by Don Shift
Mika mumbled something. She could feel her mouth slurring the words.
“Okay, come over here,” Sean said guiding her to his car. He opened the back door and indicated for her to sit down.
“Oh no, I’m a deputy,” she slurred.
“You’re a deputy?”
She nodded. Sean thought for a second and looked back through the purse and found a department issued basketweave badge wallet. He didn’t open it yet. “Well sit down. My stuff is in the front seat.” Sean’s partner for the last few days had decided not to show up this morning, which meant the passenger seat was free for his gear, but not a pair of urine-soaked sweatpants, deputy or not.
Mika sat down and tucked her feet inside the car. Sean looked at her ID card. She wasn’t bad looking. He looked at her face and after a second matched the picture to the woman. “What happened to you?”
“Inmate beat me up.”
“Were you burned or anything?” She shook her head no. “You got any family in town?” She shook her head no again. “Okay, sit tight. I’ll get you taken care of.”
The fire department had little luck fighting the fire. All they could do was keep it from spreading to the other buildings and try and rescue whoever they could. Without water pressure, the fire sprinklers had been useless, and the trucks were limited to the few hundred gallons of water they carried with them. In an hour, the building had collapsed into a smoldering heap. About a dozen people had been rescued alive by the fire fighters, except four of them were so severely burned they would be dead in a day or two.
Sean shook his head. A twenty-unit, three story modern luxury apartment building burned to the ground while two fire battalions watched. An evil giant had reached out of the sky and stabbed a burning finger into his hometown. He bit his lip, trying not to yell.
It was like being in high school and watching 9/11 happen all over again. Seeing his country attacked like that filled him with adolescent rage. What he remembered most about that day was the anger he felt. That morning, he didn’t go to school because he put his fist through the dry wall and broke a finger. There wasn’t a thing he could do. He had felt so helpless; a boy of 14, humiliated along with his country.
Today he could do something in response to the EMP attack, but it was a drop of rain in the ocean. Pushing a black and white, trying to keep the fraying ends of society tucked together was going to be no more useful than the fire fighters’ piddly little jets of water. Even all working together, they could do nothing to stop the fire. It just laughed at their pathetic efforts and took the whole building. Sean saw the look of utter despair on the firemen’s faces as they too realized that they were fighting a losing battle.
When he cleared the call, Mika was asleep in the back. So, this was the deputy he had heard got beaten up at TRJ. Lacking any better ideas, Sean decided to take her home. Amy and Carlie were both nurses and could take care of Mika until she came around again. Why isn’t she in the hospital still? he thought. What in the hell are they doing with females still in there with red banders?
The Summer Sun
The only benefit to the extreme heat, Mrs. Palmer considered, was that the abundant sunlight and high ambient temperature would help the water to boil faster. The sun oven was just that; an oven that harnessed the power of the sun. Reflectors focused the light into a sealed heating chamber that could work, under conditions like today, just as well as a conventional oven. It could even heat/boil water and cook foods done on the stove top.
They often used it while camping where fires were prohibited because it meant not having to haul around a stove and propane canisters. They bought it partly because it allowed them to cook without fire, which might give them away under dangerous circumstances like this and helped virtually eliminate the smell of cooking. Of course, it didn’t work on overcast days, which Southern California had in abundance.
Her husband, David, and Brooke were going to handle the moving in. Since Carlie had gotten married and moved out, the house felt unusually empty. The Sunday night family dinners didn’t quite make up for having a full house, so she looked forward, in a way, to having David and Brooke home. She felt a little guilty for thinking this; she was sorry that her children were not going to have an opportunity like she did to grow up in a normal world. No fun vacations, no spontaneous road trips, no romantic date nights. The future held nothing but tenuous survival for them.
The only thing left to do now was to move forward and make the best life that could be had, ensuring that grandchildren would be born and could have some sort of happiness. Mr. Palmer had done well after slowly getting into the prepping bug. Ham radio provided plenty of opportunities to meet others who saw the need to prepare comprehensively for a disaster more serious than an earthquake.
