by Paul Z. Ford
His father seemed to be watching the burnt wreckage. Griffin drove next to him onto the property, and Llewelyn didn’t move. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and his hands and face were black with soot. Both houses had their exteriors burned almost completely away, leaving only the charred remains of some of the wooden studs and beams barely holding the shape of a home.
Griffin quickly jumped out of his truck and grabbed his father’s shoulders.
“What happened here? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Oh, my god, your house could have burned down too. We need to get out of here,” the son tried to turn the father toward the house but the older man fought to regain his position. “What’s going on?”
Then, Griffin noticed the object in his father’s hands. He grabbed it and held it up. A child’s toy, a pink elephant with a doctor’s white cross on a hat and a cloth stethoscope sewn to the body. Griffin tossed the strange toy absentmindedly into the bed of his truck and led his dad away from the edge of the driveway. They started walking toward the house, Griffin talking about getting cleaned up and getting out of this neighborhood.
“It’s been too long you’ve been out here alone. No firefighters? You could have died. Come with me. It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine,” he comforted his father. Llewelyn stopped and blinked a few times before looking directly at his son.
“Yes, son, you’re right. It will be okay,” he paused and looked back at the smoldering skeletons of the houses. He smiled at his son through the soot. “We have a lot of work to do rebuilding our neighborhood.
“Everything here has been cleaned.”
Chapter 12
Meeting
Christmas was seven days after the TV went out. The Kahn family spent Christmas morning opening presents, the ones Aisha had bought before the state of emergency, and drinking coffee while Daniel played with his new toys. The television remained powered down. Every time either of them had tried turning it on, they found the same red screen and emergency broadcast as the afternoon of a week ago.
Kahn had not gone into work all week. They still couldn’t call anybody or access the Internet, so neither had any idea what was going on outside of their home. Kahn had noticed some details that indicated all was not well. When he took the big trash can down to the end of the driveway on Thursday, outside the gate, he found it remained full. The mailbox stayed empty all week. Once, while walking down the driveway, he saw a neighbor several houses down riding a lawnmower around his yard. Other than that, neither he and Aisha had any contact outside of each other and their young son.
They were still fine with the amount of food they had. Although they used up most of the fresh produce and Kahn had cooked the last of the bacon that morning, but they still had enough dry and canned goods to last a while. The electricity and water stayed on, so even though Kahn brought in the case of water from Ash’s vehicle they hadn’t needed to use any of it. The unspoken fear, of course, was that their supplies would run out, or the utilities would stop working, before the emergency was contained.
But after opening their presents and sharing the morning together as a family, the worries of the world were diminished. This was Daniel’s second Christmas and he was getting the hang of opening presents by himself. The fact that their connected services didn’t work helped them to pay attention to and enjoy each other. Instead of checking his phone or watching TV, Kahn started reading an old book at night. Daniel could still watch and play the stuff downloaded on his tablet, but seemed to be doing so less often since his mom and dad were paying more attention to him. Kahn even felt happy. Guilty happiness really, since he knew others were suffering. Both adults felt far removed from the terrible scene they had witnessed together.
Around the middle of the day, Kahn decided to walk down to the edge of the property and see if anybody else was outside. He grabbed his jacket and the keys to the Escape on his way out the front door. The South Texas air was crisp and cool. It felt nice to have a Christmas day where he needed a jacket. Last year, for their first Christmas in the house and with their new baby, they all wore t-shirts and cooked burgers on the small grill outside. He thought this year he would even make a little fire in the fire pit as a treat, even though they didn’t have marshmallows to toast.
On a whim, he popped the lock of the company SUV with the key fob and sat himself in the driver’s seat. He looked back at the inventory from the store and wondered about his brother-in-law. He had expected that Ash would come to them when he could, and explained to Aisha that they left each other at work. He tried to convey that Ash was safe, though she still worried. Kahn worried about his parents in Illinois, near Chicago. That was one of the targeted cities he heard about last week, but they were in a suburb and he felt they were probably out of harm’s way. Aisha prayed for them while Kahn felt guilty that he did not.
