THE COLLAPSE: Swantown Road

by Frank Kaminski

  The little piece of shit on the couch could tell that he was in pain. He sensed it, maybe even relished it. He had a malicious air about him and an obnoxious grin underneath that disgusting little mustache.

  He lifted his chin sharply and said to Fish, “You leaving now, right?”

  “No. Connie said to wait.” Fish replied, trying to maintain some dignity.

  “Oh, Connie? You call her Connie?” The oily husband laughed. “Is that her ‘navy’ nickname or something? That’s retarded. Her name is Vanessa, ya know?”

  “Yeah, I’m well aware of that, dude. She works for me. Thanks for the update, though.” Fish said, abruptly. His emotions had begun the conversion process from hurt to anger. Fish hated it when people used the word ‘retarded’ to describe something. It was so mean. The mentally challenged couldn’t help that they were born that way. They never asked for it.

  The little weasel on the couch shifted his weight and was about to say something else to Fish when Vanessa Constantine walked out of the bathroom. She appeared reluctant and afraid.

  She took a deep breath and then said, “Fish, this is my husband, Thomas. Thomas, this is my boss and good friend, Fish.” Connie said. Her introduction wasn’t very well received by either of them.

  “TC, man, it’s TC. Don’t ever call me Thomas. Anyone besides her call me Thomas, I’ll slap the piss out of them.” TC said, directly to Fish. Any hurt that remained in Fish’s heart was now replaced with rage. Inside his head, Fish laughed. TC looked like he’d have a hard time slapping the piss out of a ten year old, let alone a grown man.

  “Well, TC, what brings you back to Oak Harbor?” Fish said, suddenly smiling and very cordial. He walked over and plopped down right next to the sleezebag on the couch, maybe even just a little too close for comfort. He stared at TC, waiting for an answer. Connie was not anticipating Fish to do anything like that, she thought that he would have already left by now, furious and upset.

  “That would be none of your business, old timer. This is my place and my wife, not yours. So why don’t you get the fuck off my couch and get to steppin’.” TC said. It was a bold move, Fish was twice his size, stronger, and way more experienced. Fish could have easily smashed the little prick straight through the wall, or he could have folded him in half and left him in the trash can. Fish suspected that he might have had a gun or knife nearby. Nobody is that brave on their own accord. Unless they were clinically insane. No way.

  Connie interrupted before Fish could respond, “Please, Fish, just go. I’m so sorry about everything, but you have to go now. I’ll talk to you and explain everything at work on Monday. Please.” She whined, a definite look of pleading upon her face. Fish was a bit taken aback. She really meant for him to leave, she wasn’t just saying that. Even though Fish was good and ready to pulverize the little shit-eater on the couch, he had to respect her wishes. That was the way he was.

  Fish looked at Connie, then back at TC, who had that wily grin on his face again.

  Before he got up, Fish threw TC a cunning smile of his own, and said, “You’re lucky that Connie was here to save you. Otherwise, well, things might have been a little bit different.”

  TC’s expression shifted to fear for a moment as Fish towered over him, then back to conniving. He said, “Go, old man. See ya.” Then he laughed as Fish stood up to leave. As Fish neared the door, TC called out, laughing, “Thanks for the milk!”

  Fish never looked back at Connie again. Not once, as he slowly marched out of the apartment.

  *****

  Stephen was walking to his truck to go gather the extra ‘foodstuffs’ that Tarra requested, when Fish arrived at his house in a torrent with his new monster truck. As he watched Fish tear up a good portion of his gravel driveway that normally lied quietly adjacent to Swantown Road, his mind reverted back to what his wife had said.

  Tarra said ‘Foodstuffs’? Who the hell uses that word, anyway?

  Stephen then watched as his extremely upset best friend exploded out of his truck and landed on the ground, almost eating it in the winter-killed yellow grass of his yard.

