The End Boxset: Postapocalyptic Visions of an Unstoppable Collapse (4 page)

“Y-yes, my friend threw the trash, but it was an accident, so let it go,” Brian stuttered. His concentration switched between what he was going to say, what he was going to do, and how he was going control the shaking in his legs. The jock stood directly over Brian. “So I take orders from freshmen now?”  he asked, arms folded. 

Before Brian could speak, the jock continued, “Maybe I should teach you both a lesson on how to dispose of trash properly.” He grabbed Brian's shoulders and thrust him upwards.

“You see,
trash
goes in the trash can,” he lectured as he pulled Brian over to a nearby trash container. Tobias sat immobile and useless. Everything was happening too fast.

Brian knew he was about to go in—the large rim of the trash can within sight. He knew what would follow: he would be called trash boy, trash can man, Garbage Pail Kid, whatever they could think of. It would never go away. He would be
trash
.

Brian squirmed and thrashed. In his erratic movement, he hit the jock directly in the jaw. Shocked, the jock's let go. Brian fell to the ground. The jock stumbled and then regained his composure.
Now
they had everyone's attention.  The jock felt his face in utter disbelief. Brian stood up, ready to run.

“Wow. Okay, you're a dead man now,” the jock said taking off his jacket and raising his fists.

Brian tried to move away as the jock swung, but he wasn't fast enough. The first swing from the jock hit him directly in the forehead, causing a momentary white flash. Brian stumbled backwards, his mind telling him one thing: keep standing.

Another white flash entered Brian's vision, then another. He swung into the air, barely making contact. The roar of the crowd was growing louder. Suddenly a frantic girl came out of nowhere and grabbed onto the jock, holding him back.

“Billy, what the hell are you doing? Stop it!” she screamed.

The jock paced back, startled and annoyed. “What? The little dipshit took a swing at me!” he exclaimed. The girl hit the jock on his chest. “Are you out of your mind? He's just a kid!”

Brian regained his balance and felt his face. Large bumps appeared to be forming. The girl, presumably his girlfriend, took the jock to the side as they continued arguing.  

Tobias ran to Brian. “Damn. Are you okay, man?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Brian said rubbing his face.

The school administrators burst onto the scene, two older men with walkie-talkies. “It's like they just wait for the fight to be over,” Tobias said. “Let’s get out of here before we get suspended.”

The two boys attempted to conceal themselves and escape in the surrounding crowd, only to run right back into the jock. As they collided, enraging him, he pushed his girlfriend away and pulled Brian close by the collar of his shirt. “This isn't over, you hear me freshman? This isn't over.”

With that, the jock pushed them aside, and walked away with his girlfriend yelling at him. The school administrators were in hot in pursuit of both parties and trying to make their way through the crowd.  

“Let's hurry, man, they're gaining,” Tobias advised. “Shit, your face is swollen. We have to get out of here.”

Their pace quickened, Tobias was pushing Brian along. Up ahead, a white-haired administrator wearing aviator sunglasses noticed the boys. “Hey, you two! Stop right there!”

“Crap!” Tobias said while jerking Brian in the other direction.

Another administrator blocked their path, racing towards them.

“We're going to have to run,” Tobias said, “just follow me.”

Tobias ran to the side to avoid both administrators. Brian followed feeling his face swell and swell. “The building's just ahead, we'll hide in the bathroom!” Tobias shouted to Brian as they neared a classroom building. Student’s faces blurred alongside as their speed increased. They came within a few feet of the building when an administrator drove his golf cart directly in their path, blocking them. The tires screeched as he came to a halt.

The boys couldn't stop in time and nearly crashed into the improvised barrier. They stopped, breathing heavily, as the administrator jumped out and grabbed them. “Got you now, boys! Just calm down. Take deep breaths.” There was no escape. This was the end of the line. Tobias looked at Brian, Brian looked at Tobias. Their nods indicated that nothing more could have been done. “Now take a seat in the cart,” the man continued. The boys complied as the man used his hand held radio to contact the others. 

