by Dan Padavona
Wandering back toward the interstate ramp, they strode up the center of the street, carefully stepping around debris. They found the van by the curb where they had left it, but it was no longer of use to them. Someone had slashed the tires and broken the windshield. The blood-red Camaro was gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lance and Mitch
Sipping a can of Pepsi, watching the children play through the second-floor window of the recreation center, Mitch Bloom almost convinced himself the last week had been nothing but a strange dream. Thirteen vehicles, a baker’s dozen, had arrived at Florida Bliss over the last twenty-four hours, including their own. By lunchtime Sunday, Florida Bliss looked like a real neighborhood, a preserved slice of Americana.
Mitch sat down with his drink at one of three round tables scattered across the white-tiled floor. Darren stood smiling at the window, bouncing on his heels while Lance Benin sipped his drink. As Lance picked up his ginger ale, Mitch wondered again how the blind man so unfailingly sensed where everything was placed around him.
“It’s the change in temperature, Indiana,” Mitch said with blank, milky eyes.
“How did you—”
“Everyone always asks how the blind guy does it. I’ve come to expect the question.” He gulped the drink and grimaced. “I could really go for something stronger than ginger ale right now.”
Below in the community park, a train of children ascended ladders and descended slides, while two adolescent boys tossed a football back-and-forth. Darren smiled down at them like a proud parent. Enjoying the clear weather, Carina Fortin, Beth Tranor, and Sue Everett sat upon a park bench, engaged in conversation as they monitored the children. Sue had arrived Saturday evening with her 11-year-old daughter, Joline, making Sue and Joline the first parent-and-child combination in the neighborhood. Now Joline tried the swings while biting into a fresh-picked peach from the community grove, as a beagle Sue and Joline discovered wandering the Mississippi countryside wagged his tail and barked. Sammy the beagle’s head swung to-and-fro, following Joline’s swinging arcs.
Not long after Sue’s car had pulled into Florida Bliss, Bruce Erickson arrived from Ely, Nevada, in a minivan, along with two children—10-year-old Duncan Casey from Enid, Oklahoma, and 12-year-old Michael Murphy from the suburbs of Birmingham, Alabama. The 53-year-old Erickson had been a general practitioner in Ely, and Darren and Carina were elated to welcome in the community’s first doctor.
Mitch started to ask Lance how he had lost his sight and stopped, not wanting to broach an unwelcome subject. Figuring Lance already sensed the question resting on the tip of Mitch’s tongue, Mitch finally asked.
“My faith in humanity got the best of me,” Lance said, turning his head toward the window where Darren stood watching the children.
“We were encamped outside of Tikrit. There hadn’t been any fighting for the last several days, at least not in our sector, and our spirits were pretty high. Maybe we just let our guard down.” He took a long sip of his drink and put down an empty can. Mitch squirmed in his seat.
“About two o’clock in the afternoon, this little Iraqi girl named Haala rode in on her bicycle, just as she’d done every day for the last two weeks. She brought us food. Sometimes drinks.” Lance’s lips curled into a thin smile. “At first we treated her with the same caution we treated any civilian, making her go through the security checkpoints, checking her bags, her picnic basket, everything. But after two weeks, we got pretty comfortable with her.”
Lance shook his head. His hands gripped into tight fists, then relaxed. The background music, a Zac Brown Band CD from Sue Everett’s car, faded to silence with the end of the disc’s final song. Quiet fell like a pall over the room.
“It was strapped to her back. I mean, who expects an 8-year-old kid to have a bomb strapped to her? And if we do expect it, what does that say about us as people?
“I got off lucky. The explosion took my sight. Three of my friends weren’t so fortunate.”
“I’m sorry, Lance.”
“Nothing to be sorry for, Indiana. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be gator bait by now.”
“Something tells me you would have found your way here, one way or another.”
Darren sat down at the table, handing each of them another soft drink. “Don’t fret. Hank went out for a beer run.”
The three men popped open the tops of their soft drinks and raised them in toast.
Mitch said, “I heard we were up to twenty-nine people already. That sound about right?”
“That’s exactly right,” said Darren. “Carina started an informal census. She’s having people list what sorts of skills they have and what they did for a living. It’s a good idea. We already have a doctor, which is indispensable. Hank Jenner—he’s the guy living next door to us—is a helluva fix-it man. Car repair, home repair. You name it. The house Sue Everett took didn’t have power last night, so we moved her one house over. Hank already found the problem—just a disconnected wire. Now the house is ready for the next arrival.”
Lance sipped his ginger ale and winced at the sweetness. “How many people you figure we’ll have by next weekend?”
“I bet we’ll triple our numbers, at least,” Darren said. “Wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to see a hundred or more. Doctor Erickson came all the way from Nevada. He saw vehicles headed in our direction, though unless travelers take I-95, they won’t know we’re here. Which is why we’re sending three vehicles out Tuesday to plant signs from here to Mississippi.”
Lance tipped his baseball cap in the direction of Darren’s voice. “Well-organized.”
