Plan B: Revised (Siege of New Hampshire Book 1)

by Mic Roland

  Martin pushed his last bit of biscuit into his mouth and nodded sympathetically.

  “That was one of the reasons I decided to take you up on your offer,” she said without looking at him. “It still sounds crazy for me just to walk off to the North Pole.” She flashed a brief smile at him. “But if I’ve got to start over again, the North Pole sounds better than a city full of fights. I had my little future plans built around moving up to Associate. Now, I have no idea what starting over will look like.”

  Martin sighed and nodded. “Me either. But, we’d better get going. Need to get home first before we can do much of anything.” Susan popped the last of the biscuit in her mouth and handed him his backpack. It was her turn to pull the roller bag.

  As they approached a cul de sac of newish homes, the puttering hum of several portable generators grew louder.

  “Sounds like almost everyone up here has a generator,” she said.

  “Many do. Sales usually boom after an ice storm. With houses like those down there, they’re kind of crucial. Did you notice that none of those houses has a real chimney?”

  Susan squinted down the cul de sac. “Now that you mention it…”

  “Usually oil heat. Sometimes propane, but they need electricity to run their furnaces, so they need a generator.”

  “How long can one of those generators run?” She pointed to the houses.

  “Lots of variables, but if they were careful, I’d guess most folks have enough gas on hand for a week. That’s usually plenty for the yearly ice storm.”

  “They’re so loud,” she said. “I don’t think I’d like all that noise beside my house.”

  “Yeah, you’d think they could make them quieter. Don’t know why they don’t. I mean, whole-house generators are pretty quiet. Why can’t these be too? I was helping a widow lady in the church with her big whole-house generator set up. I was surprised how quiet it ran.

  “Seems like we haven’t gone all that far,” Susan said, “but I think I’m going to be ready for another rest soon.”

  “Sounds good. This hill is wearing me out too. It’s not all that steep until nearer the top, but this slope is like a couple miles long. Not much for seating along this stretch. Mostly just trees.” Martin pointed to a small yard in front of a modest blue house. “What isn’t just trees is somebody’s yard. I feel a little odd just sitting in someone’s yard or driveway.”

  “How about up there?” Susan gestured with a tip of her head. “There’s a low rubbly line of rocks up ahead there. We could sit on a couple big rocks.”

  “Good enough for me,” Martin said.

  The tumbled down rock wall bordered the yard of an old gray ranch style home.

  “This house must have one of those whole house generators you were talking about. I wouldn’t mind that sound so much,” Susan said.

  Martin could hear the well-muffled putt ,putt, putt, but something struck him odd. Big wattage stationary generators cost several thousands of dollars. They are typically optional equipment on McMansions. The little gray house was old and shabby. The shutters needed paint years ago.

  “It does kinda sound like one,” Martin said. “But this doesn’t look like the kind of house to have one of those.”

  As they walked past to the house, Martin kept looking at it. The asphalt driveway had many cracks and weeds growing up. One window was broken and patched with packing tape.

  “Something’s not right here,” Martin said. “Look at this house. Whoever lives here has been scrimping on upkeep: even the inexpensive maintenance stuff like paint. Why would they spend several thousand dollars on a fancy generator, yet leave broken windows? I want to take a quick peek, just to satisfy my curiosity.”

  “Peek at what? Where are you going?”

  Martin walked up the side yard, “Just a look around back to see their…” He stopped.

  “There’s no generator back here.” He leaned his ear near the small attached garage. “It’s coming from inside the garage!”

  His eyes quickly scanned the back of the house. All the windows were closed except the back window of the garage, which was open a few inches at the top. He ran back around to the overhead door and peered in through the small windows.

  “There it is,” he said. Susan came up to peer in the other window. “A little portable. See that? The extension cord runs to the back door, which isn’t fully closed.”

  Martin ran up to the front door and knocked urgently. He paced back and forth on the small wooden porch.

  “What is it?” Susan asked. His worry was contagious.

