Extinct (16 page)

I miss you terribly, but I’m glad you didn’t stick around for this. You’d go crazy, trapped in this house.

Much Love,

Brad

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Brad woke up to the alarm, same as a normal day. He didn’t reset the alarm, though. Before the casually-attired government guys took over his property, Brad used to wake up just long enough to set the alarm forward for another half-hour of sleep. Now he pushed his legs over the edge of the bed at the alarm’s first warning. Wearing pajamas every night became habit as well.
 

The only window where he’d drawn the blinds was in the bathroom.

He didn’t talk to himself anymore as he walked through the house. Whenever he passed a window he cut his eyes sideways to spot the closest government guy. He often turned off the television right in the middle of a program and peered out the window to track the progress of the men. They sent trucks back and forth to the back pasture, until they’d carved deep grooves in the lawn by the gate.

When he read a book, he kept his finger in the crease between the pages to mark his place; his attention drifted so often he read at a snail’s pace.

Herm knocked on the door at four in the afternoon. He always knocked at four. For the first few days, Brad was too angry to let Herm in. He blamed Herm for the arrival of the rest of the government guys. Herm was the first, and lied to him back when the vine problem was a very small part of Brad’s life.
 

Herm always opened with the same question—“How have you been, Mr. Jenkins?”

“Why don’t you tell me? Any plans to get the hell off my property any time soon?” Brad usually asked.

“We’re working as fast as we can,” Herm would always reply.
 

They placed the back deck strictly off-limits to Brad. The government guys installed a lock between the handles of the French doors to make sure Brad didn’t even try to go out there. Brad was dying to see what they were doing with the hole under the garage. From time-to-time he could hear them using heavy machinery—jackhammers and excavators from the sound—back there. The garage was sealed as well. Brad didn’t see the government guys move his truck out of the garage, but he imagined they probably pulled it out late one night. He couldn’t imagine his garage still had a floor, with all the noisy digging going on back there.

Brad toyed with the idea of drilling a hole through the wall of his mudroom so he could peek into the garage. He reasoned that even if they discovered him doing it, he’d probably get at least a few seconds to look at what was going on. He even went to the cellar and got his cordless drill. He put it in the bottom of a cardboard box and carried it up to the mudroom, leaving it on the floor next to the garage wall. The idea bothered him, though—he didn’t want to know what they were doing. He simply wanted them to leave him alone.
 

Three sides of Brad’s house had a pretty big yard. In front, his lawn extended nearly half the distance to the road. The pasture the government guys drove their big trucks through was at least an acre and a half, and the lawn out back, down to the pond, was nearly as big. Back before the government guys took over the chore, Brad would set aside a solid two-and-a-half hours each summer week for mowing.

The side yard though, the one just out the door from his laundry room, only measured a few paces before the woods started.
 

Brad measured the steps in his head over and over, as Herm stood there for his four o’clock visit. He pictured throwing open the door, sprinting to the woods and then running. After a small uphill climb, he’d be descending down a steep bank to the creek. The creek wound north and west until it met up with the river at the big marsh. If he took a left at the marsh, he should pop out behind the burned down Cartonio place.
 

“Mr. Jenkins?” asked Herm.

“Pardon?” Brad asked.

“I trust you’ve found your kitchen well stocked?” asked Herm.

“Well, no, actually,” Brad said. “You people have accurately replaced what I’ve been eating, but I don’t buy the same exact things every week. I would be getting lots of fruit this time of year—apples, pears, peaches. The apricots are no good anymore. They’re all bland and unripe.”

“Would you prefer to make us a list?” asked Herm.

“How am I supposed to know what’s good? I have to see the selection in person,” Brad said.

“I’m sorry. We’ll try to work something out," Herm said.

“Yeah, I bet,” Brad said.

Herm nodded, shrugged, and turned for the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob as if he wanted to say one more thing. Herm let himself out, leaving the thought unspoken.