He slid the key into the ignition and turned it. The radio crackled softly and he turned up the volume. There was slight static, but then the same repeating instructions from FEMA that were being played on every TV channel began to repeat through the car speakers. He quickly flipped through the FM presets, then the AM presets. Same thing on every station. No new information. Nothing to do but wait.
He removed the key and exited the chilly vehicle. His feet crunched in the gravel as he swiveled to close the door. As he did, he looked up toward his neighbor’s house. The neighbor’s truck was parked in front of his small elevated porch with the tailgate down. There were what looked like a couple of plastic totes loaded in the back. As Kahn peered over, the man walked out of the house with a green military duffel bag, laid it on the tailgate, and slid it into position. He walked back in and out of the house a couple more times, each time putting a new object in the bed of his truck. Kahn examined the pickup. It was bright red, fire engine red really, and sat on a dual set of rear tires. Kahn remembered noticing it when they first moved in here. It also had a decal of the Texas flag covering the whole rear window of the extended bed truck. Kahn imagined it was one of those two-way stickers so your vision wasn’t blocked since it didn’t leave any room to peak around while driving. It was a bit gaudy, Kahn thought.
Also on a whim, and because he was in a good mood because of the holiday, Kahn decided to walk over to the fence and say hello to his neighbor. He had never walked over to say hello before, but now it just seemed right to do so. A little bit of cheer to share on the holiday. His shoes crunched across the grass to the edge of the property where he leaned his arms on the top of the whitewashed metal rail of the top of the heavy fence. He waited casually until the neighbor made another trip outside. He did momentarily and spotted Kahn leaning forward on the barrier between the properties. He was carrying a large ammunition box by the handle plus a small, black box with alligator clips. It looked to Kahn like it was meant to attach to a battery, probably a charger. The big man he set both on the tailgate and wiped his hands on his pants.
The large man was wearing a khaki-colored button down shirt with pockets. It was loosely tucked in over his belly. Kahn thought it looked like a fishing vest, or something similar. His pants were an olive shade with cargo pockets. His sizable, but solid, gut and the work he was doing had caused his shirt to come loose on his right side. Kahn started to regret his decision to greet the man. The man’s eyes were fixed on Kahn, and shone brightly in stark contrast to his dark complexion and shaved head. He had a small, almost invisible, mustache on his lip, within Army regulations Kahn was sure, and a little bit of stubble on the rest of his face. He paused behind the truck and retrieved a bottle of water hidden behind the sidewall of the vehicle. He took a large swig, watching Kahn menacingly the whole time. Kahn’s face changed from friendly to defensive as he waited to see what the man would do.
He crushed the now empty bottle and threw it up onto the raised platform of the front porch. Then he turned and walked toward the barricade. His pants were bloused into his boots, the latter of which made hard sounds as he lumbered toward his neighbor.
; “Merry Christmas,” Kahn stated as the man drew near. He held his hand over the fence and waited for a reaction. The man was over a foot taller than Kahn and had a neutral expression on his face. Slowly, he reached forward and shook with his oversized hand. Kahn attempted a friendly grin.
“Sole Kimble,” the neighbor stated, “Merry Christmas to you, too. And you have a family?” He released his grip and waved toward the Kahn household. Kahn turned and saw Aisha standing in the entry. She held Daniel in one arm and shielded her eyes with the other. She returned Kimble’s wave and Kahn waved to her as well. He gave her a thumbs up signal and she walked back inside the house.
“I’ve actually briefly met you before, Sergeant Kimble. I was in your battalion up until last year. I was the supply sergeant for Headquarters company. Hal Kahn. You’re the admin NCO for C-company, right?”
“Just call me Kimble.” The man’s voice was soft and friendly. He seemed to now welcome the intrusion that Kahn’s greeting had created, and the intimidation and fear Kahn had felt started to subside. Kahn gestured toward the truck.
