The End Boxset: Postapocalyptic Visions of an Unstoppable Collapse (27 page)

She walked slowly into the house, ready to jump at the slightest movement. And where was Randall? “Stay strong, Alice,” she whispered under her breath. She scanned the living room and the kitchen, anticipating some horror ready to jump out at her any second. But all she could see was the complete destruction of their possessions in each room. Tables and chairs were knocked over. The television was smashed. Night stands were flipped over, and glass was everywhere. There were holes in the wall and clothes everywhere. Alice became bold with every step and proceeded to investigate the scene further. She moved the flashlight to the kitchen towards the right of the living room and noticed two legs—wearing jeans and tennis shoes—sticking out. They were unmistakably Randall’s legs.

Alice gasped and ran over to the kitchen. She moved the flashlight further up his body and saw that he was lying on his back, unresponsive. His face was beaten and bloodied. She scanned the kitchen tile next to his body. There was blood everywhere. “Randall!” she shouted, throwing herself down next to him. She shined the light directly in his face. His eyes were open in a dead stare. Alice shook him violently for a response. Tears formed from her eyes and started to run down her cheeks. “Randall! Randall!” she kept saying. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even breathing. Alice dropped the flashlight and lifted him into her arms, cradling him. She held her mouth with one free hand, and let out a muffled scream, followed by intense sobbing. She couldn’t risk the children hearing her, or coming into the house and finding their stepfather dead. “No…no…no,” she repeated while rocking Randall back and forth.

There had been an obvious home invasion, which she felt was linked the flash mob she had encountered only moments before. The house had been compromised. They were no longer safe. But what of their supplies? All the food and survival gear? They also had weapons: a 5.56mm rifle and a .45 caliber handgun. How could Randall not have fought them off?  This question was answered once she noticed small .45 shells lying across the tile. Randall did try to fight back, but they overpowered him. The handgun was nowhere to be found. “Think, Alice, think,” she said to herself. Shock pushed her to find resolve. The death of second husband hadn’t even fully sunk in yet.

She rested Randall back onto the tile, whipped her face of tears and stood up. She searched the kitchen and saw that the cupboards had been opened and emptied. She ran to her bedroom and searched for anything of value. Everything had been rummaged and ransacked. She searched the closet and found several empty bags that could be used to tote clothes and supplies. Most damning of all, however, was that the rifle was gone. The case sat empty in the closet. She marched through her bedroom like a zombie and tossed whatever clothes she could find into the bags. She went to both children’s rooms—ransacked as well—and threw clothes into the bags for both Brian and Kiya. She searched through the bathroom, the basement, the kitchen, and the living room with whatever she could take with her. The food that she had stored in the basement was gone. Several smashed canning jars remained. She dashed back up-stairs and through the kitchen, and stumbled over another body. It was that of a young man, shot multiple times. He was wearing grungy clothes and he had long hair, but his eyes were closed and he looked peaceful. Randall had taken one of them out after all. She held the flashlight between her neck and chest and carried the bags with her free hands. The increasing shock was so great that the only functioning thought in her head—that which moved her—was too flee the scene as fast as she could with her children. She struggled outside the house swinging the heavy nylon bags side to side. To her children, she looked like Frankenstein’s monster stomping throughout the night. Brian and Kiya perked up once they saw her. “Thank you for waiting here like I asked,” she said between heavy breathes.

“What happened?” Brian asked. “Where are you going?”

Alice pulled the trunk opened and threw the bags inside, followed by a quick slam of the truck. She removed the flashlight from under her chin and shut it off. “It’s not safe here. We had a break-in. We’re going to have to go somewhere else until things are safe.”

Kiya was shaken and nearly crying. “Someone broke into our house? Why?” she asked.

“Just please, get in the car,” Alice said.

“But I don’t want to leave,” Brian said. “I want to stay here. This is our home.”

“I know that Brian, but we have to go. Just listen to me.”

“Where’s Randall?” Kiya asked.

