“Your family needs you,” Christina said. “Enough of this foolishness.” Richie walked past Terrance to the foyer with Gabrielle in hand. “Where are you going?” Christina continued.
Richie turned at the door. “We're leaving. Drop me a line when you get back.” Richie opened the door as he pulled his shaken girlfriend outside with him.
“Get back here!” Terrance shouted.
The door shut, and with it, Richie and his girlfriend were gone. Terrance looked to Christina. “Well, go get him,” she said.
Terrance fled the living room and went outside. There were even more wanderers than before, aimlessly moving around the neighborhood in various levels of shock. Richie had made it about ten feet down the sidewalk before Terrance yelled to him from the curb.
“Richie! This is your last chance. You get back in this house before it's too late.”
Richie said nothing in response, pulling Gabby along at a hurried pace.
Terrance his anger rising. “When you come back here, we're gonna be gone. By then it'll be too late. Don't say I didn't warn you!”
Richie was soon out of sight as the sidewalk curved around and into another street. Several people from the neighborhood looked at Terrance, his yelling drawing their attention. He stood there quietly, thinking what to do. He had a few options available. He could chase after Richie in a fury, get him in a headlock, and drag him back to the house. He could follow them in the van, throw Richie in, and tie him up like a kidnapping. Or he could go back inside and tell Christina that they would have to go to Milledgeville without him.
Terrance had dropped Richie off at Gabrielle's house once before, but struggled to remember where the girl lived. In a way, Terrance believed that his son would be all right. Richie was almost eighteen. Terrance knew, however, that no matter the reason, Christina would hold him accountable for him running away. He walked back into their home as late afternoon approached to tell her the news.
Domesticity
Monday, September 21, 2020, 6:30 p.m., Savannah, Georgia
Mark and Janice packed their luggage tight, as if they were going on an extended vacation. Janice had written her own packing list as Mark grabbed whatever he could fit in. The sun had gone down, and with it came darkness inside their house. The bedroom was lit by a few candles on their dresser and nightstand. Mark and Janice understood prepping. They knew they had to take action following the power outage. Mark was certain, much like Terrance and Christina, that their neighborhood wasn't safe anymore and that it would only be a matter of time before things imploded.
They were prepared to flee to the bug-out house, but for how long? While they both regularly practiced awareness, the power outage took them by surprise, just like everyone else. The unexpected nature of the event led them to discover how truly unprepared they actually were. Most of the food they had been storing in the cellar had expired. There were plenty of canned and pickled items, as well as dried fruits and preserved meats, but most of it had been stored for over a year. They initially put a lot of work into it, but that enthusiasm soon wore off, leaving them with a large supply of expired and useless food items.
Mark, a car salesman, and Janice, a representative at a temp agency, both had busy schedules and overlooked their food supply. They hadn't cycled through their food for some time. The food in the fridge wouldn't last more than a few days. They had no idea if the grocery stores were open and if anything would be left. The blackout was a recipe for looting and rioting, and both Mark and Janice knew it. For the time being, they were in the relative safety of their home.
They were relieved to have the Milledgeville bug-out house as a backup safe house. They may not have kept up with their food supply, but they had plenty of cash. They weren't wealthy; it was quite the opposite. They had been putting money aside in case of emergencies. The cash, along with their passports, birth certificates, and important documents, was stored in a small biometric safe hidden in their closet.
They also had a box of silver coins that Mark had invested in over the years. The idea was that silver, like gold, retained its value if inflation or hyperinflation were to hit the economy. At the very least, Mark would use silver as a bartering tool in times of financial crisis. With their bank accounts inaccessible, along with those of thousands of others, things couldn't have been more troubling. Their modest cash savings totaled around $5,000. As emergency cash, it would come quite in handy. It took discipline to avoid spending it when they ran into financial difficulty in the past. With the power out, credit and debit cards rendered useless, it was imperative to have cash; Mark was glad that he had never raided the safe when he and Janice were just scraping by.