“Yeah, I got 'em. Fast little buggers, but it's okay. I don't know if they were the ones doing the fighting or what, but we'll find out. I'll take 'em to the front office, just meet me—”

All of a sudden, in the mid-sentence, his radio died. He paused, curious, and held the radio outward, clicking repeatedly on its button. “Hello,” he clicked some more, “hello? Brian looked across the school yard and noticed the other administrators trying to get their radios to work as well. In a split second, the largest explosion Brian had ever heard rattled his consciousness. He didn't see it or feel it, but he heard it. Collective gasps and startled screams from all the other students followed the echoes of the blast like clockwork. The single blast even caused some students to fall to the ground and hide under lunch tables.

Brian looked to Tobias, who was shaken and clueless. The administrator was disoriented himself as he looked around in confusion. He shouted over to his counterparts from across the school yard.

“What the hell was that?” The other men shrugged and walked over. They were now in a huddle. Tobias and Brian could hear low murmuring, but nothing more.

.

“What do you think that was?” Tobias asked.

“I don't know,” Brian answered, “but it sounded pretty big.”

“Like a bomb?” Tobias continued.

“Could be.” Brain shrugged.

Tobias looked around, noticing that the administrators were heavily distracted.

“We should get out of here,” he said clutching Brian, “now's our chance.”

Brian nodded and Tobias continued, “We'll take the golf cart right out the gate and leave it. Who cares? They don't even know our names yet.”

Brian looked at the golf cart. Not a single indicator light was functioning.

“It's dead.”

“Dead? It was on like a second ago,” Tobias said

“It's not working now,” Brian said as he pressed onto the accelerator.  

“Okay, let's move then.”

The boys jumped off the golf cart and ran the opposite direction of where the administrators were huddled, away from the students hiding under the tables, and away from the attention of anyone who might notice them.

“So where do we go now?” Brian asked while moving at a jogger's pace from behind.

“We need to get out of the school, wait until this thing blows over.”

“What thing?”

“The fight thing!”

“And go where?” Brian demanded.

“Anywhere but here!” Tobias shouted from the front.

As they approached the front gate to the school, there was an eerie silence. Not a single car was moving on the road. No golf cart. No administrator at the front gate.

“It's now or never, man,” Tobias insisted.

Brian was about to respond when he saw it: a large blaze in the distance. 

“Look at that,” Brian said pointing ahead. 

The boys stopped in their tracks. Ahead, flames burned so vibrantly that it looked like something out of a war zone. It was enraged fire. An angry fire. A thick sheet of black smoke covered the sky above the flames, ten maybe twenty miles ahead of them. “Let's go,” Tobias said. The boys cautiously fled the school, squeezing through the front gate, and then they were off.

Chapter 7: The Night Before

The night Jeremy Rafelson got the note to flee the city he immediately went back to his trailer to pack. “You idiot,” Jeremy said out loud to himself. “You unbelievable dumbass. A year of preparation, for what?” He paced the trailer in a frenzy of packing. His survival bag overflowed with supplies. A single low watt light bulb over his portable stove provided the only source of light in his small cavern.

Jeremy opened the cabinets and flung the nonperishables onto the floor. “All of this shit, useless! Preparing for what? To go into hiding? Abandoned by those bastards,” Jeremy found some more packed food in another cabinet and kicked it across the room.  He felt betrayed by his prepper group for leaving him. He was angry with himself for not getting out of the city in time. He couldn't believe that for someone expecting the world to end at any moment that he hadn't been more proactive. Yes he had enough to survive in his trailer for a month or possibly two; however, it was clear to him now that the city itself was the danger. Why couldn't Rob have told him where they were going? Why would it be all up to him to figure something out? “That's the problem with civilians,” Jeremy thought (even though he was a civilian now) “they don't understand loyalty.”

