“Beautiful sunrise.” I finally break the silence.
“Well, it would be. If that were the east.” Dad is defeated. He has no energy and the morning bounce he used to have is buried somewhere underneath a heavy wet blanket of worry.
After a few minutes, I’m still puzzled. “Sorry Dad, but what does that mean?”
“Sunrise, which will be around 7 a.m. at this time of year, comes from the east. It’s a little after 5:30, and that light is coming from the west. That means something other than the sun is creating that beautiful glow.” There is no pride or satisfaction in his explanation.
Could this be it? The government is sweeping the continent for survivors? The armed forces are moving methodically from the West coast to the East coast, and they aren’t even stopping at night? That seems impractical. I have to start thinking smarter.
“Do you think something is scanning the planet?” I hate it when ideas like aliens take over my thoughts and make me speak. “Or maybe there was an explosion?” At least that seems a little more plausible.
“Ha-ha, aliens scanning the planet,” Dad gives his nervous laugh. “Probably more along the lines of a wildfire.”
It’s funny that so many things burn but fire does not spontaneously occur in nature. With the exception of lightning strikes and volcanoes, people are usually needed to start a fire. The thing is that there are really no more people, left so how did this fire start? I suppose I have time to think about the different ways a fire could start while we drive.
“Are you going to shower this morning or just hop in the pool to freshen up?” Even in his glum state, Dad will be proud of me for being ready to move forward.
“Seamus, I don’t know if I can do this.” Dad is staring into the bottom of his empty coffee cup. “I am physically and mentally exhausted. It’s like we are hit with one thing after another. I just want someone else to absorb a punch.”
“Sofie and I can take shifts,” I start before I am cut off with a sad, but surprised stare.
“You really haven’t pieced it together?” He’s searching my face for a hint of realization. “That wildfire in the west is blocking our path to California. And as far as I can tell, it is heading this way fast. Driving is easy. Surviving this fire may be impossible.”
“What if we leave in five minutes? We can drive around it.” But he must have already thought about that and ruled it out.
“The only way south from here are back roads and minor highways. There is no way we could move fast enough to get around it.” Dad is looking at a map only he can see and all the roads are dead ends.
“Then lets go north.” I’m not thinking, just reacting.
“The lake is to the north. I’m not comfortable putting the five of us out there on a boat for who-knows-how-long with who-knows-what kind of weather coming. Seamus, I have thought about everything imaginable to get us out of here, and I’m blank.” He’s only been at it for fifteen minutes; how could he have given up so easily?
The silence is killing me. I want to brainstorm solutions with him, but he’s not in the mood. In the background, I hear Sofie and Grace in the kitchen getting coffee. I’m not sure what it is, but I feel like there is a plan in the back of my mind and I need Grace to snap Dad out of his funk. Liam is still asleep, but that is not a surprise.
“Want more coffee?” I ask, getting up.
“Thanks.” Dad slowly hands me his cup.
I meet the girls at the door and motion them back into the house.
“We have a big problem coming and a medium problem sitting on the pool deck,” I tell them as we get over to the coffee maker. Both girls look out at Dad with an odd head tilt.
“I’m going to go work on solving the big problem. I need you to go work on Dad,” I continue as they stare. “I need you to go out there and be sweet little Gracie. Dad needs to remember that he’s not carting a bunch of junk across the country; he’s taking care of his kids.”
“What does that mean?” Grace is great at following directions, except when she isn’t clear on why she should follow them. This is what I am counting on.
“Just do it for me, please? I need him to remember how much he cares about us.” That may have been over-the-top, but it should do the trick.
“Come with us then. I don’t get what’s happening and I want you to be there in case I need something explained.” She is shuffling towards the patio and knows that I won’t refuse to be there for her.
“Daddy, Seamus is worried about you and thinks you don’t remember how much you care about us.” Grace is pouty and sad.
I counted on this reaction from her. In fact, I could have written that down before she spoke and gotten it exactly right. Grace doesn’t like deception, even when it is well-intentioned.
“What!? I care about you kids more than anything in the world.” His spark isn’t back, but maybe this small boost of adrenaline will help end his pity party.
“Sorry if I misunderstood our conversation, Dad.” I need to shift gears and get things moving. “I’m going down to the basement to wire the generator to the irrigation system. I’m hoping that if we get enough water around and on us we can make it through that fake sunrise.”
The plan in the back of my mind wasn’t really much of a plan, more of an understanding of all the options that are off the table. Going around the fire is out based on speed and Lake Erie. Going over it is out based on none of us knowing how to fly. That leaves “sit tight and ride out the maelstrom.” If Dad had even suggested we sit tight, I probably would have lost it on him.
The girls have puzzled looks on their faces, but I see a ray of hope in Dad’s eye.
“I like the way you’re thinking. Get it done and then go to the other three houses and do the same. Smash windows or whatever it takes to get in. Grace, go wake Liam. I’ll explain everything in a minute.” Dad is back. We’re working on a level I never expected; it’s intuitive. He can tell what I’m thinking and trying to accomplish. I know what parts he needs me to get done. I’m fascinated that impending death has us working more closely together than ever.