Alice could hold back her emotions no longer and burst into a fit of crying. Both Brian and Kiya were taken aback. Alice waved her arms in the air and tried to talk over her uncontrollable heaving. “Just…get into…the car. Now!” she cried.

Brian and Kiya said no more as they both reluctantly climbed into the back seat. Alice slammed the car door and leaned against it trying to control her crying. She then had a brief moment of clarity. Maybe fleeing into the unknown wasn’t the answer. She looked around to her neighbors houses. No one was outside and the homes were dark, but perhaps she could stay with them. “But for how long?” she asked herself. “How long before the same thing happens to them?”

Alice made up her mind. They would take the car as far away from Pittsburgh as they could get. There had to be somewhere safe they could go, but she believed they weren’t close to anywhere safe. “Fuel, what about fuel?” she said. Like a jackpot slot at a casino, the image hit her. She had four five gallon unleaded fuel cans in the garage. She wondered if they had been stolen as well. Alice leaned into the car to speak with her children. “I’ll be right back,” she said. Before they could respond she walked back towards the house waving her flashlight. Once inside, she did her best to turn from the carnage in the kitchen and made her way to the garage. There, sitting among boxes, tools, and clutter were the fuel cans.

“What is she doing?” Kiya asked Brian.

Brian examined the house from the backseat of the Valiant then looked to Kiya. “I don’t know. There’s something wrong with her. I think she’s lost it.”

“Lost it? What do you mean?” Kiya asked.

“I mean she’s nuts. Come on, Kiya, she’s been losing it for a while.”

“That’s not true,” Kiya said.

“Think whatever you want. Our mom is a lunatic,” Brian said.

“How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

Alice stormed out of the house carrying the four heavy fuel cans. The flashlight was sticking out of her jean pockets. “See what I mean?” Brian said. “Look at her.”

Kiya couldn’t help but see what Brian was talking about. Their mother’s actions made little sense to them. She was hurried, erratic, and emotional. Plus her mind was going a million miles a minute.

“She reminds me of a hummingbird,” Brian said. His comment caused slight laughter in Kiya. 

Alice opened the trunk and placed the fuel cans inside. She took one from the trunk, slammed the trunk shut, and positioned herself next to the fuel tank. She poured its contents into the fuel tank through the fuel spout in the can. She felt the jerky movement of the fuel pumping into the tank and stood there until it emptied. With that, she felt they were ready. She looked back to the house and thought of Randall. The thought of leaving him the house sickened her. In her anticipation and shock she lost sight of the fact that her husband’s body was lying in the house. “I’m going to have to take him with us,” she said to herself.

Down the street and around the corner a large group moved. Alice immediately took notice. She was certain it was the flash mob making another run through the neighborhood. They held glow sticks and lighters that illuminated their movement. “No…” Alice said. She fumbled into her pockets for the car keys, but they fell onto the ground. She bent down to retrieve them. Panic and anxiety were taking over again. The mob was nearing, leaving Alice with no choice but to leave the house. She jumped into the driver’s seat and started the car. The mob picked up steam upon the roar of the engine. Alice could see them getting closer. It was a pack of twenty or so juveniles roaming the streets.

Alice turned back to address Brian and Kiya. “Hold on, and get down,” she said.

Brian looked out the window and saw the group approaching, but fifty feet away. A few of them started to run. “What do they want?” he asked. 

Alice jerked the car into reverse and sped backwards. Once out into the road she put the car into drive and roared down the street, the opposite way of the flash mob. Kiya gripped onto Brian’s arm. A gunshot fired into the air, shattering the back window. Kiya screamed. “I said stay down!” Alice shouted. She slammed the gas pedal down onto the floor and the mob was soon out of vision. Brian looked down to his waist; broken bits of glass were everywhere. Kiya held Brian tightly, crying. He looked to Alice. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“Some place safe,” Alice said with her eyes plastered to the road.

“Where’s that?” Brian asked.

“I don’t know, Brian, I just don’t know.”