  “Carbon monoxide. I’m worried that someone might be in there.”

  He pounded on the door. “Hello! Hello! Is anyone in there? Hello?” No answer came.

  Martin stood on tip toes to peer through the high fanlight in the door. “Maybe no one is home. Maybe they left the generator to charge some batteries while they were gone.”

  “No,” said Susan, her hands cupped at the living room window. “There is someone sitting in a chair in the living room.”

  Martin jumped down and rapped on the window. “Hey. Hey in there. Open the door. Come open the door!” he shouted.

  The old man in the stuffed chair turned his head slowly and stared blankly at Martin and Susan.

  “Hello!” shouted Martin. He waved. “Hey. Please come unlock the front door! You’re in danger.”

  The man stared with no expression, then burped up a small thread of vomit.

  “Oh my God,” said Martin. “He’s stuporous. He won’t come to the door.”

  “Then we have to get him out of there!” Susan exclaimed.

  Martin ran to the rear of the house. The back door was locked. He tried to lift up the lower sash of the garage window, but it would not budge. The upper sash would not slide down either.

  “They must have these pinned. I can’t get in this way,” he said to himself.

  Martin ran back to the front and jumped onto the porch. Remembering movies he had seen, he began kicking at the door latch. It looked easier in the movies. The door held. Susan picked up one of the rocks that lined the sidewalk and pointed to the small sash beside the picture window.

  Martin jumped down amid the bushes. “Pull the roller bag over here. I need some height.” He stepped up, looked away, and struck the upper window. He carefully cleared a pair of shards, unlocked the window and pushed up the sash.

  He hopped off the roller bag. “Okay, now take a deep breath and go unlock the door.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes you. It’s a really little window. I won’t fit. You will. Here, I’ll give you a boost up. Remember, deep breath first then try to hold it. Avoid breathing the monoxide. Be careful of any glass on the floor.”

  Martin helped her step up. Susan had to angle herself and wriggle through the narrow window frame. She eased down to the floor and scrambled over to the front door. Martin could hear the locks turning.

  He took a deep breath as Susan flung the door open. The air was stale and smelled of vomit and acrid with exhaust fumes. They both rushed over to the man in the stuffed chair. They each took an arm and tried to lift him, but the old man was dead weight and hard to lift. He stared at them with a vaguely confused look. Martin pulled, Susan pushed to roll the man over the arm of the stuffed chair. They struggled to drag the man toward the open door.

  “Stop right there!” shouted a nervous bearded man in the doorway.

  Martin was staring at the muzzle of semi-automatic pistol, held in a tense full-extension grip. The man’s finger was on the trigger. He was breathing fast and shallow.

  Oh geez. Not again, Martin thought.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man shouted. “What have you done to him? So help me I’ll…”

  “It’s carbon monoxide!” said Martin, as loudly, but as calmly as he could before the bearded man could rant further.

  “What?” The man looked up over his sights.

  “Carbon monoxide. There’s a g
enerator running in the garage. This man’s unresponsive. We’re trying to get him out of the house fast!”

  The bearded man looked at the old man, yellow drool dripping from his chin.

  “Holy cr… Dad!” The man hastily stuffed the gun into his waistband and took the arm Susan was holding up. Martin and the bearded man struggled to get the old man down the front steps and laying in the front yard. Dead weight with rubber legs was an awkward load.

  “Dad! Dad! Can you hear me? Dad?” The old man turned his head toward the bearded man, but stared past him.

  “Is there anyone else in the house?” Martin asked.

  The bearded man gasped and looked back at the house. “Mom!”

  “I’ll help you look,” Martin said. “Susan, try to keep him on his side, so if he barfs again, he won’t choke on it.” Susan looked shocked, but nodded.

  Martin and the bearded man ran back into the house. There was no one in the kitchen, or the side bedroom. They found the old woman, sitting on the bathroom floor, barefoot, with a brush tangled in her hair.