“Or maybe some of us are a little restless and feel like we need to do something. Like that young guy who came in yesterday—Don Plintzke. He managed a supermarket up in Sturbridge, Massachusetts. He’s one of the people helping us sort through the grocery shelves, identifying what is and isn’t safe to eat, and he has some pretty good ideas about food storage. Mitch already volunteered to help folks start their gardens. Who better than an Indiana farmer to show them how it’s done?”
Lance snickered. “I can hear Indiana’s head swelling already.”
Mitch pointed a finger at Lance and said, “He was a lot nicer when I was peeling leeches off of him.
“I’d be happy to help, Darren. I doubt anyone wants to eat canned food for the next ten years. Hey, what about that tough guy that came in with Hank Jenner?”
“Viper?” Darren shrugged. “He helped Hank and a few others get their houses set up, but he said community life wasn’t his thing. He was gonna look for an oceanside place down near South Daytona or Port Orange. I imagine he’s already set up somewhere nice.”
“Sounds like a useful guy to have around.”
“I convinced him to at least take a walkie-talkie and a handheld CB. The beaches are only six or seven miles away as the crow flies, so there shouldn’t be any problem keeping in touch.”
Standing up and stretching, Mitch craned his neck toward the window, smiling at the fun taking place inside the park. “Give kids fresh air and a park, and they’re as happy as clams.”
“There’ll be issues. Except for Sue’s girl, the others will be dealing with the loss of their parents for a long time. We’ve all lost people close to us. I suppose we’ll all have a tough road to hoe.”
Mitch sat down, and the ensuing quiet felt somber. They lost themselves in thought, and then Darren finally spoke.
“Anyhow, with the expertise we’ve gathered in the last twenty-four hours, we’re running like a well-oiled machine. Hank is pretty sure he can rig the convenience store gas station around the corner so we can gas up anytime we need to. Something about the plug vent?”
“Yep. That’s probably the best way to get at the fuel.”
“Couldn’t you just power the inside of the store with a generator or a couple of solar panels, and override the software?” Lance asked. “It’s just a convenience store. How hard could it be to crack the system from the inside?�
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“That’s a good idea. I might be able to help with that task. In my experience, hacking was always more fun than coding.” Darren pushed himself up from his chair. “And now if you’ll excuse me, Don Plintzke and I wanna load the U-Haul with a couple more beds and get some of these empty houses set up. I hear the furniture store around the corner is having a zero-down sale.”
As Darren turned down the stairs, a tall man with curly brown hair walked past him, heading toward Mitch and Lance. His glasses hung perched at the end of his nose, and he wore a slightly mischievous smile, as though he were the only one in on a joke.
“Is this where all the locals go to meet?” he asked, offering his hand.
“You must be Dr. Erickson.” Mitch shook his hand.
“Bruce, please.”
“Came a long way, I hear.”
“Word gets around. Nevada. And you?”
“Indiana.”
“That’s no easy trip, either.”
“I suppose not. Well, I for one am glad you made it. If this burgeoning little community has a chance at surviving the year, it will be nice to have a doctor on call.”
The doctor looked curiously into Lance’s blank eyes and extended his hand across the table. “And you must be Lance.”
Lance shook his hand and grinned. “How do you know I’m not the other black, blind guy in the neighborhood?”
“Only two of you?”
Lance grinned wider. “You’re good, doc.”
They each shared their stories from the past week. All the while, Mitch thought Dr. Erickson seemed a lot more loose than any of his own doctors. Given the man’s sense of humor, Mitch wondered if Bruce had missed his calling as a stand up comic. Several minutes later, Dr. Erickson pushed himself up from his seat.
“If the two of you don’t mind, I’ve had my eyes on those peach trees since I arrived. I think it’s time for my lunch break.”
They said their goodbyes, and the doctor disappeared down the staircase. Moments later, Mitch saw him trekking across the park toward the nearest peach tree.
As Mitch watched Darren and Don turn out of the gated neighborhood in the moving truck, Lance pushed his drink aside.
“Now that the others are gone, there’s something I want to discuss with you, Indiana.”
“Shoot.”
“Does all of this seem a little convenient to you?”
“How so?”
“This organization effort has gone exceedingly smooth. Darren and Carina are doing a great job. They got the ball rolling, and they should be commended. We’re working on simple stuff like directing people to the community, making sure the gas pumps work, and putting roofs over people’s heads.”
“But?”
“But we’re putting an awful lot of faith in this new society. My sociology professor used to say, the past is a wonderful place to visit, but a terrible place to live. Once we get 100, 200, 500 people in this community, things will get more complicated.”
“Define complicated.”
“Eventually someone is going to drive a little too fast through the neighborhood while kids are riding their bikes, or two guys are going to throw punches after a few beers. It’s inevitable, and when it happens, people will want someone to step forward as a lawman. Once you have law enforcement, people will want courts to ensure the law is fair. After that, governing officials and elections.”
Mitch itched his head, longing for the levity of simple conversation and music. “Which leads to the obvious question: what system of government will we put into place? Do we fall back on the United States Constitution? The original? Or do we accept all of the amendments? If not, which amendments get thrown away, and who decides?”
