. I also find “air conditioning filters.” They contain activated carbon. I fill a bag
A Abba's Apocalypse Page 20