  “Oh good God. MOM!” The man squatted in front of the woman and patted her face. “Mom?”

  “Uh. Jimmy?” she said with half opened eyes. “Be a dear…uh…help me to bed?”

  “We need to get her outside too, and fast,” said Martin. They carefully lifted the old woman. She was much lighter and felt fragile. It was easier to get her out into the yard.

  “You need to lie down here, Mom,” Jim said. She tried to get up off the brown grass. “No, no. Lie down, Mom. That’s right. You just rest.”

  “So cold. Must be a window open,” she said.

  “I’ll get the window, Mom.” Jim was scared, but tried to sound comforting.

  “We’ll watch them,” Martin said. “Run back in and get a bunch of blankets. They need to stay out in the fresh air.” Jim ran into the house.

  Martin turned to Susan. “I’ll be right back. I want to shut off that generator. Try to keep them lying down.”

  Martin took in as big a breath as he could, then ran through the open front door. Moving through the living room, he saw a coffee mug on the floor and a big coffee stain on the carpet. More coffee was splashed on the lamp table. Across the arm of the stuffed chair were splotches of yellow vomit.

  He followed the orange extension cord from the kitchen to the back door and out into the garage. He flicked off the switch on the little generator. It puttered to a stop. Martin burst out the rear door of the garage to gulp in a lungful of fresh air. His eyes watered from the exhaust fumes.

  In the front yard, Susan and Jim were wrapping blankets around the old couple.

  A young woman came running down a path between the trees that separated the two house lots. “Ohmygod Jimmy! What’s going on? Are they hurt?”

  “I don’t know Mira. They’re alive, but I don’t know.”

  “What happened? Who are these people?” Mira asked her husband.

  “We were walking by your parent’s place,” Martin said. “I heard the generator running in the garage, so I knocked on the door. No one answered.”

  “Aw Dad,” Jim squeezed the shoulder of the old man. “He’s been so worried that someone was going to steal his generator. I tried to tell him we could work something out. I’m surprised he tried something stupid like this.”

  “He had the rear window open,” said Martin. “He must have thought that would be venting enough. But the extension cord kept the rear door open a crack. The exhaust was going in the house too.”

  “We could see him sitting in his chair,” added Susan, “but he looked all groggy.”

  “We had to get him out fast,” said Martin. “Sorry about the window.”

  Jim waved off Martin’s apology. “I’m glad you guys came along when you did. And, I’m sorry about coming at you guys with my gun, but I thought you were breaking into my parents’ house.”

  “That’s okay,” Martin said. “I’m sure that’s what it looked like. It’s a good thing you were watching and came right over. We might not have gotten your mother out in time. You probably saved her.”

  Jim looked up from wiping yellow drool off his father’s face. Martin helped Jim adjust the blankets around the old man. The old man’s eyes popped open and latched onto Martin. He turned on his side, pointed an unsteady finger at Martin and ranted something incoherent. His son knelt beside him, coaxing him to lay back down.

  Mira stroked the old woman’s hair. “What do we do, Jimmy? We can’t call for an ambulance. We can’t take ‘em to the hospital. You don’t have the truck put back together yet. All we’ve got is your motorcycle.”

  “I’m not sure how much the hospital could help now anyhow. They’ll have their hands pretty full with the outage,” Martin said. “If the ambulance came, they’d give them oxygen. Do you or your parents have oxygen tanks in the house? CPAP machines, do you do any welding, anything like that?”

  “No,” said Mira. “Does this mean they’re gonna die?”

  “Not necessarily, but they are in rough shape.” Martin tried to summon his doctor voice again. “Their bodies need to work out the monoxide. Without pure oxygen, it could take a long time.”

  “How long is a long time?” Jim asked.

  Martin shrugged. “Hours? Could be a day or two.”

  “They can’t lay in the yard for two days,” objected Mira.

  “No, but they can’t go back in their house until it’s really well aired out.”

  “We’ll take them to our house,” said Jim.