Having a slightly crazy ex-Navy SEAL as her daughter’s father-in-law did wonders for encouraging their self-reliance. The Palmers’ couldn’t afford a ranch or hideaway of their own but did graciously accept the offer to move to the ranch should things become desperate. Mrs. Palmer wasn’t ready to leave her own home yet and she was sure her husband would rather not accept charity if he could avoid it. As a result, they took their own steps to prepare, entering the world of the loaded term “preppers.”
The Palmers’ preparations were fairly tame. Some solar panels, a Harbor Freight generator, stored drinking water, non-perishable long-term storage foods, and heirloom seeds. Their approach was more practical, though as David and his father had talked about, if they had the budget, they would have gone all-out as Carlie’s father-in-law did. Of course, Sibley enjoyed it more as a hobby than anything else. In any event, the two families were far better off than 95% of the entire county.
From a distance, Sean looked like he was trying to turn into the Hulk. The foot pursuit and the struggle to cuff the suspect in the heat had tasked the last of his physical strength. Veins bulged in his face, neck, and arms as he tugged with both hands at his vest. He felt that if he could just get it another inch farther from his chest, he would be able to breathe. Just a little bit more… The pavement was whirling, and his knees buckled. Blackness was forming at the edges of his vision as he gasped for breath. He was only aware of the siren screaming in the distance and the pain that shot through his legs as he collapsed to the ground.
As Sean struggled to avoid fainting, the handcuffed suspect who lay prone on the ground, watched the deputy, waiting for a moment to bolt. The deputy had called in backup and the car was approaching, just seconds away. As soon as Sean hit the pavement, the suspect jumped up and shoved Sean facedown, then crouched backwards, his cuffed hands scrabbling for the deputy’s keys. He didn’t have long to free himself and run away. Sean woke from his exhausted stupor and kicked the idiot’s feet out from under him. He knew backup was just a few seconds away.
The responding deputies, one of the two-man cars, was close to Sean’s call of a burglary at Big 5. He suspected someone was looking to get their hands on the guns the store had refused to sell, except the guns were all booked for safekeeping in the small Camarillo Station evidence room. Sean surprised the suspect by sneaking up on him as he tried to force his way into the Rite Aid loading dock, not knowing he was breaking into the wrong store. The chase was on, a sweaty, adrenaline pumping sprint in the alley behind the shops and houses.
Once the suspect was in cuffs, thanks to tripping on a crack in the pavement behind the Sprouts grocery store, responding units assisted Sean to his feet, then the unlucky criminal. Sean thanked the deputies for their assistance and the two of them then struggled back to the unit, the suspect too tired to try anything foolish again.
At the station, Sean booked the suspect and handcuffed him to the bench before going to the sergeants’ office.
“Sarge, what are we doing with arrests?”
“What did he do?”
“Attempt 459.” Burglary.
“Attempt? A house or what?”
“Big 5.”
“He hurt anybody?”
&nbs
p; “No, just ran.”
The sergeant shook his head. “Sorry Sean but cut him loose.”
“What?”
“You heard me. They’re only booking people that are an actual threat to deputies or the public. Unless he murdered or raped somebody, cut him loose.”
“You’re screwing with me.”
“I wish I were.”
At the end of the day, Sean barely had the strength to get out of the car and into the briefing room. The emotional and physical energy expended felt so pointless. He practically collapsed into one of the chairs lining the wall and zoned out. He came back to reality when he heard the sergeant calling his name.
“Sibley. Where’s your brother?”
“Running late Sarge.” He explained about the fire and the deputy he brought home.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Neither does running a horse to death,” he replied. It made sense to him, not so much the rest of the room.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m tired,” he said.
“We all are.”