Brad tried to act casual as he gathered his laundry. He put his sneakers in the bottom of his basket, along with his Swiss army knife, wallet, and a bunch of other things he thought he might need. In the laundry room he loaded his clothes into the washer and left everything else in the basket. The government guys never looked like they were actively watching him, but he wanted everything to look perfectly normal, just in case.

In the living room, Brad turned on the television and waited for his laundry to finish. If he could just get to the woods, he was certain he could find his way. His nearest neighbor, Butch, lived about seven-tenths of a mile to the north. He’d have to run longer though, assuming his path through the woods would meander more than the road. Brad figured his stamina would carry him at least a mile or two. His last serious foray into running was years ago, but he stayed in good shape.
 

If he cut a little to the east, he could find the snowmobile trail, which the riders kept pretty clear. Brad didn’t want to risk it—the government guys could easily stake out those trails. In fact, he thought, they might have a guard on those trails, just to keep any random four-wheelers from finding their efforts at the vine patch.

Brad wondered how far he could get before they spotted him. With a little luck, he thought he might get away from the house unnoticed. He left the television on and made his way back to the bedroom to do a little surveillance. From the window in his master bath, he could see the outside of the laundry room door. He sat on the toilet and pushed up a corner of one of the blinds. Nobody was posted outside the laundry room door. In fact, he couldn’t see anyone posted on that side of the house at all.

When the buzzer for the washing machine sounded, Brad had been staring at the television for several minutes. He debated whether to make his break now, or wait until the laundry was out of the dryer. It would be more natural for him to take a long time in the laundry room after the dryer was done—he always folded his laundry there—but he was tired of waiting. He knew he wasn’t a good actor, and the longer he stayed in front of the television, biding his time, the more likely they would grow suspicious he was plotting something. The laundry required attention and the sun was setting. He figured his best chance had arrived.

Brad strolled to the laundry room and flipped on the light. He moved around the corner so he couldn’t be seen from the living room windows before he dug to the bottom of his laundry basket and pulled out his good running shoes. It only took a few seconds to get ready to bolt.

He moved the clothes to the dryer and started it up. It tumbled and hummed as Brad stared at the door knob. All he needed to do was reach out and turn, then he could sprint for the woods. Brad wondered why he couldn’t get his hand to reach for the door. Was this a kind of learned helplessness, he wondered.

He clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. He lunged for the door and grabbed the handle, pulling and turning as hard as he could. The door sprung open, letting in the soft evening light. The air pulled in by the outside door slammed shut the door to the living room behind Brad. He winced at the noise, but slipped out onto the porch as quietly as possible. He pulled shut the door behind him and turned to face Herm.

Herm stood there in his slacks, boat shoes, and golf shirt, on Brad’s lawn, and regarded Brad with narrowed eyes. A pair of men in sandals and shorts flanked Herm. They held their hands behind their backs, probably hiding weapons, Brad thought.

“Would you join me inside, Mr. Jenkins?” asked Herm.

Brad sighed and glanced at the woods.
 

“Sure,” Brad said.

Herm followed Brad back into the house through the laundry room door. They sat opposite each other on the couches in Brad’s living room before Herm spoke again.

“Believe it or not, I’ve been in your position before," Herm said. “I’ve been held captive, and it wasn’t in nearly as nice a place as this.” Herm waved at Brad’s living room.

“For doing nothing?” Brad asked. “For just happening to have property where these vines appeared? You think that’s fair in this country?”

“For the greater good, we all may be called upon to make sacrifices," Herm said. “That’s what living in a society is all about.”

“Spare me,” Brad said.
 

“We debated moving you to a facility," Herm said. “It would certainly be easier than keeping all these guards posted around your house. But, in the end, we decided it would be less stressful for you to stay here. You’re a solitary type anyway. You seem to be happiest when you’re here.”

“I am happy here,” Brad said, “but I do enjoy the freedom to
leave
here, occasionally.”

“Understood," Herm said. “And this will be temporary.”

