by Thunboe, Bo
She had two pills left. Two good days before her delusions started to become more real to her than the reality in which her family lived. Two days to prepare her family to survive until July.
25
Dan ran the last few feet down the slope. When he hit the road, he spotted the Honda being pushed up the opposite embankment. His stride faltered when he realized there were three men, but he recovered and ran even faster. Three men or ten men, he needed that motorcycle. Walking home from here would take at least a day, maybe two.
All three wore jeans and canvas work coats. One held the handlebars and the other two were behind the bike pushing on the rear fender. As he watched, the man on the left slipped and went down and the bike almost landed on him, Righty taking up the slack just in time.
Dan stuffed the gloves in his pocket and shifted the helmet to his left hand. He put his other hand in his pocket and gripped the little gun. Maybe he wouldn’t need it. Maybe these guys thought the bike was abandoned and as soon as he explained he owned it, they’d give it back.
Dan was a runner and his long smooth stride generated barely a scuff as he crossed the pavement.
Righty slipped, but didn’t go down. “Burned my hand on the damn muffler.”
“Keep pushing,” Handlebars urged. “This is the only thing we’ve seen running all day. We need it.”
If they’d seen the Honda running, then they’d seen Dan on it and knew it wasn’t abandoned. He was lucky they hadn’t just killed him for it and that they were too distracted by their effort to notice his approach. With surprise on his side he might not even need the gun. He left the gun in his pocket, shortened his stride as he hit the hill, and surged up it. He swung the helmet against Lefty’s outside knee and the man went down. The bike rolled backwards.
“What the hell!” The man up front twisted the handlebars and the front end swung out and knocked Righty aside and the bike laid down. Dan dug his right hand into the slope and clawed his way higher and then he was above the men and the bike. He stood up and glared down at them. The two below the bike were on their feet now and Handlebars squatted a few feet below Dan. He wore a red knit hat high on his oily forehead with a mass of dark hair looping out from under it.
“That’s mine,” Dan said. “Get away from it.”
Handlebars eyed Dan, then stood. “Maybe it was yours, and maybe it wasn’t. Ain’t got no plates on it so I’m guessing you stole it. Stealing from a thief isn’t a crime.”
Dan had the title in an inside pocket but wasn’t going to reach for it now or give them a legal lesson. He pulled out the revolver instead.
Handlebars’ eyes went wide and he leaned away from the gun. He glanced back at his two buddies, then looked Dan up-and-down. “You got a gun but you ain’t going to use it.”
What did these guys see that made them think that, Dan wondered? “That’s what the guy who tried to steal the bike from me back at the river said. That’s why I only have five bullets left. But there’s only three of you.”
Handlebars smirked, then lunged for Dan’s ankles. Dan swung the helmet but the blow glanced off Handlebars’ shoulder and the impact knocked it out of Dan’s hand. Handlebars yanked Dan’s feet from under him and he hit the ground flat on his back, the impact knocking the wind out of him.
“Kill him, Dale. He fucked up my knee with that helmet.”
Dan struggled to breathe, panic growing as he fought for air. He knew he’d only had the wind knocked out of him but that didn’t help quell his rising panic. Handlebars loomed over him, reaching, his face red with anger. Dan pulled his knees up, jammed his feet into Handlebars chest, and launched him down the hill. The effort released the spasm clenching his chest and Dan took a deep breath as Handlebars tumbled. Dan pulled in another breath, then Lefty charged up the hill, Dan’s helmet raised above his head. The man screamed and swung and Dan thrust the gun out and pulled the trigger.
26
Sean slept like the dead, then woke to the sound of shouting and laughter. It was cold in his room, too cold. This was probably the last time he could sleep in here away from the fireplace until spring. He got up and looked out his window. Mr. Snick and his twins were gathering sticks washed up on the riverbank at the bottom of the yard. Only the houses on this side of the long leg of the court backed to the river, their yards shallow slopes to the trees along the water. Snick’s house was on the short leg of the court before it turned parallel to the river and backed onto a small woods between the court and a church. There was no need for him to harvest wood here, but it was likely easier. The twins sprang apart, waving sticks like swords. They could have a good time doing anything, even shoveling snow.
A sucking sound and a shudder as the pressure in the house changed when his mom opened the patio door.
“Bill Snick!” That was her angry voice. “Get out of our yard. That’s our wood and we’re going to need it.”
Snick turned around, a giant armful of branches almost obscuring his face. He nodded at the back of the garage. “You got all that firewood.”
Sean had forgotten about the firewood. He and Dan added to it every spring and kept a tarp over it to keep it dry so most of it should be good.
“What difference does that make? That wood is on our property so it’s ours. Drop it. You can get all you want from the woods behind your house.”
Snick said something to the twins and they snatched up little loads and took off. “You can send Dan over to talk about it when he gets home.” He followed after his boys.
The slider thundered against the jam.
Sean went downstairs. His mom stood in front of the door staring after the Snicks, arms crossed.
“It’s okay, Mom. We do have a lot of firewood back there.”
She faced him, her face still blotchy with anger. “I read those EMP papers. Before this winter ends, we’ll wish we hadn’t let Snick take those branches.”