The sergeant moved on. Briefing ended and the room broke up. Sean kept his seat, still too tired to move. At seven-thirty, Tyler still hadn’t shown up. He wasn’t going to. They argued about it earlier. What am I doing here? The thought rattled around his brain. The only good he had accomplished all shift was bringing that girl home. Little good it’ll do me, he thought.
Sean looked around the room, his eyes moving over the bulletins, the wanted posters, the beat map. His whole life he had desperately wanted this job. He wanted the cool uniform, the badge, the gun, the comradery, to drive a police car through red lights with the siren screaming, and to do some good. Never once did he feel like he was wasting his life or asked for his life back like he did when he worked in fast food. This job was everything to him; it was him. Just like Sam, Sean was crazy about being a deputy.
But now, it meant nothing. The department was stuck going through the motions hoping to make it to a day when the air conditioning worked again, water flowed, and lunch could be bought instead of eaten from a plastic bag. Patrol was now basically driving around, looking for trouble, or waiting for someone to flag you down and act as a referee. Or just beat the troublemaker down. When fines hold no power and the jail holds no prisoners, one must make do.
The new way of trying to suppress crime or respond to emergencies by blundering into it rather than getting a call just wasn’t working. Where they used to field eighteen cars and four sergeants, they fielded just five-two-man units, if they had the manpower. People would have to look out for themselves and learn to deal with their problems the way humans did for thousands of years before modern police showed up to parent the public.
All Sean was doing was getting tired and hanging his neck out far more so than when things were normal. Twice yesterday, some douchebags mimed shooting a pistol at him. It was only a matter of time before those shots became real ones. He recalled that briefing was a little less full than it had been lately. Guess I’m not the only one to come to this conclusion. Who wanted to keep playing charades? It was a sudden snap decision. I’m done, Sean said to himself. He stood up and walked to his truck. He didn’t look back as he drove away for the last time.
Complicated Feelings
Sam was sober this morning. He had said his goodbyes and shed his tears over the past few days. Today, he simply didn’t want to think. Mrs. Sibley cooked breakfast—bacon, eggs, and a tomato-grapefruit juice hangover cure for Sam. Afterwards, he sat outside and stared at the swimming pool. He would probably go in it later. It seemed so crazy to him. Outside, the world was absolutely falling apart and yet here was a crystal blue swimming pool for swimming, not a poor-mans reservoir. “If you’re going to plan ahead to survive the end of the world you might as well do it with style and enjoy life, otherwise, you might as well kill yourself,” Mr. Sibley had said.
A lot of the work to make the ranch self-sufficient for a grid-down situation also made it environmentally friendly. The solar panels generated all the electricity needed, except during winter when the Christmas lights were up and to power the heavy-duty farm and shop equipment. The two wells watered the house and irrigated the ranch using an ultra-efficient watering system installed thanks to a state grant program. Retrofitting the appliances, lighting, and even the internal wiring with low-resistance cables earned Sibley a tax rebate one year. If you had water, sun, and a septic system, it wasn’t really that difficult to be self-sufficient.
Money helped too, which Sibley had plenty of. Even without it, any of the ranchers around here could have fixed their place up in a similar manner. They wouldn’t be able to live without their lifestyle being interrupted like the Sibleys had planned for, but it was doable. But who took advantage of the solar credits? Who re-insulated and put in double-pane windows? Who looked at their homestead and said, “Maybe sucking off the teat of the utilities isn’t the way to go?” Sam’s own neighbors laughed when he told them he was paying out of pocket to go solar.
Sam slept in front of a fan last night because Mr. Sibley had the foresight (and to be honest, the money) to install batteries for the solar system and a redundant surge suppression system. What did it matter anyway? Small comforts. It was as if something like this never even entered into the minds of people who planned for disasters. They figured that the chance was so remote that they didn’t need to bother planning for an EMP, just like most people didn’t need a swimming pool to survive the end of the world.
