The Black Tide I: Remnants (Tides of Blood)

by Baileigh Higgins

  “Sure. Just make it quick. We've got more customers,” he replied, pointing to the front. “Oh, and give this to your sister. Poor thing. She's had a rough day.” He handed me another can of coke and a packet of chips, rendering me speechless once more.

  Thanking him, I walked over to Lexi. She sat at a table, doodling in her school notebook, eyes narrowed over the edge of her mask as she concentrated.

  I sat down beside her. “Here, sweetie. This is for you.” I handed her the cool drink and chips.

  She brightened at the sight, snatching them out of my hands. Treats were rare nowadays. “Thanks!”

  “Don't thank me. Thank Mr. Smith.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith,” she cried, waving at him. He nodded and turned back to his work but I noticed the twinkle in his eyes.

  I studied Lexi as she ate her chips. She seemed fine for the moment. A little pale perhaps but fine. Still, I felt we needed to talk about what had happened earlier. “Lexi. Are you okay? You know, after this morning?”

  She looked up and her face crumpled, lips quivering. “Why were those people so ugly? Why did they hurt those policemen?”

  “They were angry, sweetie,” I replied. “Because they're hungry and haven't got jobs. And a whole lot of other things, too.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “I know, baby. I don't understand, either.” I wiped her cheeks. “Do you want to go home?”

  “Yes. I want Daddy.”

  “I'll phone him to come fetch you, okay?”

  “Okay. But, what about you?” she asked. “You can't stay here. What if those people come here and get you?”

  “They're not coming here, Lexi. I'll be fine. They've all been locked up by now.” That was a bald-faced lie, of course, but she didn't need to know that. “You saw all the police cars that drove past us. They went to arrest them.”

  “And help the policemen that were hurt?” she asked.

  “Sure. They're all in the hospital now.”

  After our little talk, I phoned my dad and he arrived to pick up Lexi. I walked with them to the car, nervous to be out in the open. My faith in humanity had suffered a serious blow.

  “Lexi. Wait in the car. I'll be right there,” Dad said.

  “Okay.” She walked away, both of us watching her every move.

  “Be careful, Dad. Please. People are getting desperate.”

  “I know, Ava. Don't worry, I'll get her home safe.” He shook his head and glanced at the car. “Is she okay? After what happened?”

  “I don't know. I shielded her from the worst and she seems fine, but you might want to talk to her again once you get home.”

  “Are you okay?” he asked, turning back to me.

  “Honestly, Dad, I'm not. But I will be. See you in a bit.”

  When he pulled me into a hug, I realized how frail my father had become, how bony his arms and ribs were. In the bright sunlight, I saw the toll the years had taken on him. Oh, Dad. This should never have happened. You and mom...

  But, the past was the past and there was nothing we could do to change that. I glanced up and down the row of shops, noting the ‘Closed’ signs adorning many of the doors. A rubbish bag blew across the empty sidewalk, tumbling in the stiff breeze and I shivered, rubbing my arms.

  Suddenly, the world seemed an empty place.

  5

  Chapter 4

  I spent the day at work sorting through our supplies and dusting shelves. We were well stocked due to my boss' hoarding habits. We both knew it wouldn't last, though. The suppliers hardly ever answered their phones anymore and we'd all but given up.

  Nervous and frazzled, I was barely able to cope with the droves of customers who kept coming in, hoping for a miracle drug. The riot played over and over in my head, scenes flashing to the forefront at the most inopportune of times. It was so far beyond my personal experience that I couldn't reconcile it to anything I knew. I wondered if I had led a sheltered life, protected from life's harsh realities. Am I that naive?

  During a lull, I posed the question to Mr. Smith and he frowned as he considered it. “I wouldn't call you naive, Ava. Just lucky. Violence is something you've only ever seen on TV and read about in newspapers.”

  “But why would they go that far? It's like they weren't human.” I remembered the children who'd stoned the beaten officers and shuddered.