Sean bit his lip. His mom was right. Again. He had vowed to toughen up just a few hours before and had already failed. “I’m going to move our firewood into the garage before one of our other neighbors comes by to take it.”
“Excellent. I’ll think about our food.”
“I put the backpack down in the pantry area.”
“Good,” she said. But the shadow in her eyes meant she was already thinking about something else.
Sean ate an energy bar then put on his coat and knit hat and went out into the garage. It was colder here, the wind pummeling the garage door. But it was dry and secure. He climbed into the mini-van, turned the key he’d left in the ignition, then shifted the gear selector into neutral.
He examined the mechanism for the electric garage door opener. A short rope hung from the chain drive with a red knob on the end of it. He yanked the knob and with a solid chunk the door disconnected from the drive. He grabbed the handle by the bottom lip of the door and lifted, metal panels rattling as they ran upward in their tracks.
Wind burst into the garage and swirled dust and leaves around his feet. He eyed the downward slope of the driveway. When he got the van moving, he would have trouble stopping it. He grabbed the long four-inch square timber Dan used to keep from pulling his car too far into the garage and set it across the driveway down near the sidewalk. Then he went back to the driver’s door, grabbed the steering wheel and the doorframe, and pushed. He leaned into it, his feet slipping against the smooth concrete, and the van moved. The back tire bumped off the garage slab and onto the driveway. The van lurched suddenly faster.
Too fast.
Shit!
Sean set his feet to slow the van but the steering wheel moved under his hand and he stumbled. The van swerved and the open door hit him and knocked him down. He rolled, the front tire coming at his face. Shit! He brought up his hand, then something clamped on his ankle and dragged him out of the way. He flipped over and watched the van careen down the driveway, angling away from him. The back tire hit the timber, bounced over it, then a front tire hit and splintered the
wood. The wheel locked up and dragged the timber several feet before the van stopped.
The clamp on Sean’s ankle released. He looked up to find Mr. Snick standing over him.
“Close one,” Snick said. He was a big man, well over six feet tall, and thick.
“Thanks, Mr. Snick.”
“Your van not running either?”
“No.”
“I could’ve helped you with that, you know. We need to stick together for this thing.”
“I…” Sean stopped himself from agreeing. He stood up. “See you later.”
“Don’t you want to know what happened? What caused all this?”
“I have work to do, Mr. Snick.”
Sean grabbed the garage door and began lowering it behind him.
“It was the Chinese,” Snick yelled. “Or the Russians. Or maybe—”
The door banged against the floor.
“—those damn North Koreans.” Snick pounded on the door. “Can you hear me? Or maybe all three of ‘em together. Going to come in and take everything we have. That’s what this is about. Taking over our way of life!”
That old man was living in the past where America was the leader of the free world and most of the planet didn’t even have clean drinking water. Dozens of countries had what America had and used it better. Sean waited until Snick stopped raving outside, then opened the back door and carried in all the firewood. It was a substantial pile, but definitely not enough to get them through the winter.
27
The sharp crack of the shot froze them all in place: Dan on his back above the bike, Handlebars crouched below him, Righty with his hands up just below the bike.
Lefty curled in a ball at the base of the hill.
“The fuck you shoot him for?” Handlebars scrambled down the hill. “Caleb, you okay?”
Dan stood up, heart hammering and ears hot with pumping blood. Lefty moaned and rolled onto his back. “Fucker shot me!” He sat up, holding his right arm with his left, a dark stain growing around a small hole punched through the arm of his jacket.
Dan felt like throwing up but had to press his advantage while he had it. “Get out of here.” He waved the gun and pointed across the highway. “That way.”
“Let’s go.” Handlebars wrapped an arm around his friend and helped him up. “We’re calling the cops.”
Dan said nothing.
When the three were on the opposite shoulder, he stuffed the gun back in his pocket. He man-handled the bike around until it was facing across the hill. He lifted it and got on, then aimed the front wheel downhill and rode the bike to the bottom. He kick-started it and let it run while he grabbed the helmet and put it on. The thieves stood together watching him. He kept them in his side mirror as he rode away until they shrank to a speck and disappeared. He stopped and pulled on his gloves, then continued on, crossing the median back to the eastbound lanes. The sun had warmed the air so he cranked the bike up to forty-five.
We’re calling the cops. An empty threat. Even if the local cops did report to work—a big if—they had no way to chase him and no way to call ahead. The bigger worry was the man’s gunshot wound. It didn’t look that serious, but he still needed medical care. Hopefully there was a hospital nearby, or at least a doctor with trauma experience.
The bike wobbled beneath him. He’d wandered into the ruts the big rigs had worn into the pavement. He muscled the bike out of the groove and into the passing lane.
Focus, Fallon!
The thieves had started it and all he’d done was finish it. He’d pulled the gun only as a deterrent. Handlebars coming at him made him fire. Dan had done nothing more than defend himself and his property. He needed to put the whole incident behind him and focus forward. On the ride home and on what he needed to do when he got there.
With the river practically in their backyard, water wouldn’t be a problem. Neither would firewood; there was a whole forest just the other side of the river.
