by Amy Cross
After a few minutes, I get out of bed and wander through to the front room. The first thing I notice is that it's freezing cold in here. The window broke last night, and a cold breeze is making the curtains flutter. There's glass all over the floor and, with the lights still off, the whole room seems strangely dull and gray. There's dust everywhere, presumably from the huge cloud that was sent into the sky when the airplane that hit the ground. Grabbing my mother's over-sized winter coat from the hallway, I figure I might as well stay warm. I slip a pair of shoes onto my bare, sockless feet and finally I make my way across the broken, dusty glass until I'm standing at the window.
The fires are still burning. There are two on the horizon, and there's one in the city itself. For whatever reason, it looks as if three airplanes crashed yesterday, and no-one's gone to help. No sirens, no fire teams, nothing. They've just been left to burn. Finally, turning my head a little, I realize I can hear something after all; I can hear the crackling of the flames from a few blocks away, still burning. It's a very faint sound, but in a strange way it's kind of reassuring; at least something is making a noise, and I figure that sooner or later someone's gonna turn up to sort everything else and put things back to normal.
"Hey," says a voice behind me.
Turning, I see my brother Henry standing over by the door to the kitchen. He's noticeably calmer and quieter than usual; by this time in the morning, he'd normally be watching cartoons and eating cereal, but he seems to be just standing there, waiting for me to say or do something. He's got this slightly dazed look in his eyes.
"Hey," I reply. "Did you manage to sleep?"
He shakes his head.
"Me neither," I say. It seems crazy that we even tried to go to sleep, but at the time I thought it was the best thing to do.
"It's cold in here," Henry says.
"Yeah," I say quietly.
I smile, before leaning out through the window and looking straight down at the street below. Even from all the way up here on the top floor, I can see that there's not a soul in the streets. I guess everyone has decided to stay inside and wait for help to arrive. You'd think that maybe people would spill out onto the sidewalk, trying to find out what's going on, but it's almost as if the whole city has taken fright.
"When do you think the power's gonna come back on?" he asks.
I shrug.
"But it is gonna come back on some time, right?" He waits for me to reply. "Elizabeth?" He waits again. "It'll probably be today," he says eventually. "People are gonna be so mad about all of this. Do you think someone did it deliberately?"
I shrug again.
"I think it was," he says. "I think this was all caused by someone who, like, got into the systems and made it all happen. Probably some idiot in his bedroom managed to get past the security in some network, and switched everything off."
"Maybe," I say, although I can't help wondering why it's taking so long to fix. I can kind of just about believe that someone could fuck things up like this, but I don't understand why it would take forever to get the city back to normal. Surely there are people outside New York who can see what's happening? Why don't they come and help? It's as if all the people you'd expect to fix the problem have, instead, just given up.
"So where do you think they are right now?" Henry asks.
"Who?"
"Mom and Dad. Do you think they're at the airport?"
I shrug, feeling as if there's no point saying anything else. The truth is, we can stand here and speculate all day, but we don't know anything. We can guess, but it's all just a load of bullshit. With no internet, no TV, no anything, we're just standing here and waiting for something, anything, to happen. For all we know, this could be a simple fuck-up by the power company, or it could be something worse. It could be some kind of crippling computer virus that's shut everything down, or it could be a nuclear disaster, or it could be some kind of plague. Hell, it could even be a zombie apocalypse. The point is: we have no information. We're alone up here on the top floor of an apartment building, and we don't know a damn thing. We're also completely, hopelessly helpless.
"The freezer's leaking," Henry says after a moment.
I turn to him. "What?"
"The freezer's leaking. There's no power, so the ice has started to melt. There's, like, a puddle on the kitchen floor." He pauses. "I just thought you should know."
"Why should I know?" I ask.
He stares at me, and that's when it hits me: the realization that he thinks I'm in charge. Henry's always hated it when I'm left to look after him, but right now - with everything going crazy - he's naturally just waiting for me to do everything. I guess it makes him feel better to think that in some way I'm here for him, and that I know what to do, and that I'm going to make sure things are okay.
"I'll take a look in a minute," I say, even though I have no idea what I'm going to do. I guess I'll have to take out the food and see what's still good and what's not, and then I'm gonna have to work out what we can eat for breakfast. Fortunately, the fridge was pretty well-stocked when our parents went away, so at least we won't starve. We can eat kind of normally today, and the power has to come back on by evening. I mean, no matter how fucked up things are going to get, at some point someone out there is going to get on with the job of reconnecting everything. This can't last forever.
"Should we go outside?" Henry asks suddenly.
I pause for a moment. "No," I say eventually. "We're not going outside. You never know what it's like out there."
"Don't you wanna see the crashed plane?"
"Not really."
I wait for him to argue with me, but he just stares out the window. He's trying to act normal, but he can't quite manage to pull it off. The normal Henry wouldn't ask me if he could go outside; he'd just head out the door. It's kind of weird, the way he's deferring to me. Weird and scary, since I don't know what the hell we're supposed to do. Going outside would be a mistake, though; I'm certain of that. The best thing is just to sit tight and wait for help, because at some point I know that help will arrive. The worst thing to do would be to panic and start running out into the street. We're must better off staying up here, because this is where we're safe. As long as we're in our apartment, nothing can hurt us. That's the theory, anyway.