  “Good,” said Martin, “but they need to stay as inactive as they can, so their bodies don’t use up what little oxygen capacity they still have. They can get oxygen from the fresh air, but it takes a lot longer than from a tank of oxygen.”

  The old man sat up and began to rant again. “Hoo iz zziz…Ar anna…”

  This time, Mira knelt beside her husband, providing additional screening.

  “He gets agitated when he looks at you,” Mira said to Martin.

  “I see that. They need to be kept still. Minimize their bodies’ oxygen needs. They could still pass out.”

  “Araggh..na..oudda…muh…” The old man had propped himself up again, peeking at Martin over Mira’s shoulder. He stared, wild-eyed at Martin. Jim and Mira had to work at laying him back down.

  Jim spoke over his shoulder. “Look, we’re really really grateful you guys came along and saved my parents, but he gets all worked up whenever he sees you. If we’re supposed to keep them quiet…”

  “I know,” said Martin. “It seems like I’m doing more harm than good by staying here.”

  “They’re just still really confused,” said Mira. “We’ll explain it all to them later, when they’re better. Thank you both so much.”

  Martin motioned to Susan to back away and stay low. “Maybe you can carry them into your house later: when they seem a little more coherent,” Martin said quietly, “they still need to be kept inactive for a day or two before the monoxide is really out of their systems.” He recalled what a paramedic told him about possible lingering damage from carbon monoxide poisoning, but thought it would only add stress. They were doing what they could.

  Mira smiled a worried smile and gave a little wave. Jim was busy talking to his father, who was finally laying back on the blankets, muttering.

  Martin walked briskly up the road. “Maybe we can get some of their neighbors to help them,” he said over his shoulder.

  Martin remembered how Kevin had trouble getting people to answer their doors, so he tried to keep his tone light and friendly, and invoke the names of Jim and Mira as much as he could. Nonetheless, no one answered the door of the blue cape, or the gray colonial. At the little black and white cape, the lady cautiously answered the door. She and her husband knew Jim’s parents somewhat. Martin explained the problem briefly. Neither the man, nor his wife had any oxygen tanks, nor did they know of anyone who did. Martin suggested they could help by bringing more blankets and helping Jim and Mira move
the parents indoors. Maybe drive into Nutfield to get help of some kind.

  The two rushed back inside, a flurry of activity. They loaded several blankets into their car and sped off. Martin could see through the door window that they had left their teenage son in charge of the house, with a 12 gauge shotgun. The boy looked nervous at his sudden new duties.

  “I need to sit down awhile,” Martin said. The quicker pace of rushing from house to house had left him more winded than he expected. “But let’s go out to the road. Maybe sit on that planter they have out there. I don’t want to make this young guy any more nervous than he already is. I sure don’t need anyone else pointing guns at me.” Susan nodded.

  Martin eased himself down onto the rock wall of the planter. His thighs ached. “I don’t know what else to do to for those folks.”

  “At least Mira and Jim will have some help,” Susan offered. “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

  “I don’t know. I’m no doctor.” Martin rubbed his face. “They had a pretty heavy dose of monoxide. Even in a hospital with oxygen, it could take a long time. No telling how long it will take to clear their systems with plain ol’ air. Hopefully, there’s no lasting damage.”

  They resumed their trudge up the long and gradual slope of the hill.

  “This outage is the craziest thing I’ve ever been in,” Susan said. “I’ve been through a few outages, but people didn’t go around robbing anyone, or stealing cars. No one I knew ever died in one. This is just…well, crazy.”

  “I’m a little surprised too, to be honest,” Martin said. “Somehow, I think I always figured people would tough things out, you know, with stiff upper lips, as the British say. Boston Strong and all that. I really didn’t picture fist fights at hotels, or criminals getting so bold. Now, if someone told me L.A. or Detroit had broken out in riots and looting, on the first day, I wouldn’t have been surprised, but Boston? Stoneham?”