Food would be the problem. Mary kept a deep pantry but he doubted it held enough to last more than a month, no matter how much they stretched it.
Then what?
28
Erin tried calling Coach Hudson on the room’s phone, thinking the hotel operator could put her through, but it didn’t work. She considered going out in the hall to look for him, but was scared to open her door and didn’t even know his room number. It hadn’t seemed important when she could just text him.
Did Coach have her room number?
She climbed back into bed. She had her favorite Harry Potter book with her and tried to get lost in the story of the Triwizard Tournament for the umpteenth time, but her thoughts kept slipping—to the man who’d pushed into her room, to the power going out, and to Cammie.
An hour or two later—she needed to start wearing a watch—a knock on her door.
“Erin?”
Coach!
Erin ran to the door, flicked back the privacy bar, and pulled the door open.
“We—”
She grabbed his arm and yanked him into the room, slamming the door as soon as he crossed the threshold. He was a big man with stooped shoulders, and a wiry, gray goatee.
“Whoa.” Coach Hudson held out his hands. “It’s just me.”
“Sorry, Coach. I had a bad experience with the guy across the hall earlier.”
He looked back at the door. “What happened?”
“He was mad when he couldn’t get back into his room. I opened my door to ask him what was going on and he pushed his way in here. I cracked a couple of his ribs and he left.”
“You need to come down with the rest of us. Grab your stuff.”
“What do you think happened, Coach?”
“It’s just a power outage. But it shouldn’t last long.”
“It’s not just the power, Coach.”
His eyes pulled away from hers. “Whatever caused the electrical problem must have impacted the nodes or whatever of the cell phone towers.” He smoothed his goatee. They all knew from playing poker for pennies on long tournament weekends, that was his tell. He was lying.
“I can’t even turn on my iPad.”
“Well… I can’t explain it any better, Erin.”
Erin went and looked out the window. Two men had the hood up on the car stalled in the parking lot. “Does your car work, Coach?” Her breath frosted the glass.
A long pause. “No.”
“So…?”
“Pack up. Let’s go.”
“Is Cammie… who all is down there with you?”
“Everyone else who stayed the night. Cammie, Melinda, Sara, and Lisa.”
Erin wanted to see Cammie, needed to see her… but with the other girls there? “I don’t know, Coach.”
“Your mom and da—Dan—wouldn’t be happy with me if I left you on your own down here. We can wait this out together. Just until they fix whatever happened.”
Whatever happened. Did Coach know what caused this but was keeping it from her? She didn’t need to be sheltered from the truth. Coach looked pale and the wrinkles around his eyes looked deeper than normal. He was worried. Older men liked to think they had all the answers, so maybe the not knowing was what worried him.
Sean might know what had happened. He loved technology and science fiction and all that end of the world stuff. He’d once shown her the textbook from his college technology class that listed the top ten ways the world could end. She hadn’t paid enough attention to know if this matched one of those scenarios.
Coach put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “Pack up. Let’s go.”
She packed her clothes into the roller suitcase and the rest of her stuff into her backpack. Her dobok, hogu, and all her other Taekwondo equipment were in a locker at the venue with everyone else’s. She’d given her mom this room number so just in case someone came looking for her, decided to leave a note. She wrote it on the hotel-provided notepad and centered it on the desk. As they left the room, she propped the door open on the privacy
bar. It was dark in the hallway, dashes of light coming from under every room door.
Coach stopped in front of a door and rapped out a beat that was repeated from inside, then the door opened. Melinda. Her eyes popped wide. She grabbed Erin’s wrist and pulled her into the room and hugged her. Melinda was tall and thin, her body hard with ropy muscle and taut tendons.
“Now we’re all together,” Melinda said. Erin wriggled away and continued into the room. Cammie stood near the windows. She was short and curvy, her round cheeks sprayed with freckles, and had cupid-bow lips.
“Hey.” Cammie came around the end of the bed and hugged Erin, pressing her cheek to Erin’s and kissing her ear. Erin closed her eyes and her face flushed as she dropped her bags and hugged Cammie back.
“Um… Lisa and Sara are in the other room,” Coach said.
Not surprising. Those two did everything together. That’s why the other girls referred to them jointly as the Twins.
Cammie grabbed Erin’s hand and led her over to the chairs by the window, the spot where Cammie’s lips had touched her ear warming her all the way through.
29
Mary stood at the dining room window. The neighbors had been darting back and forth, house-to-house, but now Carson, Snick, Beth Simpson, Emilio Vargas, and Reggie Miller stood clustered directly across the street. Carson still wore the green vest and hardhat, his ears bright red from the cold. Snick was shaking his fist to the east, likely blaming the Russians or the Chinese. He’d been railing against both countries for years.
They looked so comfortable talking together. She’d been like that, once. Back in college. Carefree and open and able to talk with anyone about anything. As a double major in psychology and human development, talking to people had basically been her major. Relaxed conversations—even with friends and acquittances—ended when her symptoms started. But Mary didn’t seek professional help until she lost her children in the divorce. Now—with the pills and a low stress and balanced lifestyle—she could talk to people again. She just no longer liked to.