Extinct (19 page)

I couldn’t climb through the snow from the laundry room door, and I didn’t want to let the laundry room fill up with gas while I shoveled my way around, so I wrapped the pipe with some tape and dug my way out through the kitchen window. The snow already covered the lower half of the window in there. You know how the snow slides down from the corner of the house where the two roofs meet in a valley? Well all the snow sloughed off the roof and collected there. It didn’t take me long to dig down to the tank though. I ended up hanging out of the window far enough to reach down to the cutoff valve. So the stove is out of commission too until I re-plumb the gas line for the stove. I think I can just figure out a way to take off the “T” fitting where it splits to go to the dryer, but I’m a little nervous about working with gas lines. Meanwhile, I’ve been doing all my cooking on the wood stove. It’s fun this way—I have to admit—more like camping.

I’m also keeping a ramp clear for the snowmobile so I’ll be able to use it when the snow stops. Actually, it’s easier than I thought it would be. I just go out every hour and pack down the ramp leading from the front porch so I can get it up to the level of the snow. I took down some of the plywood from the windows and jammed it in between the railing and the snow bank to keep the front porch from filling up with snow. It’s drifting pretty deep up there. Once it gets to the roofline, I think the porch will become like a cave and I won’t have to worry about so much snow blowing in down the ramp.

You get into a place where you’re just reacting to the latest disaster, and figuring out how to survive. It rarely occurs to me to even wonder how this could be happening. It seems like ever since this summer, I’ve just dealt with whatever comes along and adapted to it. Makes me think, what other things could I have adjusted to? Horses, kids, dinner parties, dancing—none of those could possibly be as weird as what I’ve been dealing with, and yet I’m perfectly able to roll with these changes, so why not those? I guess it’s just because I wasn’t offered a choice by the casual government guys. They just showed up and took me prisoner. Same with the snow. Anyway, for the millionth time, I’m sorry. I hope you know.

Love,

Brad

Chapter 7: Robby Leaves Maine

R
OBBY
SLOWED
TO
A
stop on the highway with the green metal bridge crouching before him. The road deck stood high above the banks of the river, so big ships could navigate the river below. The tree tops were below Robby on either side. Bridges made him nervous, he decided. Heights made him nervous now too, although they never did before. He inched the vehicle forward until he passed under the big green bridge trusses.

He saw few cars on the road, but with the metal guardrails on either side hemming the wrecks in, they forced him to weave around. With sixty miles under his belt, Robby felt pretty good about the SUV. He’d allowed himself to ramp up to almost fifty miles per hour on the highway. Now, with only thin rails between him and the drop into cold Piscataqua river, ten miles an hour seemed too fast. Robby opened his window a few inches. The cold air felt good on his sweaty brow. Robby gripped the wheel tighter.

Up ahead, several cars piled up against the concrete barrier. The barrier separated the northbound and southbound lanes. The bridge had three lanes of travel and a wide breakdown lane, but the cars took up most of that space. Robby guided his big vehicle all the way to the right side of the bridge to even have a chance of getting by.

The view to his right terrified him, so Robby focused on the wrecked cars. The two on the left appeared empty, but Robby suspected if he checked closer he would find an exploded-eye corpse collapsed behind each steering wheel. In the third car from the left, Robby saw at least two people slumped together in the front seat. The lump in the back seat might have been a shoulder—Robby couldn’t tell. In the car immediately next to Robby, the back seat held a boy about Robby’s own age.

The boy wore a dark sweater over a collared shirt. His eyes splattered the top half of the window, but the boy’s face slouched against the bottom of the pane. The boy’s nose and cheek pressed against the inside of the glass. His mouth hung open, flattened on the left side, like a capital D.
 

Robby inched by the trunk of the car. He glanced to his right several times to verify he wasn’t going to hit the guardrail, but it bothered Robby to look away from the boy’s gaping face. Despite the exploded eyes, Robby couldn’t shake the feeling the boy was staring right at him. Worse, actually, it seemed like the boy looked just over Robby’s shoulder at some terrible menace that his gaping mouth wanted to warn Robby about. Now Robby split his attention in three directions. He stared at the boy, stole glances to the right to make sure he wasn’t going to hit the guardrail, and spun around frantically to make sure nothing was sneaking up behind him from the back seat.
 

Robby tried to catch his breath and settle down, but it wouldn’t come. His panting brought even more panic. The right front tire of the SUV hit the curb and Robby jerked the wheel to the left. With no room to spare, the adjustment forced Robby’s SUV to tag the corner of the boy’s wrecked car. The jolt shifted the boy’s corpse and the boy’s face slid down the window a little farther. The boy’s hand was pressed right against the glass, like he was either banging to get out or executing the world’s slowest wave. Robby held his breath and stared at the boy’s hand.
 

When had the boy’s hand moved to the glass, he wondered.
 

Before, only the boy’s face had been visible—where had the hand come from?

Robby’s SUV idled forward, shaking the boy’s car even more. For the first time, Robby looked past the boy to the front seat and saw the dead bald man turned in his direction as well. Robby’s brain invented the upcoming scene in double speed. He imagined the gory occupants of the boy’s car scrambling towards his SUV and banging on the windows while dark clots of half-dried blood oozed from their eye sockets.

