Finally my father gives me the out I need.
“Seamus, sit down. I need you. You are the smartest person I have ever met. We are going to have to figure out a lot of things in the next few weeks. If you can stay calm and stick with me, I will let you have complete freedom once we get to California,” he says. He’s somewhere between taking charge and just holding on. But right now, that’s enough for me.
We sit in silence until Grace comes down a while later. She pours some orange juice and then walks out into the apple orchard and grabs a few apples. Dad and I both watch her without saying a word. She feels things deeper than the rest of us but she knows how to get on with things. There is nothing to talk about right now; she wants to eat. Dad and I could argue through starvation about what and how much to eat. Grace just eats.
When she comes back inside, Dad starts laying out his plan. But sadly it doesn’t cover anything beyond today. He wants to spend the day getting supplies and collecting memories. This does nothing for humanity, but I know that in a few days we will be leaving New Hampshire forever. He can only be hoping for closure.
After Liam wakes up we all manage to pull ourselves together and take showers and eat some food. The sit-tight plan still bugs me but I am able to shelve my frustration for the time being.
“Let’s mount up. We need to go to Wal-Mart and a few other places before it gets dark.” This is how Dad talks when we don’t have the option of not going with him. Still, I protest.
“I’m going to stay home,” I say as I head towards my lab.
But Dad stops me. “No, Seamus, we are sticking together for the next couple of days.”
Grace and Liam wait intently to see what I am going to do. I can see no point in fighting Dad on this. Besides it might be interesting to drive around and see if there are any other survivors.
As soon as we are on the road, I regret coming. We are going to Grandma’s house. This reminds me that she and Papa are dead. I don’t want to think about that, but now I can’t think of anything else. I imagine them lying next to each other in bed holding hands, probably even smiling. They had fifty years together and they knew how lucky and wonderful they were. Seeing them in any way other than peaceful would ruin me.
When we get to their house, we sit in silence for a minute. Then Dad makes us all go in. He wants us each to collect a few of our favorite memories of them. At first it’s awkward and difficult, but soon we start talking and laughing. We’re gathered in the kitchen like always. There are two dead people in the next room, but we are flooded with good memories of holidays and visits here. Finally I share with Liam and Grace how I picture them in death. I’m not conscious of it, but I know Dad is nearby listening.
I’m not sure how long we spend in their house. When we leave, each of us is happy to let my vision be the reality of their final rest. We didn’t really take that much, but I realize the memories in our heads are what Dad wanted us to hold onto.
The ride to Wal-Mart is short but quiet. The experience at Grandma’s house is preventing me from processing how eerie things are with no people around. In the parking lot, Dad has us each grab a cart and tells us to follow him. We’re just moving now, no thoughts or feelings, simply motion.
“Dad, why are we going to the guns section?” Grace does not like guns. “We need to stop and get food. Mom wouldn’t want us to have guns.”
“We all need to learn to use and be safe around guns now. They will become a constant in your life so get used to it.” Dad is not usually this abrupt with Grace.
I want to ask him if these will be for hunting or protection but I don’t. The only logical answer is both. Grace does not need to be aware of the concept that “bad guys” may be out there and ready to hurt us. For me, I am aware that “bad guys” could mean government agents, a paramilitary group or even aliens. I’m not comfortable with guns but I am open to their value.
It’s a quick, efficient stop. Dad makes fast work of the necessary but unpleasant task of arming ourselves. We load up with eight weapons: four shotguns and four rifles. Dad wants a sidearm but this Wal-Mart does not seem to carry handguns. I guess there will have to be another stop. My shopping cart is full of the guns and the ammunition they use. Grace is too afraid to put them in her cart and Liam… well let’s just say we’re not comfortable with him holding a gun.
Getting food and sleeping bags is a little easier. Grace fills her cart with dried food like Ramen Noodles, rice and beans. Liam is in charge of canned goods. Dad puts things like snacks and drinks in his cart. We each have a nice new sleeping bag tucked into the bottom of our cart. With the exception of the cart full of weapons and ammo, it looks as if we are getting ready for a beach party.
“Hold on, I’ll be right back,” Liam is yelling as he runs away. Dad is not happy but we wait patiently.
“Got it,” Liam says, as he finally comes around the corner. He’s holding a can opener. We know there is one at home but we all feel like this is a brilliant thought. Liam is smiling triumphantly as we head for the exit with our loaded carts.
Chapter 7
Post-apocalyptic etiquette is still largely undefined. Dad parked in a parking space just like he would have a week ago. For a moment I feel so superior to him for realizing that he could have just pulled up on the sidewalk right in front of the door. In fact, he probably could have driven right through the doors and parked in the produce section.
I come down to Earth a little bit when I realize that this thought is only now entering my mind. When we got here and he pulled into that spot, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. I was grateful that he didn’t park far away and tell us to walk because we needed the exercise. I need to lighten up on the old man a little.
At the car, we realize that packing all this stuff and getting the four of us home is going to require a little planning. Dad folds the seats down in the back of the van and it creates plenty of room. I’m loading the guns and ammunition in first. We don’t need them right now; they weigh a ton and they can’t get crushed.