  “They're poor, Ava. Poor and desperate. You might not have ever been rich, but they've spent their entire lives praying for their next meal. And now it's even worse. Their children are dying while the Government hides behind bodyguards and high walls.” He shook his head, distress cutting grooves in his face. “Those policemen represented everything they hated. Anger and desperation can make killers of us all.”

  His words gave me the chills. Would I kill to protect my family? I tried not to worry too much for the rest of the day, yet by closing time I was exhausted. Closing the door behind the last customer, I sighed with relief. The day was over.

  We still needed food, however, and bed seemed like a far-off dream. After counting out money for groceries, I stuffed it into my bra. Carrying it around in a purse these days was stupid.

  An arctic blast of cold wind almost knocked me off my feet as the door swung open and I peered out. It was seven o'clock and the stars were out, the moon casting an eerie glow over the parking lot.

  “Bye, Mr. Smith. See you tomorrow,” I called over my shoulder, shrugging into my jacket.

  “Bye, Ava. You take care now. Straight home, okay?”

  “I'm going to the shop first then home, I promise.” The grocery store was still open, though only until eight, so I had to hurry. A few cars were parked in front, but it looked safe enough. No loiterers or suspicious hanger-ons.

  “All right, be careful. Run straight back here if something happens. I'll be here for awhile still.”

  “Okay.”

  With shoulders hunched against the cold, I slipped outside. Moths fluttered around the yellowed lights flickering above my head and I quickened my pace, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Imagined horrors loomed in the dark and my head swiveled, fear blooming in my chest.

  The shop loomed ahead and I rushed for the doors, anxious to get inside. The hinges creaked in protest and warm air flowed over me, the fluorescent bulbs comforting in their brightness. No shadowy nooks or crannies waited, hiding possible attackers.

  An armed security guard gave me the once over, shifting his AK-47 to the other hip. I gave him a wide berth. Still, I was glad for his presence. It occurred to me that Mr. Smith might benefit from such a guard. We'd had a few incidents with people demanding a cure to the Black Tide. Petty theft was also a problem. So far, Mr. Smith's commanding presence had been enough to deter most troublemakers but that could quickly change.

  Basket in hand, I crossed the stained tile floors to the nearest row, hoping to find something we could afford. With supplies so low, shopping had become a challenge worthy of the Olympic games.

  I found myself in the toiletry aisle where expensive roll-ons, deodorants, and shampoos lined the shelves, followed by ludicrously priced tampons. These items were now a luxury reserved for the rich as most people focused on the essentials such as food and medicine. I loaded a single bar of soap followed by a tiny box of laundry detergent and a packet of toilet paper.

  Moving to the next aisle, I crashed into another lady as I turned the corner and jumped back, heart pounding. Hands flew as we checked our masks before inching around each other, maintaining as much distance as possible in an awkward dance now familiar to all. I gripped my basket and hurried on, eager to get out of there and back home.

  So far, the shelves had been fairly well stocked, indicating a recent delivery. I hoped the same would apply to the food aisles, only to be faced with gaping emptiness. The few lone items remaining were priced far beyond what I could afford. You've got to be kidding me.

  I thought of Lexi's gaunt face. We needed food. What was I supposed to do? The tiniest twinge of symp
athy for the rioters arose in my heart. Though I could not condone what they had done, I could relate to the despair they felt while watching their families starve.

  Taking a deep breath, I continued searching. There was no use or gain to be had in crying. There had to be something for us to eat. A packet of self-raising flour caught my eye and I picked it up. Eighty-seven rands.

  “Ridiculous,” I muttered but took it anyway. Maybe I could bake something with it. Two cans of green beans, a packet of salt, tomato sauce, and a bag of rice followed. I had now spent a third of the money I had with me.

  At the fridges, I agonized over a whole chicken that would cost another third of our money, then settled on more cheaply priced gizzards and marrow bones instead. Afterward, I made my way to the fresh produce section. A single head of cabbage and two onions joined the other items in my basket. I decided to leave it at that and headed for the till.

  There was only one other person ahead of me in the queue. An old man, fingers bent with rheumatism, shoulders bowed beneath the weight of a lifetime of sorrows and hardships. His clothes were torn and threadbare, shoes held together with rope. He had to be freezing.