“Packing up?” He knew it was a stupid question. One of those things you say in a casual conversation, but it came out naturally before he realized he might not care for the answer. Kimble nodded and leaned heavily on the fence near his neighbor. He thought for a few seconds.
“What’s your plan over there, Kahn?” His reply ignored the inane question. He looked right into Kahn’s eyes, unwavering. Kahn shrugged, confused and not sure how to reply.
“Uh, well. We are just, waiting. For now, you know. Waiting for them to tell us what to do next.” Once again Kahn’s reply was met with calculated silence. Kimble seemed to be torn between wanting to advise and help the young family man or not. Another several seconds passed before he apparently decided this was not the time to be polite.
“What are you guys, Middle Eastern or something? Right?” The awkward question shocked Kahn. He wasn’t prepared for his neighbor to immediately question his heritage. Kahn felt flushed. He rubbed his face and pulled on the hair of his beard.
“Yes,” his voice croaked, “my wife and I are both Assyrian. Our parents were Iraqi. I was born in Illinois and she came to Texas as a kid.” He stopped. No reason to offload a family history on this stranger. The intrusion was blunt, and Kahn felt unsure why he even answered the question. Maybe it was because of this infection, or whatever it was, making him sensitive or scared. He didn’t want to elaborate further. Kimble nodded, tight-lipped and silent. He was looking back toward Kahn’s house.
“Your family is in danger,” he said. Kahn’s blood froze. He didn’t see Kimble as a threat, but what did his alarming statement mean? Was he the threat? Was he talking about the biters from the news? His face turned pale and ashy as he silently pondered a reply. As Kahn reflected, Kimble fumbled with his unkempt shirt and moved to tuck it back in on his right side. When he did so, Kahn saw his neighbor had a pistol in a low holster along his side. The hair on the back of Kahn’s neck prickled. He suddenly felt very alert and threatened, ready for anything.
“What do you mean?” He spoke in a long-awaited exhale.
“Your family.” Kimble looked right at his neighbor. “You won’t be able to protect them for long. You need to ignore what’s on the TV and get out of here. Whatever is going on out there will not stay away for long. You aren’t safe. There are people out there that you need to worry about. The people who aren’t dead are the ones you have to worry about.”
“What are you talking about?” Kahn’s brow furrowed. Dead? The people in the cities that died from the illness? What was this guy saying? He remembered the totes, ammo boxes, and other unknown items in the back of Kimble’s truck. What exactly was he doing? He suddenly felt genuine fear of his neighbor. Or maybe even for him. Was he was a conspiracy type, or someone who just thought this was the end of the world? Kimble once again paused, seeming to gather his thoughts.
“I have radios in there.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder toward his house. Kahn noticed for the first time a large antenna extending into the air from the side of Kimble’s place. “Short wave. Citizen’s band. You name it, I’ve got it. I’m able to listen and talk to people, truckers and others that are around. Word is spreading that whatever this infection was is more widespread than initially thought. At first, it was in New York. Then it popped up and started getting reported in major cities. Then all broadcasts stopped. Don’t you think it’s strange that nothing has been said for a week? Don’t you worry it’s because nobody is in charge anymore?” Kimble rubbed his smooth head with his left hand, still leaning on his right arm.
“No, I don’t really know what is going on out there. I try to stay away from--” he paused, not wanting to insult the man. Not wanting to push his luck with whatever danger or violence Kimble had foretold, “--conspiracy theories.” He felt that was a safe way to end the sentence without inciting difficulty between the two neighbors. Kimble chucked.
“I don’t know for sure. But I believe the federal government is probably gone. Gone because they’re dead, or gone into a bunker somewhere. Either way, I know we have to take care of ourselves now. Nobody is coming to help us. And those things will be everywhere soon. I got a signal from a man yesterday in Oklahoma City. He’s in the basement of a restaurant where they store the food. He says those things are dead. They bite people. The people die. The dead people get up and bite another. That’s why bullets don’t stop them, they’re already dead.”