“Perhaps,” Brad said. “But back to your statement from a second ago. I think I know why you kept me here instead of shipping me off to a prison cell. At least I can narrow it down to one or two strong possibilities.”

Herm didn’t answer, so Brad continued.

“You’re either afraid I’ve been contaminated, or contagious, or whatever, or maybe you just don’t want me to have the chance to tell anyone else what I know,” Brad said.

“If we were afraid of contagions," Herm said, “then the men stationed here would all be wearing the appropriate gear.”

“Maybe the ones out back are,” Brad said.

“And maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here across from you," Herm said. “I do have a strong self-preservation streak, despite my occupation.”

“You’ve been exposed already,” Brad said. “I saw you touch the vine out back.”

“So you did," Herm said. “Back to why I’m here: can I assume you’re not going to try any more heroic escape attempts?”

“I’m not sure,” Brad said. “Can you tell me how you knew I was going to make an attempt today?”

“There are two reasons I’m good at my job," Herm said. “First—I prepare. Second—I’m very good at putting myself in someone else’s shoes, so I can think as they would.”

“So you just tried to think like I would and you found yourself considering a mad dash from the laundry room?” Brad asked.

“Nope," Herm said. “I just prepared for it. You went to the laundry room, so I took a walk around back. It’s the same thing I do every Sunday when you’re doing laundry. I stay out of sight of the bathroom window, of course.”

“That’s very discouraging,” Brad said. “You’ve given me an explanation which leaves no hope of improving my plan.”

“You could always just change your plan to go along with this brief occupation until our work is done," Herm said. “By the way, the tech guys out in the van over there really enjoyed your attempt to create a new communication channel by embedding encrypted data in regular images. What’s that process called again?”

“Steganography,” Brad said.
 

“Nice touch using graphic pornography as the carrier. The guys were shy about the files at first until they noticed the size of the images seemed too big for the quality. I think you got a little greedy with the payload," Herm said.

“If you’re through trying to win me over through compliments, I think I’d like my house back now,” Brad said.

“Sure thing," Herm said. He stood in his odd way—rising up with his leg muscles without pushing with his arms. “Just try to accept our presence. The time will pass faster once you do. And please don’t drill any holes through the wall in your back room—we’ve got tarps hung around our area, so you won’t see anything.”

Brad tried to hold his face perfectly still while he waited for Herm to leave. Once the tall man shut door behind himself, Brad got up and closed all the blinds in his living room. Then he went through the rest of the house, closing those windows off from the outside world as well.
 

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In the basement, to the left of his workbench, Brad kept leftover lumber and building supplies from various projects. After Herm thwarted his escape attempt, Brad found himself in the basement, cataloguing his stockpile. He grabbed his measuring tape and headed back upstairs to make a list.
 

His brain churned away at two different tasks: on one level, he moved through his house, taking measurements of each window and door; on a higher level, Brad analyzed his own actions. He wanted to board up every window—cut himself completely off from the government intruders on his property. They set up command tents in his back yard, and parked trailers just over the hill in his back pasture, but it was still his house. If they would deny him any access to the outside world, then the most Brad could do was deny them any access to his world.
 

Brad boarded up most of the downstairs windows before he stopped for dinner. The guards positioned around the perimeter of the house didn’t flinch as Brad pounded nails through the sheets of plywood fitted to the window trim. When he ran out of scraps, Brad stole sheets of plywood from the attic. They’d been stacked up there for a year, waiting for Brad to get around to replacing the creaky flooring up there.
 

Just before boarding up the last window in the dining room Brad paused, resting his hands on the top edge of the plywood. He stared down his long driveway towards the road. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen a car drive down the road. His road never was very busy, but he started to wonder if he’d seen even a single civilian drive down the road since the day the government guys arrived. The window he was about to seal offered the best view, so Brad set the plywood down and fetched a camera from his office closet. It was a cheap webcam—one he’d purchased for video conferences. Brad set it on the bottom window frame and ran the cord out the bottom before positioning his plywood.