NightFall (7 page)

“
And
you
do?
”
Clayton interjected.

Rob latched the snaps of
his backpack and scrutinized his three bickering guests.
“Enough. I need to get moving. Just take what you
need and get home to your families.”

They all looked at him, trying to
figure out if he was serious.

“
I appreciate the offer,
but I don’t have any cash on me,” Clayton said.

“
I don’t think you’ll have
much luck at the ATMs either,” Carol added.

Bernie gasped.
“The ATMs. Oh, my God! People are going to start
tearing them apart.”

“
Don’t worry about the
money,” Rob said. “Just load up a bag and get moving. I have to get
to my family. I’ve got two children in the city on a field
trip.”

Bernie was beside
himself.
“What are you going to do, walk
to New York? What are any of us going to do?”

“
Well, I’m just glad I
brought my bike today,” Carol added.

Rob threw his backpack over his
shoulder and told everyone he was closing the shop in one minute.
After all their stalling, the group kicked into gear and started
taking items from the shelves and putting them into
bags.

He briefly explained the
most critical: multi-tools, water purification tablets, dried food
kits, medical and hygienic products, batteries, Para cord string,
baby wipes, and whatever else he could point out.
“Just pay me back later,” he said, knowing full
well that it would probably never happen.

Coral had mentioned a bike, and that
was exactly what he needed in order to cut his travel time home in
half. “Where can I get one?” he asked her.

“
I have two,” she
answered. “You can borrow it for as long as you like. It was my
ex-boyfriend’s. Tit for tat.” She continued filling her bag,
thanking Rob along the way.

With everyone loaded up and ready to
go, Rob herded them outside the shop, where more and more people
were filing out onto the streets. Not one for long goodbyes, Rob
wished his landlord and neighbors well. Coral emerged from her
store with a bicycle—a ten-speed Huffy—and passed it off to
Rob.

“
Thank you,” Rob said.
“I’m grateful.”

“
You have another one for
me?” Bernie asked.

Coral ignored him.

“
Surely you must have a
bike or two in your thrift store,” Rob said.

Bernie
’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, you’re right! I should check on
that.”

“
Thanks for your help,
Rob. Don’t worry about anything with the shop until this thing
blows over,” Clayton said.

Rob hopped on the bike
with his tactical bag over his shoulder.
“I won’t. You guys stay safe. Get home as fast as you can and
ration everything you own.”

His store was completely closed up.
Metal shutters covered the windows and the front entrance had bars
on it. He hoped that it would be enough.

People around them and on the street
seemed, more or less, to just be waiting. Most had already
abandoned their cars, and stood around directionless, waiting for
someone to help. In the distance, the bike cops were still dealt
with hordes of people demanding answers. In another day or two, Rob
imagined things would get worse.

Before pedaling off, he
turned his handheld radio up. And just as he was about to say
something, he heard Mila
’s voice come over
the speaker, startling him. He fumbled and nearly dropped the
radio.

“
Mila!” he
shouted.

He pedaled off in haste, navigating
through cars and people, as if they were roadblocks. He quickly
gained momentum and sped off faster as he soon lost contact again
with his wife.

***

Chet stepped closer to Mila each time she inched away.
Screaming would either send him fleeing or encourage him further.
But
Mila knew she was neither vulnerable
nor helpless. She had taken self-defense courses and was ready to
use her .38.

“
Why don’t you go on your
way now?” she said.

“
At least let me use your
phone,” he said, moving in closer.

He had managed to back her in. A few
more steps, and he would have her in the corner and within an arm’s
length.

“
I told you. Our power is
out. My cell phone is dead. Now please leave.”

Chet stopped at the Datsun, leaned in
closer against the tinted windows, and looked inside. The keys were
in the ignition. He glanced up at Mila with a smile as she backed
up against the washer and dryer.

“
I’d say you’re going
somewhere in a hurry.” He opened the squeaky driver’s-side door.
“Mind if I take it for a spin first? Satisfied, Chet perched over
the driver’s side door.

Mila drew her revolver and aimed, her
arms straight out and level. She clicked the hammer back and waited
as Chet looked up, surprised.

“
What have you got there?”
he said with a nervous smile.

“
A .38 Special snub-nosed
revolver, filled with enough hollow-point rounds to put you down,”
she said in a frank, no-nonsense manner.

Chet stood frozen. His smile dropped
and his mouth twitched uneasily.

“
You, uh. You sure you
know how to use that thing?”

“
Yeah,” she said. “I pull
the trigger.”

Chet backed up slowly with
his hands out and palms showing, as if to push Mila away.
“Now, no need to get restless. I was just
curious. I wasn’t going to do anything.”

Her aim remained steady.
She didn
’t take her eyes off
him.

Chet grew more edgy with
each careful step back.
“Hey, look. You
can stop aiming that thing at me now, got it? I wasn’t gonna do
anything, I promise!”

“
Just get the hell out of
here, and don’t come back,” Mila said.

Chet turned and sprinted
off in the direction he came from.
“You
crazy bitch!” he shouted, running down the street.

Her neighbors a few houses down
watched as he ran past the garbage truck, fleeing into the
distance.

Mila kept the revolver up
until he was out of sight. After a moment, she lowered the gun and
fell back against the washing machine, shaking and nearly in tears.
The safety and security of her home already felt as if they were on
the line, and it hadn
’t even been an hour.
She rested her head in one hand, put the revolver in her pocket,
and called for Rob on the radio.