  On the counter in front of him stood a single packet of maize meal, soup, and bones, hardly enough to feed him for more than a day. A wave of intense pity swept over me as I watched him count out the money with shaking hands, bony shoulders and wrists speaking of nights gone to bed hungry.

  “You short twenty rand,” the cashier said.

  The old man scratched in his pockets but came up empty. “Please, I don't have any more money.”

  The cashier turned away. “Not my problem.”

  When did people become so callous?

  “Please...” the old man begged but the cashier ignored him.

  Pity prompted me to say, “Give him the stuff. I'll pay what he owes.”

  The cashier stared at me, disbelieving. “You want to pay for him?”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged. “Your choice, lady.”

  I fished out the extra money and handed it over, pushing the food toward the old man. “Here you go, Sir.”

  He stared at me, dumbfounded, then gripped my hand in silent gratitude before shuffling away. I turned back to the counter and placed my own purchases on it. With my eyes fixed on his face, the cashier rang up my things with remarkable speed. I was about to pay when I spotted a box of bananas behind the counter, the skins wrinkled and black. “What about those?”

  He glanced back, frowning. “I'm throwing them out after my shift. They're rotten.”

  “Can I have them?”

  His eyes narrowed, a crafty look crossing his features. “Uh...sure. A hundred bucks,” he said.

  My jaw dropped, angry blood staining my cheeks. “What? You were going to throw them out anyway.”

  He shrugged, face set. “You want them, you pay.”

  I clenched my fists to prevent myself from hitting the little prick. “Twenty.”

  “Eighty,” he countered.

  “Forty,” I replied. “And not a cent more.”

  He debated, making me wait for several seconds. “I don't know. Make it fifty and it's a deal.”

  I growled in anger. “Fine. Fifty it is.”

  The cashier pocketed the note with greedy hands and handed me the bananas. “Enjoy,” he smirked as I jerked the box from his hands.

  “Asshole,” I muttered as I walked away but secretly I was thrilled. The bananas were perfectly good, just overripe.

  My feet carried me across the deserted parking lot where I loaded my stuff into the boot. After the warmth of the shop, the icy wind cut through me like a knife and I shivered, teeth chattering, as I slid into my seat.

  “God, what I wouldn't give for a hot bath and a huge pizza,” I muttered, dreaming of melted cheese and bubble bath.

  Pumping the accelerator a few times, I turned the ignition. “Damn it,” I groaned when the old lady refused to start. I turned the key again. Nothing. I slumped forward onto the wheel with a groan.

  A hand slammed on the window next to my face and I shrieked, jerking upright with arms raised to ward off the incoming attack. Everything I had seen and experienced earlier that day came rushing back, flooding my brain with images of death and terror.

  “Ava, are you okay? Do you need help?” a familiar voice called out, shaking me out of my panic-induced haze.

  “M...Mr. Smith?” I asked, stumbling over the words.

  “Yes, it's me. Are you alright?” He opened the door, face creased with concern. “I saw you sitting in the car and thought I'd check. Did I scare you?”

  I managed a shaky laugh and waved him off. “No, no. I'm fine. Got a bit of a fright, that's all.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, hovering above me.

  “Yes, of course,” I replied. “See you tomorrow.”

  With a confident nod, I turned the key in the ignition, praying it would start. As luck would have it, my car started without a hitch and after an awkward goodbye, I drove off. With Mr. Smith's retreating figure in my rear view mirror, I let out a huge sigh and slumped back in my seat. “Bloody hell, can this day get any worse?”

  I drove home in silence, unwilling to switch the radio on and hear more bad news. The needle hovered above empty, reminding me of the need for fuel. “Shit.”

  We didn't have a lot of money left and payday was a week away. I prayed I would make it home. My dad still had half a tank left in his car and since he wasn't working anymore, I could use that instead.

  Five minutes later, I pulled into our driveway, thankful that for once during this awful day, something had worked out and I wasn't stranded by the side of the road. I parked the car and locked the gates, glancing up and down the street. It was pitch dark, devoid of the usual light cast by street lamps and I shivered, rubbing my arms.