  Uh, oh. That doesn’t look good. Stephen thought, but he didn’t have time to spare, chit-chatting in the yard. Fish looked like he really needed to talk, so Stephen invited him along on his trip to the store(s). Two sets of arms are better than one, and Fish would come in handy if there were any confrontations, which Stephen almost always avoided.

  “What’s the hurry?” Fish asked as Stephen drove.

  “There was a message on TV from the President, notifying the country that public demonstrations are no longer protected by freedom of speech, and are now against the law. I think it is just a temporary measure to restore order in the bigger cities, but of course, Tarra freaked out and sent me on a mission to go get a bunch of stuff in case there’s a blackout or riots, or whatever she thinks is gonna happen. She doesn’t even know. Plus her grandfather told her of another vision, and that got her freaked out too.”

  Fish nodded, as if in agreement with Tarra (which seemed odd to Stephen), and said, “Okay, that makes sense then. There were tons of people at both Walmart and Safeway earlier. I couldn’t figure it out. Everyone was in a hurry. Kind of like when there’s a storm coming, ya know? When all the old people go out and buy up all the milk and bread in the stores.”

  “Which is dumb.” Stephen added. “Because milk requires refrigeration and bread goes stale in a short time.”

  “Yeah.” Fish said, aloof. Stephen guessed that he probably thought the milk and bread thing was actually a good idea.

  “So what’s wrong with you? You don’t look so good.” Stephen asked.

  “I’m going to tell you something, but you can’t tell Tarra. You have to promise me that.”

  Stephen looked confused, and chuckled as he said, “You know I can’t do that!”

  “Well, try. You’re not gonna believe this, but Connie’s husband just showed up and she kicked me out of her apartment. I’m pretty damn sure she fucked him, too, while I was at the store. You can’t tell Tarra because she’ll go over there and strangle her with her bare hands!”

  “Yeah, she probably would!” Stephen agreed. “What the hell is wrong with that girl? Didn’t she say he was a piece of shit, and that he was gone for good? What changed?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think he has a weapon with him of some type. Connie looked afraid. He was pretty cocky to me and I could have easily destroyed him. And I mean easily. Maybe even with my left arm only.” Fish said.

  Stephen laughed and then thought for a moment, and said, “I think you’re making excuses for her. She could have never even opened the door for the dude. Admit it, you got trumped. I think she still loves the guy. Plus he’s the father of her child. This is all in my own humble opin-”

  Fish cut him off and waved him down to shut up, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You know what your problem is, pal? You’re usually right about shit like this. I don’t wanna hear that right now though, okay?”

  “I was just saying. That was all in my own humble opinion. I could be wrong.”

  Fish’s eyes became moist with the beginnings of tears. He said softly, almost to himself, “No, you’re always right. You’re the smart one. I’m the dumbass that does dumb shit all the time. If it wasn’t for you, and Tarra sometimes, I’d probably already be dead or in jail. I chase after dumb girls that do the same dumb shit that I do. And dumb girls always break dumb guys’ hearts.”

  “Don’t say that, man.” Stephen said, reassuringly. “Knock that off. It’s just bad luck. She’s just young and doesn’t know what the hell she wants in life. You can do better.”

  “She was better. She was perfect.” Fish said, almost full-out crying.

  “Hey! Dry your eyes, sailor! We’re almost there.” Stephen ordered. Fish rubbed a jacketed arm across his eyes and straightened up. He pointed to the Albertson’s parking lot.

  “See, I told you.” Fish said, referring to the enormous amount of vehicles parked there
.

  “Do you think we should try the commissary on base instead?” Stephen asked, giving Fish the power, which might make him feel relevant and better again. It was further away from Swantown Road than the other stores, but only active duty military folks and retirees could use it.

  “Yes, go there instead.” Fish said, making the command decision. “Probably less people there.”

  Stephen by-passed the grocery store and headed to the sea-plane base in Oak Harbor, where the commissary was located. There was a line of cars at the gate, and the two men noticed that a few of the vehicles were denied entry and into the base and were re-directed back toward town.

  “What’s going on over here?” Fish asked, as if Stephen would know. He didn’t.