As I grab the last shotgun I am aware for the first time of the tractor-trailer trucks in the parking lot. There are always a few present based on Wal-Mart’s policy of supporting truckers and campers’ overnighting, but this seems like a lot.
I’m counting the trucks while laughing at the fact that I have no basis for how many trucks were typically there when I see the RV. It seems strangely out of place, and I can’t help but stare at it for an extra minute. While I’m staring, the door opens and a girl walks out. Maybe it’s a woman. Whatever; another human being, definitely female.
“Dad,” is all I can manage to say.
“Unh huh,” is his response, somehow making it clear to me that he sees her, too. But I’m scared, because his first reaction is to grab one of the shotguns and load it with several rounds. Why is he assuming danger? The concept of zombies or mutated humans who only want to eat survivors is ridiculous.
She’s walking towards us and it is clear that there is no danger around her. Wearing a skirt and thin blouse with sandals on her feet, there is no place for her to conceal any type of weapon. I hope Dad keeps that shotgun in the back of the van.
As she gets even closer, I can see that she is beautiful. Not supermodel or famous-actress beautiful, but simple, girl-next-door beautiful. The kind of girl who doesn’t wear makeup, because she never thought to, not because she is trying to make a statement or have a “signature style”.
My heart is fluttering and my mind is racing. Thoughts of other survivors have been men in black jump suits with submachine guns. Bad guys dominate my perception of post-apocalyptic world survivors. This is unexpected and very much welcome, except for the fact that I am thrown off balance. This almost never happens to me, even when the prettiest girl in school would sit next to me in class or at lunch, I was never fazed by it. Now, I’m mush.
As she gets close enough to speak, I’m telling myself to pull it together. I’m almost composed when she smiles. My kne
es go weak and I’m speechless. But not Liam, he’s right there and already being Liam.
“Hi, is that your motorhome?” Liam asks her. The first survivor we have met and Liam wants to know about the motorhome.
“Yes, it’s my parents’. Or, it was. I guess it was theirs.” She trails off.
“Cool, can we go inside?” Liam carries on. I’m not sure if he is aware that most of humanity has been wiped out or if he is consciously trying to keep things normal.
“Well, it’s pretty messy and I don’t think you want to see it like that,” she says, but she’s stopped walking. This other survivor, this beautiful girl, is standing about 6 feet away from us. Further than you would in a normal conversation, but closer than she probably should for her own safety, not knowing us and all.
“Oh, well, messy...” Liam starts in.
“Liam,” Dad silences him.
“Are you from around here?” Dad asks in a tone somewhere between grouchy cop and indifferent schoolteacher. I’m not sure why it matters. If she lives in the town over do we help her, and if she is from far away, leave her? A better question is probably about her ancestry to see if we can start to figure out a DNA combination that survived this thing. But Dad is probably still trying to figure out what to do.
The only pick-up line I have ever given credit comes into my mind. I blurt it out without even thinking. “Hi, my name is Seamus.”
The smile is back and she is walking closer to us. “My name is Sofie. I am so happy to see other people that are alive!” Then she is hugging me and crying and laughing. It feels so good to hold her. But my brain is conflicted. She should feel so good to be alive. Who cares about seeing other people? Worry about yourself.
Until now, I haven’t even thought about what it would be like to go through this alone. What if I had cared for Dad, Grace and Liam as they progressed through coughing into drowning in their own fluids and then death? Would I have carried their bodies out to the back yard and buried them? Would I have left them where they lay and gone off in search of something? How would I have handled it?
For all the times I yelled that I want to be alone or told people to leave me alone, I have never been alone. The few times I have had the chance to be left alone for more than a couple of hours, Grace or Liam have been there, and I didn’t want or ask them to leave. Now the thought of being alone frightens me, and I shudder a little as we break our embrace.
The sound of a shotgun loading snaps me back to reality. Dad is not as relaxed as the rest of us. He doesn’t seem concerned with Sofie but I can tell by his eyes that he thinks something is fishy with the trucks and even Sofie’s motor home.
Without looking at her, Dad asks, “Sofie, was there anyone in that motorhome besides you?” Now we’re all staring, as if looking at the motorhome will give us an answer.
“Just my parents,” she says softly. The way she says it makes me understand that they are dead and will not be walking out the door.
I wish Dad would communicate and tell us what he is looking for, what he is thinking or what he is afraid of. If he thinks he’s doing strong silent type, he’s wrong. Suddenly I wonder if he’s trying to impress Sofie. Mom is alive in California; he’s not free to date just because of the apocalypse. Or maybe Mom isn’t as okay as we thought. Maybe we’ll get a sit-down tonight and Dad will break the bad news to us. Telling us he didn’t want us to worry. There’s one eligible girl left in the world and I have to compete with my Dad and Liam for her attention. But I got the hug.
Somehow satisfied that zombies, commandos or mutant dogs aren’t going to be coming out of the tractor-trailer trucks, Dad is ready to move on.
“Grace, why don’t you and Sofie go gather her things from the motor home. Seamus, if there is anything you need for your lab or to get the power pack working sooner rather than later, go get it now. Liam will go with you. I’ll load the car. I want to leave in fifteen minutes.”