Panic overtook Robby’s legs and he jabbed the accelerator. The SUV bucked back to the right and up over the curb as the back tires squealed. Robby didn’t—couldn’t—look away from the dead boy’s car until the SUV’s right quarter panel began to grind into the guardrail. He jerked the wheel back to the left and stomped on the accelerator. The wrecked car deflected the back of the SUV until the right rear tire made contact with the curb and the SUV shot forward, clearing itself of the constriction. Robby steered frantically, trying to keep between the center wall and the guardrail. He locked his knees as the SUV continued to accelerate. Robby focused all his attention on his arms, not realizing he was standing on the gas pedal.

Up ahead a car towing a rental trailer had rolled into the right guardrail and stood nearly perpendicular to the road. Robby nudged the wheel left and then overcorrected back to the right, trying to target the thin gap between the center wall and the trailer while he continued to accelerate. The side of the rental trailer read “Wyoming,” in big sweeping letters. Under the state name, a bronco bucked, kicking its back legs towards the gap where Robby aimed his vehicle.

His common sense returned a split-second too late. Robby lifted his feet and stomped both onto the brake pedal. The tires chirped briefly before the throbbing anti-lock brake system kicked in. The vibration of the pulsing brakes ran up through the steering wheel and numbed Robby’s hands.
 

It wouldn’t stop fast enough—he would hit either the trailer or the divider between the north and southbound lanes unless he threaded the gap perfectly. Robby aimed slightly more towards the wall. As the trailer and wall rushed towards him, Robby strained his legs against the pulsing pedal, thinking if he could somehow press harder he would stop faster. His left bumper hit the wall first and straightened out the SUV. From the sound, it seemed the whole left side of the SUV was being peeled away from the frame. Robby gritted his teeth as the SUV finally came to a stop.

He’d wedged his vehicle right between the center wall and the trailer. Robby applied the gas. The rim of his front tire ground against the concrete, so he turned the wheel to the right to get some distance. On his right, the trailer shook as Robby nudged past. Up ahead, the road looked totally clear. Robby sighed with relief as he finally pulled by the trailer and left the sounds of grinding metal behind him.
 

He traveled almost two seconds before his spirits fell again. Although the grinding sounds diminished, a new rumbling sound took its place. Along with the new sound, the wheel of the SUV pulled to the side and resisted Robby’s attempts to drive straight. Robby stopped again, shifted to park, and took off his seat belt. He leaned out the driver’s window and then the passenger’s—he saw a flat tire on either side. The right rear tire merely looked deflated; the front left tire appeared shredded.

Chapter 8: Brad Leaves Home

Dear Karen,

Each day it gets colder. Each day the snow gets deeper. I used the rest of the plywood on the path out to the wood pile. When the snow banks grew higher than my head, it got too difficult to keep shoveling the path out. So, one day I took the plywood out there and wedged it into the walls above my head. The first day I could still see cracks of light between the sheets and a blue halo around the plywood where some light was leaking through. But after just one day, the tunnel was completely dark. Who knows how much snow is packed above my tunnel?

I do know how much snow has drifted out front. I could park the snowmobile on the second floor if it would fit through a window. If it gets much deeper, I might have to. I wonder what’s happened to the rest of the world. I bet everybody has moved into emergency shelters at the schools and public buildings. That’s where I would go, if I could. They’re probably finding it easier to keep big places operational. I haven’t been able to get any stations on the radio. Reception always was pretty bad here, but you’d think I would at least get the emergency broadcast system or something.

The living room is still pretty comfortable thanks to the wood stove. I kept the blankets up between the rooms—they help keep the heat concentrated.

The pipes burst in the extremities of the house. I went down to the basement yesterday with a flashlight and I could see ice blooming out from several joints in the heat and water pipes. Oh well—looks like a complete re-plumbing job when this whole situation gets resolved. Insurance should cover at least part of it. Assuming the insurance companies don’t all go out of business when this storm is done.

For the moment, I’ve managed to keep the pipes to the septic system from freezing. I think they’re beginning to clog though. The water threatens to backup and overflow every time I flush. On top of the house the chimney sits in a little bowl of snow which has melted and refrozen into ice. I went up there to make sure it wasn’t going to get blocked and kill me when the exhaust backed up. I haven’t seen anything coming or going from the hole out back by the garage. I wonder if the hole is still in use? I figure it has been abandoned, since I haven’t seen or heard anything, but who knows?

The snow’s still coming down at a crazy pace. Although, I went out the other night to work on the snowmobile ramp and it let up for a couple hours. By morning it was a full-on blizzard. I can’t survive here until spring. I only have enough wood for a few weeks, and food for about twice that long at my current starvation-level diet. What’s going to run out first is the light. I get a little from the fire when I leave the doors open, and there’s a faint blue glow from the upper windows during the day, but with a few more feet of snow I think it will be as dark as a cave in here. I’m saving the candles for then. I’m also going to need a way to get fresh air in here. The fire is sucking up all the oxygen. I’m considering punching a hole through the metal roof on the back part of the house.
 

I would do anything for a view of the horizon, or the night sky, or even just to look up at the clouds without seeing snow. I read somewhere that people need to be able to un-focus their eyes and look at something far off. They need to be able to do that every so often so they can relax. I believe it’s true. I don’t know how those researchers at the south pole manage to make it through a single winter. If the snow ever stops I’m going to climb up high enough so I can see something so far away I can’t tell what it is, you know? I’m sick of only seeing things close. Everything’s so close. Only the fire seems infinite. I stare at it for hours some nights, like it was the best TV show ever made. I stare at it and think of nothing at all.