“Make sure to bring everything in the safe,” Janice told Mark as she folded her clothes neatly into her large leather suitcase. It was as if she were reading his mind.
“I'm on it,” Mark said, kneeling at the safe door in the closet. He pressed his finger on the biometric sensor and opened it. The contents were just as he remembered leaving them. The cash was sealed in a large manila mailing envelope, as were their passports. A small box contained their silver coins. Mark took out everything and closed the safe door.
“Thank God we have cash on-hand. Everything in our accounts, for the moment, is gone,” Mark said, barely comprehending his own words. He walked to the bed where his suitcase sat open and placed the items from the safe inside a black backpack lying next to it.
“I don't even want to think of what's going to happen to ATMs,” Janice said. “Or the banks in general.”
“Well, the banks only have so much cash,” Mark said, tossing some clothes aside. “I wouldn't go near one right now, though.”
Janice zipped up her suitcase and then held up her list to examine it with a mini-flashlight in the darkness of their candlelit room. She set the list down on her nightstand and looked to Mark. “So we're really leaving.”
“Is that a question?”
“No, I'm just thinking it over. Is our house going to be safe?”
“It will be after we board it up,” Mark said while stuffing some shirts into the suitcase.
Janice looked at him cockeyed. “Are you serious? When exactly did you plan on leaving?” she asked.
“Late. We'll go when the streets clear. We can't risk being mobbed.”
“Yeah, but it's a two-, almost three-hour drive. You'll be exhausted. You might kill us on the road.”
“I've got a solution. We can split the tasks. I'll drive to Milledgeville, and you can board up the windows.”
Janice frowned and stared at Mark sternly without blinking.
“I'm only kidding, all right?” Mark said with his arms out.
Janice wasn't amused. “This is no time to joke around,” she asked.
“What am I going to do, sit around and cry? How about you lighten up some?”
Janice crossed her arms together. Her lips formed a straight line. “I'm perfectly fine, thanks. Remember, leaving is your idea. Not mine.”
“It's an EMP, Janice. I'm just trying to keep us safe.”
“I understand that. But I need to know exactly where your head is at. Have you really thought this entire thing through?”
Mark took Janice's hand in his, trying to calm her. “I don't have all the answers.”
“I don't need all the answers. I just need you to be open with me.”
“I'm trying to,” Mark answered.
Janice backed away and sat on the bed. “I think we need a long-term strategy here. Let's talk for a minute.”
Mark walked over the dresser where a candle had gone out. He picked up another one still burning nearby and used it to light the one that had gone out, using the brief moment to get his thoughts together. At Janice's insisting, he came back to the bed and sat next to her.
“How long do you think this will last?” she asked.
“The EMP?”
“Everything. The power. Cars not working. All of this,” she said.
“I can only e
stimate,” Mark said.
“What's your estimate? A week? A month?” Janice paused. “A year?”
“It shouldn't last any longer than a month, but I'm not sure. It'll take a while before everything goes back to normal, if it goes back to normal.”
“If?” Janice asked.
Mark put his arm around Janice and held her. “If you want to tough it out here instead of going to the bug-out house, I’m open to other ideas, you know.”
“Yeah, but the supermarkets, they'll be cleaned out in a few days. I don't see any police. We're defenseless here. I don't think we have a choice,” Janice said.
“We'll figure something out,” Mark said.
Janice rested her head on his shoulder. A cool breeze from the open window blew gently through the air, agitating the flames on the dripping candles. “I say we give it a week.”
“A week?” Mark asked.
“A week at the bug-out house,” she said.
Mark slowly rose from the bed and rubbed his hand together. “In that case, let’s hope for the best.”