“
Rob, come in. Are you
there?”

She walked to the Datsun and closed
the door, but just as she approached the garage door to close it,
Ken, her neighbor, stuck his head around the corner, startling
her.

“
Something wrong,
Mila?”

She jumped back, dug into
her pocket for the revolver, and then stopped and put her hand over
her heart.
“Oh my God, Ken. Don’t do that
to me.”
Nice timing
,
neighbor,
she wanted to say.

“
I heard someone shouting,
saw him run right past the house. Someone you know?”

“
No,” she said. “Just a
wanderer who I told to keep moving.”

From under the shade of
his sun hat, Ken took a look at the Datsun, noticing the supplies
in the back.
“Going somewhere?” he
asked.

“
To the cabin,” she said,
not elaborating any further. She didn’t know how much she should
tell anyone about their plans. They could trust Ken though, right?
After all, he had helped with their vegetable garden in the
back.

Rob
’s voice suddenly came over the radio. “Mila!”

She grabbed the radio
without hesitation.
“Rob, where are
you?”

The transmission was
spotty, but she was able to make out his words.
“I’m on my way now. Hold tight!”

***

Having finally reached their
neighborhood street, Rob pedaled with a fury, running on pure
adrenaline. So far, he was confident he had made the right choices.
Offering supplies to his business neighbors and landlord, and
explaining what they needed to do was the best he felt he could do
under the circumstances. He stood up to pedal faster, even though
the pack weighed heavily on his back and he was already
winded.

Up ahead, he caught sight
of a man in a mechanic
’s jumpsuit running
up the road toward him in seeming panic. The man raced past without
making eye contact. Further ahead was a garbage truck, likely
broken down, in the middle of the road. Rob moved on, his house
within a few more determined pumps on the bike pedals.

He rode up the driveway to find Mila
standing there, inside the garage with Ken. Her eyes lit up as he
skidded to a stop. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and looked
ready to go.

Rob jumped off the bike, letting it
fall onto the pavement. His legs felt cramped, and exhaustion
nearly sent him to the ground in a sweaty heap.

“
Rob! You made it,” Mila
said, running to him.

Ken said hello and tipped the brim of
his sun hat. He seemed to have inkling of their
concerns.

Rob nodded at his neighbor
and then noticed for the first time the distress in Mila’s
eyes.
“Are you OK?” “I’m fine. I have
everything ready for us to go, just like we discussed.”

Rob took a step back and
pulled his backpack off, placing it on the ground.
“And the car? It starts?”

“
Absolutely. It’s a
miracle.”

Ken stood to the side,
confused.

“
Then we need to get the
kids right now. We know where they are. They’re not going anywhere.
But we have to hurry before things begin to turn ugly.”

“
What’s going on, guys?”
Ken asked.

Rob turned to Ken, trying
to remain calm.
“EMP, Ken. We’ve been hit
with an EMP. The standard range on one ballistic missile alone is
enough to cover half, if not all the country. We’re
leaving.”

“
In that old thing?” Ken
asked “Why?”

“
Because we have to get
our kids.”

Ken seemed to understand. Rob and Mila
then told him they had to go and that they’d be back. They went
into the garage, but before getting into the car, Rob gave Ken a
few words of advice. “Keep your house secure and stay alert for
looters. Keep your supplies well hidden. I’d cover that garden,
too.”

Rob got took the driver’s seat and
turned the ignition. The reliable Datsun started without issue. He
had never seem the theory put in practice of older-model vehicles
resisting an EMP. But there they were, and he felt extremely
fortunate and vindicated.

Mila stepped into the car cradling her
cell phone. Rob told her that it wasn’t worth it—that her phone had
been destroyed. “Magnetic waves are designed to destroy the
internal circuitry of electronics, not to temporarily disable
them.”

“
Does anyone really know
for sure?” she protested.

“
I’d say we’re seeing
evidence of it now,” Rob conceded. He revved the engine, and its
roar was like music to the ears. After looking at the fuel tank
gauge, he felt a silver of panic.

“
No. That’s not going to
work. We need more fuel.” He slammed his fist on the steering wheel
in frustration.

Mila touched his
shoulder.
“We might make it there at
least,” she said in a comforting tone.

Rob stared ahead, gripping the
steering wheel with both hands, searching for a solution. He then
snapped his finger as of a bulb went off.

“
Of course! The Kia,” he
said. He stepped out and walked toward his tool bench behind the
car. In the corner was a long black hose and a five-gallon fuel
can.

He grabbed the can and house and
walked by the car window. “I’m going to have to drain all I can,”
he said.

“
Need help?” Mila
asked.

“
Nah. I have this,” he
responded, walking off.

He knelt next to the Kia’s
tank, took off the cap, and threaded the hose inside. He held up
the other end of the hose to his mouth and paused.
He hadn’t siphoned gas in years. The first and
last time he had put the art of siphoning into practice was so that
he could write about it on one of his prepper blogs. Now he was
doing it for real, and the stakes were much higher.

One deep breath, hose to his mouth,
and then a long, hard suck until the nauseous taste of gasoline
rushed through. He spit and hacked as fuel poured from the hose and
into the can at his feet.

“
Disgusting,” he said,
spitting. A couple more times, and they’d be good to go. He gave
Mila the thumbs up and ran back to the car. He placed the can and
hose in the trunk, and then
hopped in the
front seat, ready to go. He spit the awful taste of fuel in his
mouth as Mila handed him a bottle of water.