Chapter Three
Oklahoma
Following the noise of banging and hammering, I find my father around the back of the barn. He's working on the truck, fixing a few things and filling the tank with gas. At first, he doesn't seem to notice that I'm here, which is typical: he's lost in his own world of wing-nuts and gaskets, where every problem can be solved with the right tools and a few tightened screws. Eventually, however, he glances over, and I realize he's probably been aware of my presence all along.
"You come to help?" he asks.
"What do you need?" I reply.
"Pass me the wrench from over there."
I grab the wrench and hand it to him. "Are you going to Scottsville today?" I ask.
"That's the plan. Gonna get to the bottom of this mess. Power's still out, and I don't like that. I need to make sure things are under control. You know what people are like. They're probably running around like blue-assed flies, trying to work out what to do. They need a good, firm hand to get things in order."
"Huh," I say, watching as he continues to work on the truck.
"Something on your mind?" he asks eventually.
"I was just wondering what's happening," I say. "Do you think it's something serious?"
"A plane falls out of the sky?" he replies. "That's serious in my book."
"Why hasn't anyone gone to look?" I ask. "Do you think no-one's noticed?"
"I'm sure the people on the plane noticed," he replies. "I'm sure the people in charge of the plane noticed too, and the people waiting at the other end for people to arrive." He pauses for a moment. "About five years ago, there was a nasty car wreck on that stretch of road. Some tourist family had a blowout and went head-first into a t
ree. A man, a woman, and a few kids. All dead, and one of 'em even got dragged half out of the window by a wolf. Anyway, within three hours there were ambulances and police in the area. You could hear the sirens from here. Three hours, that's all. And yet that plane's been down for more than half a day, and there's nobody come to take a look."
"You worried?"
"I'm taking a pragmatic view of the situation," he replies. "Something's off, and only a fool would sit around and wait for other people to fix it. Now get in the truck and fire her up. See if she's running okay."
Leaping at the chance to actually do something useful, I hurry around to the side of the truck and climb inside. I turn the key to start the engine, but it splutters and eventually dies; I try again, but the same thing happens. "What's wrong with it?" I ask.
"Fuel pick-up," he says, leaning back under the hood. "Okay, get out again."
I climb out of the truck. "It was okay yesterday."
"No," he sighs, "it was struggling yesterday. Like most things around here, it was getting by, despite a few major flaws under the hood. Normally, I'd let it keep running until it breaks, but I figure if things aren't so ordinary out there, I need to make sure this thing's rock-solid reliable before I head off to Scottsville. After all, I can't be calling a tow truck without any phone signal, can I?" He checks his watch. "If it gets much later, I might have to stay the night. It might be just you and your Mom and your brother here until the morning. That'll be fun for you."
"And Lydia," I reply.
"Huh," he says, clearly not impressed. "Isn't she heading off pretty soon?"
"I'm not sure," I say. I pause for a moment, feeling a little reluctant to mention what I heard when I was leaving the house just now. "I don't know if she's okay," I add eventually. "I think she's maybe a little sick."
"Sick in what way?"
"Coughing."
He pauses. "Yeah. I heard her in the night."
"I think I heard her in the bathroom too."
"Now what were you doing listening to a woman's bathroom noises, son?"
"It's right next to my room," I reply. "I think she was throwing up."
"Is that right?"
"She seems worse this morning," I continue. "Mom's gonna take her up some honey tea, but..." My voice trails off as I wait for my father to say something, but he seems lost in thought. "I just keep wondering if she's okay," I continue. "She seemed fine yesterday, and then last night she fainted and then she started coughing and it just seems like she's getting worse and worse." I glance back over at the horizon, where smoke is still rising. I feel as if there's some thought in the back of my mind, some fear that I'm keeping squashed down; it's as if, in the pit of my stomach, I feel like things are a lot worse than they seem. "Joe says she's just got a cold," I say quietly.
"Try the engine again," he says.
Getting back into the car, I turn the key, but the engine still won't start up properly.
"Okay, okay," he continues, "that'll do. Don't want to cause more damage." He leans back under the hood, and I stay sitting in the front of the truck. Opening the glove compartment, I see that Joe has already removed the gun that he took from the dying cop. Great, that's all we need: Joe with a handgun.
"Lydia came through Scottsville," I say, raising my voice so he can hear me. "She said it was empty. She said there was no-one there at all."
"Well, maybe she's delirious," he replies, laughing. "I've been going to Scottsville my whole life, and I can tell you that the place is always pretty busy. Where, exactly, would all those people go?"