Kahn reeled with the information. He couldn’t believe that the United States government was gone, or that they’d abandoned everyone. FEMA put out the announcement! That’s a government agency, so they had to be planning and helping people. Not had. Have to be. He argued internally as his mind tried to assign past tense to his thoughts. Have to keep hopeful. Have to have faith that the authorities would come. It would just take a while for them to get to Kahn and Kimble out here on the outskirts of town, took time to get all the way down to Texas with a state of emergency in so many cities. Kahn was sure they’d be here. Soon.
The other part of Kimble’s story just made no sense. There was just no way to address it with Kimble because it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. The people were obviously just infected and sick. Violent for sure, because of the infection. Some new biological agent. Every few years there was a new virus or sickness somewhere. A pandemic that fizzled out. That’s all this was. It just hit hard in the surprise attack, knocked out the TV and Internet. That’s why it looked so bad. Everything looked worse than it actually was.
“I saw video of cops, shooting them. They were going down,” Kahn retorted in protest, voice creaking.
“Yeah, a bullet to the head will take them out. It has something to do with the brain. The guy in Oklahoma said it, and another guy in El Paso said it a few days ago. You have to hit their head.” Kimble pointed and tapped the tip of his left finger to his temple. “Tell me, did the cops win?” Kimble was scowling and shaking his head as if he already knew the answer.
“Well, it doesn’t matter because I don’t see any around.” Kahn removed himself from the fence and waved his arm to encompass both yards.
“No, but they’re coming. Whatever this is, it spreads fast. We aren’t safe here.” Kimble looked now toward his house and his vehicle, loaded up with supplies. “I’m getting out of here today. I know this group of people that are building a stronghold of sorts. Somewhere where we can band together, help each other out, share food and supplies. Being here just isn’t safe. Your family isn’t safe.” Kimble repeated that last line forcefully as he glared back at Kahn.
“I think it’s best if we just stay put.” Kahn looked away. There wasn’t anything left to say to his neighbor. Kimble, however, remained in place.
“Just try and remember,” he started slowly, pausing in thought, “for you to stay safe you should be on guard, even if you know you’re right or think you’re safe. There is no social justice anymore, there are no allies anymore. Yo
u’ll see, it doesn’t matter what you do anymore. Only what other people think you do. Highly paranoid and defensive groups will exaggerate their threats to match their defense.” Kimble scratched his neck and readjusted his stance. “That’s not me. I am prepared for the real threat to my safety. I advise you get yourself prepared as well.”
“All right, Sergeant Kimble. Kimble. Whatever.” Kahn gestured toward his house again. “I appreciate the advice. I have to get back. Merry Christmas again to you.” Kahn took a step away from the conversation and the property line thinking over Kimble’s warning. Highly paranoid and defensive groups… is that what the world has been coming to? Is that what this attack set in motion?
“Hey,” Kimble half-shouted, too loudly, like he wasn’t sure how else to get his point across. Kahn stopped and turned back toward the man. Kimble hesitated again. “I wouldn’t tell people you’re, what did you say? A Syrian? I wouldn’t say that. There are people… lots of people… they think the terrorists that did this came from Syria, or Iran, or wherever. With the way you look and your family… If you say that it sounds like…” Kimble trailed off. Kahn could tell now he wasn’t trying to be insensitive with his earlier question about race. On the contrary, Kimble seemed to be trying to help and protect him and his family.
Kahn suddenly felt embarrassed over his assumption and his disbelief just because his neighbor had asked a question. He had assumed that Kimble was just showing his own fear of terrorists or others, Middle Eastern people, Muslims, or radicals. Who knows where people draw the line anymore. But here was a black man selflessly trying to help someone avoid problems with race. Giving his perspective and advice for the current state of affairs. Kahn felt ashamed that he jumped to conclusions about his neighbor’s motivation. He didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded.