The Blackout (9 page)

Molly tried to convince him to speak to the people, to help them, but he refused.  He said no one would listen when he tried to talk to them before, so why should now be any different?  She couldn’t help but sympathize with him.  But she felt like they’d be so much better off if he would just guide them. 

The wall idea, for example.  She knew he could help with that, help them plan it out at least.  But he wasn’t having anything to do with it.  Molly didn’t see how they were going to do it.  And she wasn’t entirely convinced it was necessary, not like Jimmy was. 

Molly felt another problem with the wall was supplies.  Where were they going to get all the materials needed for a huge construction project?  Burt suggested raiding the big home improvement stores nearby, and the owner of a local hardware store offered up his stock for the project. 

Time was another concern.  How long was the wall going to take?  The power could be back on before it was finished, and they’ll have spent a lot of the local resources trying to build it.  Burt argued that if everyone pitched in, they might have it built in under a month.

A month?
Molly mused. 
Could the power really be off for another month?
  Jimmy’s warnings echoed in her mind, but she didn’t think even he thought it would be out that long.

She brushed her building panic aside and shook her head.  “What about know-how, Burt?  Who’s going to design and actually be in charge of building this wall?  I don’t know about you, but I’m an English professor.  I don’t know anything about architecture or how to build a wall that will stand up for any length of time.”

“Well, I’m willing to bet that there’s someone here who knows about this stuff.  Craig, aren’t you a general contractor?”  Craig nodded, and Burt continued.  “You might be able to get us started at least.”

Craig looked irritated.  “I don’t know anything about building a wall from scratch, Burt.  You can’t just volunteer me for such a giant undertaking and expect me to go along with it.  Anyway, why should I waste time on such a ridiculous idea?  I have my own family to look out for.” 

Burt frowned.  “Craig, if you help to protect the town, your family will be protected, too.” 

He scoffed, and all Craig’s cronies nodded.  “Who died and made you king of the Blackout?”  His supporters chuckled. 

One of them piped up, “Yeah, we don’t have to do anything you say.”

Molly could see this wasn’t constructive.  “Listen.  It’s only been a week.  I say we wait one more week, and if there’s still no power and no word from anyone about when this is going to be over, then we start to build.  In a few days, we can even start gathering materials if you like.  But I just don’t want to waste valuable resources if we can help it.” 

She paused and looked at the hostile dissenters.  “Listen, if the power is still out, we’ll need to reevaluate.  You guys will want to decide which side of the wall you want to be on.  Because let me tell you, if you’re not willing to help, you’re not going to reap the benefits from it, either.”

Craig and his companions shifted, exchanging glances at Molly’s bold assertion.

With that, it was decided they would wait a week.  Molly hoped the power would be back by then, and this wall business would be a non-issue. 

It was ten days after the Blackout when it happened – nearly Halloween.  It was still warm in Florida, but the nights were nice, and most were comfortable sleeping with the windows open. 

They were even starting to adjust to a farming way of life.  They went to bed earlier and got up earlier in order to save candles.  Most homes were pretty dark inside that night. 

Molly was upstairs with Sally and Dug when she heard it.  A crash, but it didn’t sound close.  Dug and Sally weren’t bothered by it, but Molly was concerned. 

She had been sleeping for at least a few hours. 
Who would be moving around at this hour?
she thought. 

She went downstairs in her pajamas and peered out the front window, trying to discern the direction the sound came from.  That’s when she heard the scream, followed by a gunshot. 

Molly ran outside towards the noise.  Later, she would wonder what she thought she would do in her bare feet, Eeyore pajama pants and a Central Michigan University t-shirt.  At the time, though, all she cared about was that someone needed help and she was going to provide it if she could. 

However, once she got into the middle of the street, it was quiet again, and she wasn’t sure where the sounds had come from.  Molly knew they were in front of her, but there were several homes in that general direction.  Burt eventually came out of his house a few doors down and saw Molly standing in the street.

“Are you OK?  What happened?” he said as he juggled his baseball bat while tying his robe.

“I don’t know.  It wasn’t me.  I heard a crash, then a scream and a gunshot, so I came out, but I haven’t heard anything since.” 

They listened to the crickets for a moment longer before a kid ran out between two homes in their direction.  “Help!  It’s my dad!”  It was one of the neighbor boys from the next street over.  Molly didn’t remember what his name was.  Their family had a few blonde-headed kids ranging in age from eight to twelve.

They followed him between fences and hedges to arrive at the backyard of his home, where the back door was wide open.  There were cries coming from inside.  Burt led the way with his baseball bat ready for action.

The boy’s mother was sitting on the floor of the kitchen with her husband’s head in her lap.  She was crying and stroking his hair.  It was dark, but from the flickering candlelight, a dark pool could be seen accumulating under his body.  His eyes were closed, but he appeared to be breathing.

Burt dropped the bat immediately and went to the man’s side.  “What happened here?” 

“It was a Wanderer.  He broke in, and Kyle came to see what the sound was.”  She hiccupped a bit, like you do when you’re crying hard, and went on. “He had a gun.”  Hiccup.  “Kyle didn’t want any trouble,” hiccup, “he didn’t,” hiccup, “even have,” hiccup, “anything to,” hiccup, “fight him with.” She sobbed openly for a few moments. 

When she regained some composure, she explained, “By the time I came downstairs the man was running out of the house with an armful of our food.”

There was no doctor living in the neighborhood.  The best Molly could think of was the woman who worked in the pharmacy.  She lived just around the corner.

“Should I go wake Betty?” 

Burt looked at Kyle and lifted his shirt.  “Probably.  Although I’m not sure what she’s going to be able to do.”

Molly looked at the man, bleeding in his kitchen.  “Well, it’s the best chance I can think to give him.”  She turned her gaze to Burt and lowered her voice.  “We can’t just stand here and watch him die.”  Burt nodded and she sprang into action.

The boys were hovering around, so Molly gave them something to do.  “I need someone to boil some water, and someone else to collect some towels; can you boys do that?”  They nodded gravely and set about their tasks.

“I’ll be right back,” Molly said as she ran out the door.

Molly arrived at Betty’s house in record time and banged on the door.  “BETTY!  WAKE UP!  There’s been an accident!  We need your help!  Betty!”  It all came out in a single stream, covered over by her rapping on the door.

Betty’s husband answered.  “Molly.  What’s this about?” 

“George!  We need help!  Kyle from a few streets over has been shot by a Wanderer.  We need Betty to see if there’s anything she can do.  She was the closest person we could think of.” 

Betty peered out from behind her husband and nodded.   “Just let me get my shoes and a few supplies from the store room.”

George sprinted back to the boys’ home with them.  He didn’t like the idea of two women running around in the dark when there was an armed Wanderer on the loose.

By the time Betty arrived, Kyle’s breathing was shallow at best.  Sandra looked at her with pleading eyes.  “Please, you have to help him.”  The boys had the water boiling and Burt had already applied a few of the towels to the wound in his chest.

“I’ll do what I can.” 

She toiled over him for only a few minutes before he stopped breathing.  She instructed Burt to start CPR and explained how to properly administer it while she continued working to stop the bleeding.  The candle burned a half-inch of wax while they handed her supplies and tried to help her save Kyle’s life.  But in the end there was nothing she could do.  He might not have survived even with the help of an ambulance.  He was shot at close range, right smack in the chest.

Molly had never experienced such tragedy so personally before.  The boys cried, their mother cried.  Burt, Betty, George and Molly didn’t know what to do.  They were all grimly considering the implications of what had happened.  Why this house?  Why this family?  Why this night?  Where had the Wanderer gone?  Was anyone else in the neighborhood in danger? 

Burt and George started digging a grave in Sandra’s backyard.  It may not have been the best burial ground, but the cemetery was several miles away, and the men wanted to busy themselves. 

Betty and Molly tried to console Sandra, but what can you say?  Just as the sun was coming up, Burt came in to tell Sandra the grave was ready.  It was very overwhelming for her.  Not twelve hours ago her family was safe in their beds. Molly couldn’t comprehend how Sandra’s life had been changed so dramatically in such a short period of time.  She shuddered to think about how she would have reacted to such a shock, and silently thanked God for the small shred of hope she clung to that Gary hadn’t shared Kyle’s fate.

A crowd had gathered, and some of the men looked like they’d brought shovels and had been helping dig.  Burt, George, and four of Kyle’s closest neighbors carried him to the grave.  His family followed behind, crying softly.  The crowd was mostly quiet, shocked into silence by the night’s events.

A few of his friends spoke about what a great father and man Kyle was, and Sandra thanked everyone for coming, but it was inadequate in the end.  They were all unprepared in every way for what was taking place.

It wouldn’t happen again. 

As people were dispersing and Burt was filling in the grave Molly walked over to him.  She looked at the remains of Kyle’s family, sitting on a bench across the yard.  “Build the wall, Burt.  Now.”

12.

It was Gary’s sixth day of walking alone.  He fished the river pretty successfully, and hadn’t had to tap into his food supply in a while.  All things considered, he hadn’t wanted for much.  He had a supply of lighters to make fires with, the weather hadn’t been too terrible so far, and he’d been sleeping under the stars.  The biggest problem was drinking water, but that time of year it rained a lot in the North East, so he just had to take time to stop and fill the water bottles when it did. 

He was averaging around ten miles per day.  If he walked at that pace every day, it would take him just short of three months to get home – if he had to walk the entire way.  But he knew walking every day, seven days a week, for ninety days wasn’t realistic.  He was bound to have to stop for one reason or another.  He’d get sick, a bad storm might come, some distraction was liable to present itself.  He still hoped he wouldn’t have to walk the entire way, though.  Eventually he had to get far enough away from the epicenter, right?  Assuming, of course, that Philadelphia had been the epicenter.

It’d been about ten days since the power went out, and so far, each town he’d come to was the same.  No power, no friendly faces.  In fact, there weren’t too many people moving around at all.  Gary heard whispers of people who were being called nomads, wanderers, and other less pleasant things.  They were thieves and people who might take your supplies from you, and people who didn’t have a home to protect.  It occurred to him that he was a Wanderer, and he wondered how that stigma might impact his journey. 

When Clint and Gary had parted ways in Chester, he followed 495 south, so he could stay nearer to the coast. Then he caught back up with I-95 south of Wilmington, in Delaware.  He loved that about the Northeast.  The states were so small, he really felt like he was making good progress, even if it was only about ten miles per day.

Gary decided that even though 95 took him away from the coast for a few days, he needed to stick with it, based on the fact that he didn’t want to walk the perimeter of Delaware just to get a fresh meal every day.  He caught up with Chesapeake Bay in no time, though, and spent the night on the north side of the bridge. 

By his calculations, he only had about thirty more miles before he reached the outskirts of Baltimore.  He was counting heavily on finding more information there.  It was the biggest city he’d come to so far, and someone there had to have information about what was going on, if the power was out there.  It might even be on, that many miles away from Philly.  His mind was reeling at the prospect and he had trouble sleeping that night. 

It took Gary three and a half days to close the distance between the Bay Bridge and Baltimore.  Because he wasn’t following the coast as much anymore, his supplies were running low, and he was hoping to restock in the big city. 

It was nearly two weeks since the Blackout. People seemed to be becoming more and more hostile as time went on, or as he traveled further south, he wasn’t sure which.  Although there were more people milling around in the city proper, no one made direct eye contact.  In fact, most folded their arms protectively over their chests, and watched Gary out of the corners of their eyes.  No one seemed approachable.  Some even looked like they might lash out if they were challenged. 

He sighed heavily.  This wasn’t the situation he’d imagined.  Obviously the power was out there, as it was everywhere else.

And there was a new problem brewing.  After so many miles of walking in his work shoes, not only were his feet becoming tired and blistered, the soles of his shoes were wearing thin.  He had a roll of duct tape that he patched them with, but he knew that wouldn’t last.  He had to come up with a new pair of shoes soon.   He was discouraged that his shoes were already wearing out.  He wasn’t even out of the Northeast yet.