Chapter 6: Jeremy’s Odyssey

Jeremy was left with one option: walking. It seemed to be the thing everyone was doing nowadays. At least once cars mysteriously stopped working. Most cars, anyway. He woke up Thursday morning—the day after the massive power outage—having pitched his tent in the unfamiliar woods surrounding Charleston, West Virginia. He was conflicted about leaving his truck on the side of the road, but there was simply no other choice. There came a time to accept things for what they were. And accepting that there was no possible way his truck was going anywhere was the first of these things. He was faced with taking what he could carry and proceed with his travels on foot. This meant, obviously, leaving behind the fuel cans, for starters. He couldn’t very well carry the water jugs with him and his various tool boxes. No, the essentials for Jeremy consisted of his Bug-out bag, assault pack, and his weapons. He had a 9mm pistol, an M4 Carbine rifle, and now Bill’s .22 caliber rifle.

His assault pack was heavy with all the ammunition stored inside. His pistol was holstered to the side. The challenge for Jeremy, however, was the concealment of both rifles. This was concerning for two reasons. First, walking with two rifle brought attention from the authorities (wherever they were in this town). Secondly, if he were to cross paths with a group that outnumbered him, they would most likely take the rifles from him. For Jeremy, survival was about staying low-key.

Jeremy had his theories of what was going on, or what had happened, but he wanted verification. It would be nice to turn on the television and watch the news. Or go on the internet and see what everyone was saying. Hell, it would be nice to pick up a newspaper and read about it. Bill’s shop only had yesterday’s paper, which reported business as usual: struggling economy, higher unemployment rate, politicians citing improvements that were nonexistent, etc. Anyone could pick up the paper from any day and determine it was the news of a nation deep in denial. The writings had been on the wall for some time now.

Despite his convictions, loneliness was not far from Jeremy’s emotional state. A creeping sense of isolation was surrounding him. With this, he felt a true need to find out what was going on. The fate of his parents crossed his mind many times. He thought of these things and so many others as he made his way back across the open road that Thursday. His plan had originally been to go to Tennessee, into the mountains, and to his friend’s cabin in the mountains. It was still the plan he wanted to pursue. If not for any other real reason other than to stubbornly stick to a plan. This wasn’t to suggest that if a better plan came along Jeremy wouldn’t take it.

The trip was only supposed to take a matter of days, but on foot, he realized, it was going to take considerably longer. Plus he was now exposed and vulnerable. He had a map and a compass, and lucky for him, he knew how to navigate. His friend, Joey, an avid hunter, had purchased a small cabin in the mountains a few years ago. They would meet up, drink, hunt, and visit the town of Gatlinburg, just below the mountains. The visits had become less frequent over the years, as Joey married his long-time girlfriend, Rebecca. Jeremy lost contact with them as he did many of his friends over the years. Part of it was shame. Shame that he hadn’t pursued his ambitions, seeing the high hopes his friends and family had of him diminished once he settled into his job as a member of the school custodial staff.

Despite their waning distance, Jeremy reached out to Joey one last time, asking him about the cabin.

“Of course, Jeremy. Like I said, you can visit that cabin anytime you want. Just give Rebecca and me a heads-up, in case we’re up there.” By that, Jeremy felt the implication meant that he was welcomed at the cabin as long as they weren’t there. He sensed that Rebecca didn’t care for him too much. She was very protective of Joey and her disingenuous smile and feigned interest in Jeremy sent mixed signals. Joey always had reasons why he could never hang out, but most of the time it just felt like cover for Rebecca. After Joey declined an invitation to go to a Steeler’s game, Jeremy flat-out asked him if Rebecca was involved in the decision. “Is it Rebecca?” he asked. “Yeah, she’s kind of hard to reason with sometimes,” Joey said, scratching his head on the other end of the line. So Jeremy stopped asking.

Not having a cell phone also played a big part in losing contact with people. As he walked down the road, searching for a town where he might be able to set-up camp for the night, and talk with people, questions entered his mind: Why did he feel the need to survive this? Was his life even worth living? He quickly told himself, “Yes, it was.” He was going to prove to himself that he could survive, that he did have a life worth living. And no one was going to get in the way, whatsoever.