  After Stephen waited his turn and brought his truck up to the access point, he presented his retiree ID card to the guard and was met with a surprise.

  The sentry said, “I’m sorry sir, but access is currently restricted to active duty and family members only, you will need to turn around.”

  “What?” Stephen asked, jokingly in disbelief. “When was that rule put into effect?”

  “This morning. You’ll need to turn around now.” The serious sentry replied.

  Fish quickly dug in his pocket and pulled out his active duty ID card and handed it across Stephen to the guard, and yelled, “Hey, I’m active duty.” Fish pointed a thumb at Stephen and added sarcastically, “He’s my twin brother.”

  The guard took a look at Fish’s ID card, then handed it back and said, “Very well.” He waved an arm to signal to the other well-armed men guarding the gate that Stephen’s truck was good-to-go.

  As Stephen drove through the gate he laughed to himself, and said to Fish, “What in the world was that all about? Active duty only? That’s never been a rule before.”

  “No idea, man. Good thing I came along with you, though!” Fish replied.

  “I know, right?” Stephen laughed again. When they arrived at the commissary, once again they noticed that there were vehicles on top of vehicles in the parking lot. Everyone was out shopping that Saturday, it seemed.

  Fish and Stephen grabbed a cart from the parking lot and pushed it inside. Fish could tell something was wrong with Stephen as they entered the crowded commissary. He knew Stephen for a long time, and knew very well that his entire world consisted of nothing but everyday routines and plans. His entire life was organized into neat little boxes, and he didn’t have a little box for this type of impending chaos. It didn’t fit. He didn’t know how to handle it.

  Fish, on the other hand, was built for chaos. He was designed by it, thrived on it, and even craved it. Just the sheer possibility that ‘something was about to go down’ gave Fish great excitement, and he almost forgot about Connie, if only for a moment.

  Stephen said, jokingly as they went down the first aisle, “So, what would Tarra need during an apocalypse, eh? Toilet paper? Tampons?” He laughed nervously and looked at Fish.

  Fish frowned and said, “Hey man, I’m not trying to be an ass, but I think you might want to start taking this shit a little bit more seriously. There’s something happening, and I have no idea what it is, but it ain’t good. You’re the one with a wife and two kids. Not me.” Fish told him, maybe a little too sharply. Fish didn’t want to upset him, especially since he was out of sorts, but Stephen and his family were everything to him. His own family barely gave him the time of day, and over the many years he spent with the Alexanders he viewed them as his own legitimate kin. He needed Stephen to snap out of his dream world and get back into reality, if only for the sake of Tarra and the twins.

  “You’re right. I do.” Stephen acknowledged. Fish was pleased to see Stephen’s face morph from doubt and skepticism to sober and determined. Stephen hurriedly pushed the cart to the side of the aisle so the abundant shoppers could slide past, and pulled out his cell phone. He pulled up an app and began to create a check-off list. Fish grinned at him and thought to himself; now, that’s my boy!

  *****

  While Stephen went out for extra supplies, Tarra made a trip outside and took a stroll along the fenceline to inspect the wood pile, as Stephen had told her that they had ‘plenty’ of wood to last a while. She just wanted to verify. Trust, but verify. Who was it that said that? Ronald Reagan?

  She was pleased to see that Stephen was correct, there was at least a cord and a half, maybe even two cord of wood along the fence. The neatly stacked split wood consisted of nearly three quarters Applewood and the rest was Alder. Applewood was great for cooking on the grill, or smoking meat, and it burned well for heat also. It was dry and ripe for burning, having seasoned nicely for a few years under the plastic canvas tarp. None of it appeared to be moldy at all.

  As Tarra concluded her inspection, she noticed a small portion of wood near the end of the fence was missing. The tarp had been sloppily slid over to conceal the theft. She guessed it was Mickey, the greasy neighbor, who had helped himself to some of it. He cooked outside a lot, and she assumed he had ‘borrowed’ some of the Applewood for that purpose.