“Now you’re thinking like I am, Indiana. Here’s something else to chew on. While we’re organizing in Florida, maybe some other group is organizing in Louisiana, or California, or in another country. Maybe a country that hates Americans. After all, we don’t know what the situation is overseas. We can only make the assumption that we’re all similarly affected across the world. Expect differences among these groups—different ideas about government, different religious beliefs, different ideologies. Historically, these differences have often led to disagreements and even wars.”
“Are you suggesting we organize a military?”
“Not necessarily. I hope we never have to. But let’s say several community factions exist, and one decides to form a military while the others don’t. The faction which arms itself and trains for battle will overwhelm all the other groups.”
“And the world heads right down the same path it has headed down since the origin of man. In a room of ten people, if nine are peace-loving and one wants to fight, all ten are forced into war.”
“That’s pretty heady stuff coming from a farm boy.”
“I have my moments.”
“Think about all of the unguarded military equipment. What if someone comes rolling into town in a tank?” Benin hesitated, pondering. “What if someone—maybe someone with military background—figures out how to fire a missile?”
“I could really go for that beer you’ve been asking about.”
Not enjoying the proceeding silence, Mitch got up from his chair and restarted the CD. The Zac Brown Band played, “Jump Right In.”
“There’s one last thing. I almost don’t want to bring it up.”
“You might as well. I’m not gonna sleep a wink tonight anyhow.”
“Before you came across the signs for Florida Bliss, what made you head southeast in the first place?”
Mitch massaged his temples, contemplating Lance’s question.
“I could tell you I was following the direction other vehicles were heading, but it wouldn’t be truthful. I started working my way southward before I spotted another vehicle, long before I found Beth and Melody.”
“The whole time I was inside my house, wondering where my neighbors had disappeared to and why the phone didn’t work, I had this feeling that I needed to get out. It wasn’t just the heat, and believe me, the heat became a huge issue. It was more like a need to reach safe haven. In the two-and-a-half years I was actively deployed, I used to get feelings whenever a battle was getting close. I’m not talking about clairvoyance or some ESP bullshit. It was more of a sense, like heading out to the lake and just knowing if the fish are gonna bite. I wasn’t the only one. Most of our unit got edgy in the days before an attack or a big battle. The only time I witnessed a serious scrap between two soldiers was over a card game, thirty hours before a small army of insurgents hit us with artillery fire in the dead of night. It’s like people can sense trouble before the shit-storm hits. I had those feelings from Monday onward, and never stronger than on the day I left home.
“I don’t want you to repeat this, Indiana, but my gut tells me there is another community getting organized somewhere to the north, and when they come south, it won’t be on a peacekeeping mission.”
Mitch crumpled his Pepsi can and tossed it in the garbage can.
“I’ve heard enough for today, Lance. If you want to continue this conversation, I’m gonna need a case of beer.” Mitch stood and stretched. “Maybe I’ll head down to the park and see if I can still throw a football.”
“I hope I’m wrong, Mitch.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Let me help you down the stairs.”
Down in the park, Lance sat across from the women, listening to the laughter of the new community’s children. Mitch tossed the football with the two boys, Duncan and Michael, and Joline Everett, who threw the best spiral of them all. Michael was twelve, two years older than Duncan, and Mitch noticed the younger boy kept looking to Michael, copying everything Michael did, from how he threw the football to which jokes he should laugh at. Mitch noticed Michael had a mischievous gleam in his eye. Dr. Erickson would have his hands full watching after these two.
Mitch wore a smile that was only skin-deep. Inside, his nerves were frayed, and his thoughts were of the nation’s unguarded tanks a
nd missiles.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Pictures of Amy
The makeshift community was an anchor, tethering to each of them memories of their own lost worlds, preventing the sea of confusion that was the last week’s tribulations from pulling their sanities away.
A little before supper time Sunday afternoon, Blake and Tori drove the Camaro through the gates of Florida Bliss, marveling at the size of the homes. Except for the vibrant plant life, everything here was white, as though the community were carved out of ivory. A long rectangular building lay along the right side of the road, and past the building, a few adults mingled in a park where several children ran and played. Vehicles rested in driveways. At one house, a man carried a cardboard box of food and cleaning supplies through the open door of an attached garage. To the teenagers, the community appeared torn from the pages of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine, a moment in time plucked from a happier past.
A girl with strawberry-blonde hair flew past the Camaro on a bicycle, a beagle sprinting and barking behind her, and as she passed, she looked curiously at the two teenagers before pedaling away.
An hour ago, Tori and Blake had lain concealed within weedy overgrowth atop a grassy hillock a half-mile outside the neighborhood. Passing a pair of binoculars between them, they watched for signs of trouble or a trap. But all they saw were children playing in the park and adults loading and unloading furniture and food out of vehicles.
Now their car reached the elongated community building, and a woman with wavy blonde hair jogged toward them. Blake rolled down the window, letting in the warm tropical air.
“Welcome. You’re the fourth vehicle to arrive since lunch. Things are really starting to pick up. I’m Carina Fortin.” Carina extended her hand, and Blake shook it, as his eyes warily followed a group of adults entering the community center.