I’m off. No longer do I feel the need to hear and be involved in every second of planning. I trust that the others will execute their tasks. I need to execute mine.
My estimation is that it will take about fifteen minutes to move the breakers on the panel. Assuming all four houses in the cul-de-sac have generators, moving breakers at every house will take one hour to accomplish. I enjoy estimating how long it will take me to do certain tasks. I enjoy it even more when I’m right.
Standing in front of the breaker panel, it dawns on me that my father taught me to turn off power, replace a circuit breaker and even add a new circuit when I was 10. For two years, he required that I have him watch while I made changes to ours at home. By the time I was twelve, he let me make changes by myself. His only rule was that I had to be able to put things back the way they were after every change.
Flipping the power back on, I glance at my watch. Ten minutes, not bad. I’m going to leave the faceplate off. It’s cosmetic anyway, and I don’t have the time.
As I run up the stairs and out of the house, I realize that I did not include going between houses and breaking into them in my time estimate. Hopefully I can move each panel in ten minutes and use the extra five minutes between houses. The hammer I grabbed from the house we have taken over should help with getting into the other houses.
Smashing the hammer through the window feels really good. I didn’t realize I had this aggression stored up. The fluidity between physical exertion and thoughtful action is rare to me. I like the effect it’s having. Traditionally most of my thinking has occurred on the stool in my lab or sitting in the old recliner in front of the fire. Dad used to tell me that when I was stuck on something, getting out and moving around would shake loose the answer. I thought he was crazy, but maybe he was just using terms that don’t suit me. Or maybe I didn’t want to admit the old man might be right.
This ho
use is laid out differently than next door. Finding the basement is still relatively easy. As I unscrew the faceplate of the breaker panel, I read down the labels to find the circuit for the irrigation system. Unlike the last house, it’s labeled “sprinkler,” which I get, but it means a different electrician wired this house.
The panel cover is off and I have eyes on the right circuit breaker. Oh shit, it’s tripped! I’m actually not big on swearing, but this seems like a fair time to start.
Why is it tripped? Should I move it and then turn it back on or should I turn it back on first and see if a short trips it? Pre-apocalypse this would have been a long ordeal. Consultation with Dad, listing the possible reasons for the breaker to be tripped, an online search about wiring for irrigation systems, and on and on it would have gone. Today I just flip the breaker. It doesn’t pop, which is good news. I look around the basement and find a Rain Bird Irrigation control center. Above it is a valve with a tag hanging from it. The handwritten tag reads “Open before activating sprinklers,” but the valve is closed. It’s October in Ohio. They freeze just like we do in New Hampshire. I don’t even know if Dad has done it at home, but here they have already blown out and shut down the irrigation system. I need to make sure I get the system back online before I move any of the wiring. My time estimate is now out the window.
I don’t like winging it, but that’s what I’ve had to do with the irrigation system. The valve is open and I have turned the timer to “All Zones Manual On.” I can hear water rushing through the pipes, but I have to go up to the yard and confirm that water is coming out of sprinkler heads.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I rush up from the basement. I rush through the front door to find my world in disarray. A Mercedes C-Class backs out from the garage of “our house”. I see Dad at the wheel and he leaves an inch of rubber on the road before the car rockets off down the street. Liam is standing in the front yard with a can of gasoline and pouring it out on the grass. Not far from him I see a plumber’s propane torch lying on its side. None of this makes any sense. How long was I in the basement?
“Liam! What the hell are you doing? Pretty soon we are going to have more fire than we can handle.” I swore again and I’m afraid I could get use to it.
“I’m making a reverse fire thing.” Liam is looking at me like I am the one doing something crazy.
“I have no idea what a reverse fire thing is. You’re such an idiot, are you trying to help us live or help us die?” The sprinklers are sputtering to life, but I have to deal with my brother.
“Remember we saw that thing about forest fires on TV and they dug a trench and burned everything before the fire got there?” He’s making digging motions with his hands as if the digging was the key takeaway.
“It’s called a backfire and if you can’t remember the name, how can you possibly remember how to execute it safely, not to mention correctly?” My exasperation is lowering now that I know his intent. If we burn all the fuel around the cul-de-sac, the fire may spare us as it looks for more to burn.
“Seamus, I’m not an idiot. Just because I’m different from you doesn’t make me worthless. I don’t remember names or how to calculate how much gas I need to burn up a yard. But I get how it’s supposed to work and I know I can do it.” Liam is defensive, but he’s never stated his case this calmly and clearly before.
“Liam, that’s fine, I’m not saying you’re worthless. But you can’t screw this up, it’s our lives at stake!” I don’t have much of a choice. It’s a good idea, but I don’t have time to do it and get all the irrigation systems going.
“Seamus, Mom always said that we fight because we’re brothers and that when we grow up we’ll get along great and know how to trust each other. I think it’s time we grow up. You need to trust me.” He leaves it at that and goes back to work.
I have no basis for trusting him. There are four iPods, two cell phones, a tablet, and countless video games, shoes, hats and more that he has lost or forgotten. There is not a negative or malicious bone in his body; Liam is genuinely a good person. But trusting him with our lives is a tough pill to swallow.