I take a deep breath, imagining Lydia wandering the empty streets. All morning, I've been mulling this situation over in my head, trying to work out what might have happened. Taking everything into account, I've come to the conclusion that something pretty bad might have happened on a major scale. In fact, whenever I think of Lydia walking through a deserted Scottsville, I can't help picturing dead bodies hidden away in the buildings. I guess I've always had a hyper-active imagination, thanks to spending my childhood growing up out here on the farm, but something tells me there might be something bad happening. First there was the power-cut, then the abandoned gas station, and now news of Scottsville being empty. I feel as if there's some huge puzzle, and I need to start fitting all the pieces together.
"Are you sure it's a good idea to go to Scottsville?" I ask eventually.
"A good idea?" He pauses. "It's never been a particularly good idea to go to Scottsville, son, but it's the nearest town. Beggars can't be choosers. Guess I'm just gonna have to grit my teeth, get in and out as fast as possible, and hope I don't run into too many idiots. Not gonna be easy, mind. Scottsville's about 95% idiots."
"That's not what I mean," I continue. "What if..." I take a deep breath. "What if she was right, and the place is deserted. I mean, why would she make that up?"
"Don't be dumb, son," he replies. "The people of Scottsville aren't gonna just up sticks and vanish, no matter what some streak of piss girl claims. I don't know why she'd say something like that, but frankly I don't give a damn. She can spout off whatever gibberish she wants. She's feverish. Probably imagined the whole thing. What she says doesn't change a thing. I've been going to Scottsville all my life, and the worst thing that ever happened to me was a dose of the clap. Why should things be different this time?" Stepping back, he slams the hood down. "Try it again," he adds.
I turn the key, and this time the engine starts up perfectly. Say what you like about my father, but he's a damn good mechanic.
"Okay," he says, patting the front of the truck. "Let's go get something to eat."
After taking one final look at the truck, I climb out and then I follow my father along the dirt path that heads around the barn. It's odd, but because I know that all the power's off, I feel like everything looks and feels much calmer. I suppose that's all in my head, but I swear to God I can feel that the crackle of the wi-fi isn't in the air, and there are no mobile phone signals bouncing off the surfaces. The only sound is the dirt under my feet, and then the gravel as my father and I get closer to the house. As I stop at the door and remove my shoes, however, I hear another noise. I look up at the window of the spare room, where Lydia sounds as if she's coughing her guts up. All those germs, spreading out from her mouth like a great big, infectious cloud. I can't help worrying that her sickness might be something serious. Hopefully I'm wrong, though. Hell, like my father says, I'm wrong about most things. Then again, something feels different this time. All my life I've dreamed of running away from the farm and starting a new life somewhere else. What if I've left it too late, and now the rest of the world isn't even there anymore?
Chapter Four
Manhattan
Cleaning up the mess takes a while, but it feels good to be actually doing something. Henry and I move all the furniture out of the front room, and then we use a dustpan and brush to sweep up as much of the dust and glass as possible. We can't get it all, of course, and there's this stupid moment when I automatically reach for the vacuum cleaner before remembering that there's no power. No matter how carefully we try to sweep up all the dust, it seems as if there are always more particles to be found, and we have to take regular breaks due to the cloud of ash that keeps developing in the room. Eventually, though, we decide that we've done a good enough job, so we move all the furniture back into place and stand in the doorway, covered in dust and ash, and staring at the results of our hard work.
"We need to fix the window," I say after a moment.
"How?" Henry asks.
"I don't know," I reply, before suddenly a bright idea hits me. "Come on," I say, turning and heading through to our parents' bedroom. It doesn't take too long to find a bed-sheet that's big enough to cover the window, and we use some thick tape from the craft drawer to seal it in place. The sheet's white, but it still blocks out quite a lot of light, and as we once again stand back to admire our handiwork, I can't help wondering if we should have just left the window open. I mean, it's ju
st air that was coming in, right? Still, at least this way we'll probably be able to stay a little warmer.
"Okay," I say, turning to Henry. "We might be in for a few days like this, so we're gonna sort ourselves out. Are you cold?"
He nods.
I lead him back through to our parents' bedroom, and we gather up all the spare blankets and duvets we can find. Eventually, we've built a fairly impressive little fort that should, hopefully, keep us warm. After we've both put on several more layers of clothing, I take Henry to the kitchen and fix up a salad from the stuff in the fridge. It's definitely not something that Henry would normally eat, but he seems happy enough, and as we sit at the bench and eat in silence, it's almost as if things are getting back to normal. It feels kind of good to have taken charge and actually done something; at least I know we're not gonna starve or freeze to death up here.
"You wanna go on the roof?" Henry asks when we've finished eating.
"The roof?" I stare at him. "Why the hell would I want to go on the roof?"
Smiling, he runs through to our parents' bedroom. I hear him banging around in there, looking for something, and finally her returns with a pair of binoculars.
"Where did those come from?" I ask.
"I noticed them earlier," he replies, "when we were looking for sheets. I think they're the ones Dad uses when he plays golf. We can see for miles with these things."
"It's gonna be cold up there," I point out.
"We'll wrap up," he says, clearly recovering a little of his usual enthusiasm. "Come on, Elizabeth, we need to know what's going on. With these, we can get an idea of how far the blackout's spread and what's happening in the distance."