Chapter 8
It took another 45 minutes for us to leave Wal-Mart. Dad never could stick to his own time restraints. We never really talked about Sofie coming with us or if she even wanted to. She just got in the van and road silently home with us. The count of survivors that we know about is at eight and I’m thinking about a spreadsheet to keep track of people.
Dinner was strangely silent but bland as usual. Dad offered Sofie the guest room, but she chose to stay on the trundle bed in Grace’s room. Everyone was moving about in a daze. I couldn’t motivate myself to even go into my lab, let alone sit and work. I’m not sure why, but I kind of thought we would celebrate when we found another survivor. Instead, we all just sort of shuffled off to our rooms and went to bed.
Once again I’m wide awake at 6 a.m. I don’t want to get out of bed today. I don’t want to “sit tight” for another day. But I don’t want to fight with my Dad in front of Sofie. I don’t know how to impress her, but I’m pretty sure that acting like a spoiled teenager won’t do the trick. Every time I try and switch my brain over to the reactor, Sofie’s face shows up. The flow of electrons that is usually so clear to me is interrupted by memories of the hug. A girl preoccupies me and it feels good. But I have work to do, so it is insanely frustrating.
I must have drifted off to sleep. When I look at the clock again, it’s 7:20, so I roll out of bed.
Dad is alone in the kitchen, but not like usual. He’s not sitting with his cup of coffee and reading or making a list. There are sheets of legal paper on the island arranged neatly, each with a bold headline and a string of numbers on the left edge. While we have five iPads and three laptops in the house, Dad is using a Sharpie and legal pad for his notes. But he’s moving with a purpose, so I won’t nitpick.
“Good morning, Seamus. I’m glad you’re up.” He’s said this before. This time it’s different, though, not like, “I love you, son.” It is more like when he would say good morning to my uncles on holidays.
“I spoke with Mom last night and she wants to make sure you guys know she’s okay,” he starts. I guess I don’t get offered coffee this morning. Maybe I should just pour some without commenting. When we were little, he used to tell us, “When you act like a big kid I’ll treat you like a big kid.” So I decide to act like an adult from here out, and pour myself some coffee.
I sit at the island and ask, “Are there any other survivors out there?” trying my best not to be emotional and act differently, even though I know things have changed.
“No. But I want to talk about the plan before the others get up. I’m going to need your help if we are going to make it across the country alive.” He’s shuffling papers around but looking at me intently.
“Let me know what you need me to do,” I answered, out if instinct, full of confidence but clueless as to how to proceed.
“You have one day to get your power reactor functional. At some point we are going to need power that’s not on the grid and I want you to be ready when that time comes.”
“It doesn’t work like that Dad. I just had my first successful test of the containment field on Monday. I’m estimating weeks before I’m even ready to test power generation.” I hope that isn’t whiny, just factual.
“Well tomorrow we’re packing up to leave. We hit the road at daybreak on Friday.”
The expression and tone make it clear to me that this is a timeline that won’t budge. It’s not the parking lot at Wal-Mart. I’m desperately hoping he doesn’t say that he’s leaving with or without me. I don’t need an ultimatum and I can’t imagine being left alone.
“Do whatever you can to make progress and have your work as portable as possible. We won’t have a lot of space, but we’ll pack as much of your lab as we can.” Dad is making exceptions for me. I’ve never felt this kind of support for my work before.
“The shopping spree at Wal-Mart was nice, but it didn’t actually help that much. What I really need is to go to Stellos Electric and BAE to find some things that will really help,” I say, not sure if I’m sounding optimistic or just hopeful
.
“Fine. When Liam wakes up, take him and the van and go get what you need. But stay together.” Dad’s made a decision and we’re moving on. A brave new Dad, I think to myself as I recall a literature assignment that was given but never completed.
“According to Google Maps, it’s about 50 hours from here to San Mateo, where Mom’s hotel is.” Dad is referencing his sheet of legal paper with the heading Plan.
“I don’t want to do too much driving at night, so I’m guessing the best we can do is 12-to 14-hour days. That puts us in there sometime Monday.”
I’m not sure if he wrote all this down or if he has a bullet point to spur his memory.
“Do we have to follow the speed limit?” Realizing I should ask a better question about halfway through my verbalization of the lame one, I try again: “I mean, I think we can make it in three days. Google Maps assumes that we’re going sixty-five or maybe even fifty-five. We can probably average 100 to 110 with no other cars on the road.”
“Good point. The sooner we get there, the better. If we get there Sunday, I’ll be happy. But we should probably factor in some time for the unexpected. Being late is a lot worse than being early for worrying your mother. Let’s communicate the plan for arriving Monday and we here can know that Sunday is doable.”
I can tell Dad hadn’t thought of this since he wasn’t looking at his paper when he said it. He’s adapting to my input on the fly and we aren’t fighting about it. I hope this dynamic can continue.
“What are Liam and Grace going to do while I am working on my reactor?” If Dad is going to let me in on the plan, I want to know as much as I can.
Annihilation (The Seamus Chronicles Book 1) Page 4