Night Flight
Mark worked through the night nailing plywood over every window in their modest two-bedroom, two-story home. Janice lent a hand, shuttering with each nail he put into their once-nice window frames. The house was being sealed off like a tomb. Their bug-out car was parked in the driveway and with it boxes of supplies from the cellar: batteries, flashlights, Kerosene lanterns, water bottles, antibiotics, gauze, purifying tablets, hygiene products, some books, magazines, and playing cards.
Janice left Mark and went outside to get some fresh air. She walked to the end of the driveway and looked around their street as Mark's hammering rang out throughout neighborhood. There were people in dark homes sitting by candlelight; others were standing outside, unsure of what to do. She thought of their kind, elderly neighbor next door, Mr. Harper, and wondered how he was holding up. The hammering continued, and she worried about the attention it was bringing them. Their neighbors from across the street, Doug and Mary, peered out their windows and looked directly at her. She walked back to the front porch quickly out of view.
Houses without power were aligned like dominoes down the street of their neighborhood. Some families had gathered outside their yards. Children waved flashlights into the air. She heard voices, followed by laughter. After being stripped of every ounce of normalcy around them, from cars, to cell phones, to the multiple flat-screen televisions in nearly every room of every house, the neighborhood seemed to be celebrating. They looked like they were having fun.
They made fires in their front yards and began to grill burgers and hot dogs. She could smell the delicious aroma drifting through the air. It looked like a block party, something she had never seen in her neighborhood during the five years she and Mark had lived there. The hammering from inside continued. Suddenly, a voice called out to her from behind.
“Janice, that you?” the elderly voice said. She turned around, startled. It was Mr. Harper from next door. He leaned on his cane and squinted at her though his glasses.
“Mr. Harper, so nice to see you,” Janice said with a smile.
“Looking great, as always,” Mr. Harper said.
“Thank you. How are you?” Janice asked.
“Me? Doing fine, I suppose. Hammering from your house woke me up, so I come out here to see what all the fuss is about.”
Janice placed her hands to her face. “Oh, I'm so sorry. Mark is almost done. He shouldn't be much longer.”
“What's he doing over there, building a deck?” Mr. Harper asked.
“Something like that,” Janice said.
Mr. Harper nodded and looked around. “Looks like an old-fashioned neighborhood barbecue. Haven't seen anything quite like it in years.”
“I haven’t seen anything like this ever.”
“That reminds me, you guys got power back in your house yet?” Mr. Harper asked, pushing up the bill of his hat.
Janice looked up at her house. Its front windows were completely blocked by plywood. “Not yet. Hopefully it's not too much longer.”
“Good, I can barely see around the house. Almost fell down the stairs when I got out of bed.”
Janice's face soured. She didn't like the idea of Mr. Harper being alone in his house or alone overall. Things were amicable now between neighbors, but the hot dogs and hamburgers wouldn't last forever.
“Why don't you come with us?” Janice asked.
He looked at her in absolute confusion. “Huh? What are ya' talking about?”
“Mark and I. We’re taking a little road trip, just until things blow over. You should come with us. You're not safe here.”
Mr. Harper took a step back, again not understanding what Janice was talking about. “Thanks, Janice. Think I'll be OK. Power is out for a little bit, that's all. Besides, Martha is coming home tonight; gotta have dinner waiting for her.”
“Mr. Harper, wait—” Janice called out. He had already started walking back to his house with each push of his cane. He slipped past the trees separating their yards and was gone. His wife, Martha, had been dead for ten years, but when he cooked, he always saved her some leftovers. Janice had made up her mind; they were going to take Mr. Harper with them.
***
“No, absolutely not,” Mark said, hammer in hand. He was on his last sheet of plywood when Janice came in.
“Why not?” she asked defensively.
Mark turned to her, sweating from the head down. He was too exhausted for an argument.
“Look, I like Mr. Harper too, but it's just not part of the plan. We show up at the bug-out house with an extra person, James is going to have a fit.”
“Forget James for a moment. Mr. Harper is our neighbor and friend. Without power and food, he's not going to last long. Doesn't that bother you in the least?”
Mark hammered one last nail into the side of the board and dropped the hammer to the ground.
“Does it?” Janice asked again.
“Yes, Janice, it does. Maybe one of the neighbors can keep an eye on him, check in on him every now and then.”
“Those same neighbors are having a barbecue right now. I think Mr. Harper is the last thing on their minds.”
“A barbecue?” Mark asked, intrigued.
“Yep, first neighborhood tailgate I've seen here yet,” Janice answered. Mark wasn't sure what to say or think about the matter. He knew that before anything, he needed a break.
It was nine, and all the windows had been boarded up. He felt ready to go. But the notion of leaving Mr. Harper did get to him. He took Janice by the hand and walked down the stairs as she steadied a flashlight. The house immediately became stuffy, and most of the noise from outside had been stifled. They could barely hear the sounds of the neighbors intermingling, and if it weren’t for the front door being opened, and the candles, the house would be pitch black inside. They followed Janice's flashlight to the end of the stairs. Mark fell onto the couch, exhausted. Janice stood over him.
“Do you want water or anything?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure, a bottle of water would be fine.”
Janice walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Its uninviting blackness was a reminder of how comfortable their lives had been only twelve hours before. She grabbed a water bottle, one of the few items remaining inside, and shut the door.
“You know, honey, I was thinking,” Janice said as he strolled toward Mark and handed him the bottle. He took it and gulped it down, waiting for her to continue. “All of the neighbors coming together and having a cookout, it's pretty encouraging. Maybe we don't have to be in such a rush to leave after all.” She may have even been trying to convince herself of something.
“How long have we lived here, Janice? Five years? When was the last time we even talked to anyone other than Mr. Harper? We know nothing about these people. It's all fun and games now, but after a week of this, they'll be singing a different tune.”
“I know that,” Janice said. “I'm
just saying that right now, things seem pretty calm. Maybe that gives us a day or two.”
Mark sighed. “You want me to talk to Mr. Harper or what?”
Janice sat down on the couch next to him. “About what?”
“About who is going to be looking after him. If he has anyone he can stay with.”
Janice lifted Mark's legs and put them on her lap. “You do whatever you feel is best. I tried to talk to him, but he went back into his house. He thinks his wife, Martha, is coming back. It's so sad, and I'm worried about him.”
“OK, this is the plan,” Mark said. “Nothing changes. Tonight would be an even better time to leave. Think about it. They're having beers and burgers, and no one is really paying attention to us. No one has said a thing about the hammering yet, and that's good. We leave later tonight, and no one bats an eye. Maybe they think we're going on vacation.”
“You seem very paranoid of our neighbors,” Janice said.
“I'm just trying to be realistic here,” Mark replied. “We're part of a prepper pact; those are the only people we need to be concerned with.”
“What about our friends? Our families?”
Mark noticed that she was upset. Her doubts about leaving were creeping in again. It was driving him crazy. He took her by the hand and spoke gently. “We'll throw everyone a line soon. The bug-out house isn't permanent. It's our temporary refuge. And it's only a few hours away. That's not asking a lot for our own personal safety.”
Janice nodded. He had somewhat reached her or, at the very least, put her at ease. “Let's rest a little before we leave. We can just lie on the couch until it's time to go,” Janice said. Their front door was open, and the night sky could be seen from where they sat.
“One last thing,” Mark said, rising. “Let me go talk to Mr. Harper.”
***
Mark walked up the steps to Mr. Harper's wooden front deck. He looked out into the street and could see barbecue grills set up in the front yards of their neighbors. Men, women, and children congregated in groups without a care in the world. Mark had figured everyone would have killed each other by now. He felt aggressively on edge every time he thought about not being able to access his phone. Middle-aged men with beer guts and open, short-sleeved button-ups talked and laughed while holding bottles of beer and tending the grills.
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