  The house was likewise shrouded in darkness so I pulled my phone out, navigating by its faint glow. I fumbled for my keys only to find the door unlocked.

  “Stupid,” I muttered, annoyed at my Dad for being so careless. It was not the first time either.

  I flicked on the lights. Nothing happened. “Ah, shit. Load shedding again.” This was a regular occurrence.

  “Ava?” My dad appeared in the hall leading to the kitchen, holding a candle.

  “Hi, Dad. You forgot to lock the door again.”

  “I'm sorry, I was just so worried about you. You're late.”

  “I had to go to the shop first and get food. It's in the boot.” I put my handbag on the table and we walked outside together. The temperature was dropping, a deathly chill stealing into the air. We grabbed the stuff from the car and hurried back, teeth chattering.

  “Lock the door, Dad,” I reminded him.

  Inside the kitchen, my frozen muscles relaxed as warmth seeped back into my bones. I unpacked the groceries, aware of my dad's gaze.

  “How much?” he asked.

  “Seven hundred and eighty.” He didn't reply and I put the things away in silence, ashamed there wasn't more to show for my efforts. “I'm sorry.”

  “It's not your fault. It's mine.”

  “Yours?”

  “I should have done something, gotten more money. I don't know.”

  “You did what you could, Dad.”

  He handed me a cup of tea. “It's cold. I made it before the power went out.”

  “Thanks.” I took the cup and sat down at the kitchen table.

  He opened the microwave and took out a bowl of maize porridge. “It isn't much.”

  I accepted the plate, grateful for any kind of food. My stomach had long since shrunk into a tiny ball of suffering, screaming for sustenance. It was a feeling I'd grown used to.

  Spooning the congealed mass into my mouth, I grimaced at the syrupy taste. My father had a sweet tooth and a heavy hand, resulting in an overdose of sugar. I washed it down with the equally sweet tea. “Can I have some water, please?”

  “Sure.”

  He handed me a glass of
tap water and I downed it, washing away the taste. I sat back, my stomach happy for a change. “Has Lexi gone to bed?”

  “Yes. About an hour ago. There's not much to do when the power's off.”

  “Is she okay?”

  He shrugged. “She seems fine.”

  “I'm glad.”

  “Robbie stopped by. Told me about a possible job in the industrial area.”

  Robert Anderson was our neighbor. He stayed in the house a few doors down the street.

  “That's great news. Are you going?”

  “He's picking me up tomorrow along with two other guys. We'll pool together for the fuel.”

  I nodded. “Sensible. Speaking of which. My car's empty. I was thinking of using yours tomorrow.”

  “Keys are on the board. I'll be gone before you wake up. We've got to be at the place early. They only need a few people. First come, first serve.”

  “Be careful, Dad.” I hesitated. “I'm scared.”

  “I know, sweetheart,” he replied. “Me too.” He sat down opposite me, folding his hands together. “Maybe...maybe we should leave.”

  “Leave?” I asked, startled. This was an abrupt departure from what he'd been preaching all along. Sit tight, avoid infection, be careful and ride it out. 'It has to pass eventually' was his motto.

  “I've been thinking. Perhaps, I've been too stubborn.”

  “You, Dad? Never.” I smiled and he chuckled at my feeble joke.

  “Nevertheless, maybe we should think about it.”

  “Where would we go? We don't exactly have a place in the country and nobody will take in a trio of beggars.” The sad truth was, we had nowhere to go. We were on our own.

  “I know. It's just...I feel so helpless. Things are getting worse and worse and I can't do anything about it.” His face was haunted, cheeks hollowed by the light of the candle. “What if something happens to you? Or Lexi? I'd never forgive myself.”

  I reached over and gripped his hand. “I understand how you feel, Dad. I don't know what I'd do without you guys.”

  He squeezed my fingers hard. “You girls are all I have.”

  “We'll be fine. I promise.” The words fell from my lips with ease. A habit formed since my mother died. The line between parent and child had long since blurred. “For now, let's stay here. I've got a job and tomorrow, so might you. That's something right?”