He was supposed to be prepared for this, but instead felt confused and angry. Then a thought flashed across his mind:
Linda.
“No!” Jeremy shouted. “That's not why I waited so long. It can’t be the reason. It’s not the reason!” After his tantrum, Jeremy flipped through his relocation guide and skimmed for the safest spots outside of Pittsburgh. He wasn't sure which roads to take. He knew he would need all the gasoline from his storage shed. It was just a matter of keeping it concealed. “Hell,” he thought, “might as well take the water liters too. Might as well take all I can fit.”

His bug-out bag was packed with the survival gear he had learned was crucial in a disaster situation. In the bag were clothes, extra shoes, maps and a compass, first aid kits, a portable tent, a portable sleeping bag, water purifying tablets, canned and dehydrated food, fire starting materials, toilet paper, knives and pepper spray, all his personal documents, hygienic products, sunscreen, insect repellent, flashlights, batteries, garbage bags and other items useful while on the move.

He placed some weapons, a few knives and his pistol, into small assault pack. He wanted to take everything he could possibly fit in his truck. One area suggested by the guide was Tennessee. This was what Jeremy had in mind anyway. There were mountains in Tennessee, lots of them. It was a bit of a ways out there, but considerably safer than where he was at.

It was midnight, and on one of his last trips to the truck, Jeremy's mind raced with a million different options. He was also getting anxious, short of breath, carried away it felt. “Get it together, man, and focus. Just get out of town, go to the mountains.” He thought of his parents and how he needed to contact them, or tell them what was going on. “But I don't even know what's going on,” he thought. Then a frequent and unwanted question resurfaced in this mind:
What about Linda?
He knew she had married another man and that they had a child. Maybe he should warn them? But what if he's was wrong about everything? He should help them anyway. No. It was a stupid thought to suggest. A stupid thought to entertain. He would go to his parents’ house first.

The sound of gun shots from afar removed Jeremy from his daydreaming. Though not unusual in their frequency, Jeremy noticed a strange repetition. It was almost musical. He got into the truck when another thought crossed his mind. This time it was about the old man who lived in the house. The old man who had let him rent the trailer out back for next to nothing. Surely he had to warn him of the danger coming. He couldn't possibly leave him at the hands of whatever attack, or rioting or hell awaited the city. Could he? Jeremy looked at his watch. It was 12:03pm. He wanted to be on the road and well out of the city by midnight, but he was already dangerously behind schedule.

He had to say something to the old man. Even if it was to say goodbye. He had not realized just yet that if he was going to survive in this new world, he was going to have to change some things about himself. He was going to have to become detached. Jeremy assumed that the old man might be sleeping, but sometimes, he'd surprise you. Sometimes you could hear his Johnny Cash records playing well into the night as the old man nursed a bottle of whiskey.  He would drink to this deceased wife. He would drink to health and good fortune. He would drink to all those things that make people feel hopeful.

The old man gave Jeremy a key to come in as he pleased and use the utilities. Jeremy had left it earlier under the mat, to give back. It was still there. Jeremy listened at the door. He heard the slight echo of music, though it was hard to make out. He slowly unlocked and turned the doorknob, entering the house in its vast darkness. Once past the foyer, Jeremy felt the walls for the living room. The light from a small lamp in the living room guided him.

There was, indeed, a record playing. It sounded like Patsy Cline. The record was stuck and the same half of the chorus kept skipping and repeating. Jeremy noticed the old man sleeping in his usual spot, the recliner, near the record player, a bottle of whiskey in his lap. He walked over to the record player and removed the needle from the record. The room was silent. Jeremy leaned down and placed his hand on the old man's shoulder

“Hank...Hank,” he said gently.

There was no movement on the old man's part. Jeremy started to shake him a little more. Still nothing.

“Hank,” he said louder.

A flash of realization came over Jeremy. Hank was dead. He checked his breathing and pulse. Nothing.

Jeremy backed away and observed the deceased man. He looked peaceful. He had lived a long life, well into his 80s. But he died alone. Not a soul but Jeremy as a witness. A sick feeling came over Jeremy where he felt that he was looking in a mirror of himself, if and when got to be that age. Would there be someone in the room to discover him when he died? Would there be someone who cared?