  As luck would have it, Mickey stepped out onto his back porch and lit up a cigarette, just as Tarra was examining the missing portion of the pile. He grimaced and half-turned immediately once he noticed Tarra down by the wood, and she thought for a moment that he was going to dart back into his house. He didn’t, and remained outside to face the music.

  Tarra shouted to him over the fence, “Howdy, Mickey. Can you come here for a second please?”

  “Ya, darlin’ what’s up?” Mickey replied as he walked over.

  “I couldn’t help but notice that some of our wood is missing.” She spoke directly into his eyes, without fear. “I know it was you, and I’m asking politely that you don’t take any more. I know it was you because I have smelled the Applewood when you cook outside.” She said.

  “Right, right. Okay, you got me honey. Guilty as charged!” Mickey said, laughing. He was trying to be humble and amiable. Tarra wasn’t moved, and just stared at him. Mickey paused, and after a moment shifted his groin with his left hand while looking dead-on at Tarra’s breasts, and then took another drag off his cigarette before adding, “I’ll replace that wood as soon as I can. It’s my fault, I should’ve asked. I’m just a little low on funds right now, if ya know what I’m sayin’.”

  Tarra thought the man was repulsive, but refused to be intimidated and said, “It’s okay, Mickey, just don’t do it again. This is our wood and we are going to need it soon. You know Stephen is a good guy, and probably won’t do or say anything about you taking pieces without asking, but I will. Believe me.” She gave him the firmest glare that she could muster, to show him that she was serious. He nodded and gave her a quick mock salute as if he understood, and slowly ambled back up to his rain-faded wooden deck porch to finish up his smoke without saying anything else.

  Mickey had inherited the home next door to the Alexanders a little more than two years prior to that February from his deceased father. The father, named Earl Kessler, was a wonderful neighbor, and Stephen would have many chit-chats with him across the fence in the afternoons and evenings, as they both worked on their yards or projects outside. Since Mickey assumed ownership of the place, the house and yard both went to shit. Mickey did nothing to maintain the bushes along the fenceline, the flower gardens along the house or even the grass in the yard itself. Sometimes, during the early summer it would appear as if a person might need a jungle machete to chop their way from one end of the yard to another. Thistles grew out of control along the fence and crept over into the Alexander’s side. Stephen, of course, would just cut down what he could reach, and sometimes even help out Mickey a little bit by taking down the thistle plant itself, if he could do it without trespassing on Mickey’s property. Tarra never let the girls play outside alone when he was around. None of the Alexander’s cared for Mickey very much.

  *****

  Stephen and Fish were able to retrieve most of the items on the list, and ext
ra amounts were gathered when possible. Stephen didn’t care about the cost, and completely disregarded any bargain shopping. He was responsible for his family, and he had every intention of making sure they were fed and comfortable.

  One of the items on Stephen’s list was bottled water, and the commissary had been cleaned out of all of it. There wasn’t any whatsoever. Stephen and Fish had discussed where they might be able to find some water, but with all the town on a shopping splurge all at the same time, it might be impossible. Which was unfortunate, because that was one of the main items of importance on the list. Stephen seemed to be very distressed about it.

  Fish suggested, “Do you actually need bottled water? Why don’t we just buy some plastic containers and fill them up? What’s the difference, yo?” Fish shrugged, waiting for a response. He added, “Or, we can just get two-liter soda bottles and put water in there after we drink it. I’ll help drink it.”

  Stephen nodded his head and was glad that Fish was there to make that suggestion, it was a good idea. Except for the ridiculous part about him guzzling down soda just to use the bottle for water.

  At times, Stephen’s mind would enter “List Mode” and his absolute concentration to complete everything on a list would blind him from improvisation or adaptation. That had been one of those times indeed.

  With the excessive amount of customers on top of each other, it took almost two hours for them to gather all the items on the list, wait in the absurdly long line, and pay for all the stuff. Fish offered to help pay for some of the stuff, but Stephen already knew he was broke, and declined.