With that, I am off to the basement to move the irrigation breaker to the generator slot on the panel. If I can get this one and the next two houses done quickly, I can help Liam with the backfire.
Chapter 14
We are all sitting in the great room quietly, waiting for chaos, insanity and a wall of fire to shock us into action. Dad insisted we all eat something and drink water. When the fire gets here, we will need all the energy we can muster just to survive. There will be no time to refuel.
It took almost an hour to get the other two houses done. Both houses on the outside of the cul-de-sac had their generators and irrigation systems installed after the houses were built. That meant that the controls for them were not together, so I had to deal with some running around to get things right.
Liam’s backfire seems to work great. There is scorched earth all around the cul-de-sac. I can’t see anything left that is flammable, with the exception of the houses. The fleeing Mercedes carried Dad and Sofie. They returned in a ladder truck from the local fire department. Dad says he intends to do his best to flood the patio and hide the house behind a curtain of water.
The temperature just rose what feels like fifty degrees in a heartbeat. Dad walks across the patio to the wall and peers out the back gate. He becomes very animated as he steps out into the yard. I don’t know when it started, but the wind is blowing fiercely and there is a demonic howl rising above a low roar making it difficult to hear. Dad is yelling something towards me, but I can’t hear him.
We have regular garden sprinklers mounted on the top of the wall, with the hoses connected to the house faucet. They are on, but the wind is whipping the water into fine mist. It looks like we are trying to put out a bonfire with a tiny plant mister.
Dad is closer now and I can hear him. The sprinklers are not working. This was my part of the plan. The sprinklers are what brought Dad back from quitting and I screwed them up.
I run with Dad to the back gate and peer out. It is intensely hot. There is water flowing at the house next to us in the middle of the cul-de-sac. But our house and the two on the ends are dry. I’m already running when I say to Dad, “You fix ours. I’ll get the other two.”
The fire has already reached the edge of Liam’s back-burn. The fire hose is keeping things wet, but even that volume of water feels insignificant compared with the tidal wave of molten flame.
In the garage of the neighboring house, I flip the irrigation controller to “All Zones On Manual” and hear the water rush through the system. I can’t believe I left the sprinkler system off. My stupidity may contribute to the death of my family.
Flaming debris is raining from the sky. It’s like we’re in a fire tornado. Three houses have their sprinklers on in a futile attempt to keep the flames at bay. I’m not sure I can even make it back to our house, let alone over to the final house to activate that sprinkler system.
As I run for the back gate of our house, the roof of the house I just left catches fire. It won’t be long before it is completely gone. I’m guessing the temperature is at or over 200 degrees. If we don’t burn, we may bake to death.
When I’m steps from our gate, the far house, the one with no sprinklers running, explodes. I’m knocked to the ground and completely disoriented. I still need to get over there and turn on the sprinklers. But I know it’s a futile effort; the sprinklers are gone. As I get to my feet though, I am drawn to complete my mission. Slowly I get my bearings and stagger towards the crater that was someone’s home.
A set of large hands grabs me by the shoulders and begins dragging me backwards. My skin feels like it’s on fire. The hands are not comforting. They are coarse and rough and hold me too tightly. I’m not being saved; I am being deterred from my goal. In my mind I am thrashing and fighting, but my feet come into focus and I see them perfectly still, dragging across concrete. It’s quiet and bright
. I’m not sure what we were so afraid of. This is nice.
The cold water steals the air from my lungs. My senses come rushing back and as I burst through the surface of the pool I hear a deafening roar, the opposite of quiet. Between my gasps and coughing, I hear my name screamed.
“Seamus! Are you all right? I thought you died! I thought we lost you!” Grace is in overload. I can tell that she is screaming at the top of her lungs, but I can barely hear her. The noise is deafening. The sensory inputs are overwhelming.
As I survey the scene, I am at awe of nature. Grace, Sofie and Liam are in the shallow end of the pool with me. We are all standing in water up to our waist and dripping wet. There is an intense orange and red glow surrounding the house. I can’t actually see flames, but it looks like we are inside of a flame. The wind is still whipping and burning debris and soot are falling from the sky in a blizzard. The heat is immense and barely tolerable. It won’t be long before we need to submerge up to our necks. Will the hot air burn our lungs as we inhale?
After I complete my childlike survey of our environment, Grace snaps me back to the present by pounding on my chest. She is screaming my name repeatedly, but has nothing to say. Sofie is standing alone, sobbing with a distant look in her eye, likely in shock. Liam is staring at Grace and me, unsure of his role in our piece of the family dynamic.
“The Escalade!” I blurt out. We spent so much time preparing the house that we forgot about our whole world. The car and the last remaining vestiges of “us” are in the driveway next to the fire truck. It’s as if we considered them animate objects, that the fire truck would actively watch over and protect its young offspring, the SUV.
Before I can reach out and stop him, Liam is up the steps of the pool and running for the house. I don’t know where he is going, but if he dies in the Escalade I will not live long myself, knowing my words sent him there.
Annihilation (The Seamus Chronicles Book 1) Page 9