The county bore the most guilt. The government had plenty of warning since the Cold War that EMP was a threat and steps to mitigate the problem could have been easily taken. Sure, they could have gotten by without EMP hardened circuitry in each building, but they could have added a super heavy-duty surge-protected transfer switch into the backup generators so many the infrastructure problems countywide could have been prevented.
Mika joined Sam on the back porch. As the situation now required, his Sig was holstered on his right side and his rifle was nearby.
“Want to go swimming later?” Sam joked.
“I don’t have a bathing suit,” Mika said. “My apartment burned down along with my clothes.”
“You don’t need a suit.”
She made a face at him for his indecent remark. “I can’t get my face wet for a while.” The swelling and bruising in her face had gone down, so she looked familiar, if not normal. She gazed over at him. “Can life get any worse than this?”
Sam nodded. “You’ve got somewhere to stay and a swimming pool. It’s pretty nice, all things considered. Guess Mr. Sibley wasn’t so crazy after all.” Mika looked puzzled and he explained a bit about Sibley’s background.
“Oh. I kept waking up yesterday thinking it was all a dream. I mean a nightmare.”
“What a contrast, huh? A swimming pool and ice cream during the end of the world. It feels so out of place. You’d think we’d be living under tarps in rubble or out of an army tent in a FEMA camp. Reminds me of Iraq. We went to bed every night in air conditioned hooches, had Internet, TV, and hot food. I had always assumed a deployment would involve sleeping outside in foxholes and eating MREs for weeks on end.”
“I’m not sure I believe it, it seems so unreal.”
“It’s called planning and preparation. And money, lots of money. But get this, know who I saw at a hotel in Camarillo?” Sam named a well-known celebrity couple. “What did all their money get them? There’s no reason why they shouldn’t have a place like this except for a lack of imagination.”
“Where do you live? I mean—”
“I know. Simi.”
“How do you know the Sibleys?”
“Friends from school. We grew up together and our dads were close. Mr. Sibley promised us we could stay here if Y2K hit. Well, we came over for the New Year’s party and went home at one in the morning. The offer was carried over in general. Helps to have a group to survive with, you know? You can’t man a fort without soldiers.”
“No, you’re fine. What can you do? I hate to say it, but it’s kinda liberating. I don’t have to worry about letting them down now. I only have to look out for myself. I don’t feel bad about being single, and childless. What a horrible place to bring kids into. Do you have anybody?”
“I had a date Friday night. Couldn’t even call to cancel. My mom is too far away to help and I don’t have very many friends. All I knew was to keep going to work.” Mika looked at her nails. That decision seemed very foolish and pointless now.
“And look what that got you. No good deed goes unpunished. The department will extract its pound of flesh and leave you high and dry if it wants to.” Sam had narrowly avoided a medical retirement as his expected two-year rehabilitation program was too long and success too uncertain for the department to approve the leave of absence. Instead, he pulled every string he could to get a favor from the last sheriff to resign full-time and become a reserve. For those who left early any other way, it was “so long, farewell” and don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.
“I try not to see it that way.”
“Well sister, you just haven’t realized the gigantic butt reaming the department gave you. I hope your face was worth it.”
“Maybe that pessimistic, misogynist attitude is why you’re single.”
“Excuse me? What does that mean? You don’t even know me.”
“I was just saying you seem a little negative.”
“And from what I hear, you’re the jailhouse weirdo. Little miss female hiring initiative. I earned everything I got, no corners cut for me. Just look at you. You can’t even hold your own in a fight.” Even Sam thought that last bit was a low blow.
“I can too hold my own, you dick. I stayed while half of the males didn’t show up for work.” She got up and slapped Sam. Sam jumped up from his chair and knocked it a few feet away.
“Go tell that to Sam and Tyler, they’ll be really proud of you,” he replied impotently. He didn’t want to admit she had a valid point. Sam flexed his fists a few times and took some deep breaths. “Why did you start this little insult contest?”