| |
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON:
“Oh, dear God! I should never have left home!” Harold Woolly mumbles as he staggers along the street. He stumbles and falls, gashing his knee on the asphalt as his rubbery legs give out beneath him.
When he arrived at the office this morning, he was the only one there. He waited around until Cally called him, screaming in panic she heard gunshots and saw a group of young people breaking into houses up the street. He left immediately and drove as far as he could on what little gas he had left in his car. He passed hundreds of abandoned vehicles on the freeway before his car sputtered and died. Then he grabbed his briefcase and ran until his chest heaved and his muscles ached. That was an hour ago. Since then, he’s been walking, occasionally seeing tall columns of black smoke in different parts of the suburbs.
He quickens his pace as he rounds the corner and sees his house, half a block away. He hears gunshots and looks farther up the street. A group of ten young men and women are dragging an elderly man out the front door of a house. They toss him onto the lawn, kicking him viciously. Harold hears the man screaming for help and begging not to be killed. He feels sympathy for the man and wishes he had the courage to help him.
A sense of foreboding suddenly fills his thoughts as he pictures Cally and his children lying on the lawn in front of his home. Harold’s heart feels as though it’s about to explode, but he runs the rest of the way and beats on his front door. “Cally! It’s me. Let me in!” The door opens a few inches, and someone shoves a shotgun barrel in his face.
“Dad?” Mark asks.
“Yes, it’s me! Let me in!”
The rifle barrel withdraws through the gap, and Harold hears the familiar sound of the chain lock being unfastened. The door opens, and Harold rushes through as Mark slams it shut behind him. When he turns, Mark bends down and throws his arms around him, and Harold feels him shaking. Harold tries to sound confident. “It’s going to be okay.” He feels his voice quivering. “Where’s your mom? Where’s Pamela? Is everyone okay?”
“Yeah, but they’re scared. They’re in the back room.”
“Oh, Harold!” Cally hollers from the hall and rushes toward him. “Thank God you’re home!” She throws her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly. “I’ve been so scared!”
Harold feels her flinch as they hear a gunshot. “It’ll be all right,” he tells her. He looks at Mark. “How long has this been going on? Did you call the police?”
“Yeah. I heard the first shots early this morning, but the police said they were too busy and would come when they could. They still haven’t come by. People are going crazy. There isn’t any food in the stores anymore, and everyone is robbing and killing each other for whatever they have.”
Harold eases Cally away and looks into her tear-swollen eyes. “I’m sorry I left.”
“No. I’m sorry I drove you away. It’s my fault for being such a nag. You work so hard and all I do is complain about everything.
“Shush. It’s both our faults, okay?”
Cally smiles as best she can.
“Do we have any food left?” he asks.
“Just some canned stuff.” It’s Pamela’s voice.
Harold looks toward the hallway and sees Pamela standing with a baseball bat slung over her shoulder. She walks over, bends down, and gives him a kiss on the cheek.
“I’m glad you’re home, Dad.”
Harold looks up and sees the tears in her eyes. Another gunshot echoes through the neighborhood. “Listen, those thugs are headed this way. I think it’s best if we pack some clothes and food and leave the area.”
Cally’s eyes go wide. “But this is our home! Everything we own is here!”
“Cally, it doesn’t matter anymore. We can’t fight those people out there. We wouldn’t stand a chance. I couldn’t stand it if something were to happen to any of you.”
“I’ve got all my guns,” says Mark.
Harold studies the plastic shotgun in Mark’s hand. “Those are just toys.”
“Yeah, but they don’t know that. I had one real gun, but I don’t know what happened to it.”
“What?” Cally says in shock. “You had a real gun? Oh, my God! You could have hurt yourself!”
“Where did you get it?” Harold asks in an even tone.
“From Brian Everex. He got it from his brother, and I traded some stuff for it. It was really neat looking. Sort of like what the Lone Ranger used.”
The breath catches in Harold’s throat as he remembers staring at the old man in the mirror. He regains his composure and opens his briefcase. On top of his papers is the silver pistol. “Is this it?”
“Yeah! Where did you get it?”
Harold sighs with relief it isn’t loaded. “It’s a long story. Do you have any bullets for it?”
“Yeah, they’re in my bottom drawer. I knew better than to keep it loaded.”
“Okay. Get those and pack some clothes while you’re there. Not much, just two changes.” Harold looks at his wife and daughter. “You two do the same. Try to pack light. I don’t know where we’re going, or how long it will take. I just know we have to get out of here, and fast.” He looks at Cally. “Is there any gas left in your van?”
“A little over half a tank. Once the rationing started, I decided to walk whenever possible.”
“Okay. We’ll load up whatever groceries we have. Pack some clothes for me, Cally. I’ll stand guard until we’re ready.” He looks at Mark. “Better bring me the bullets for this gun, first.”
Ten minutes later, the minivan in the garage is loaded. “Okay, everyone,” says Harold. “Those people are only a couple of houses away. Cally, I want you to drive. Pam will be in the car with you, and Mark and I will be out in front of the house. I want you to back into the street and be ready to drive away from those people as soon as we get in, okay?”
“Shouldn’t you and Mark be in the car with us?” Cally asks.
“No. It would be better if those people see we’re armed. Otherwise, they might shoot at the car. All right, is everybody ready? Let’s go.”
As soon as they hear the car start, Harold and Mark step out into the front yard, their guns clearly visible. The people up the street don’t notice them until the garage door opens, then they all stare at Harold and Mark. As the car backs out into the street, two of the boys run toward it.
“They’ve got gas!” One boy yells.
Harold’s never been so frightened in his life. He takes a deep breath and points the gun at the two boys, and can see the sight on the barrel shaking.
The gun suddenly explodes and nearly tears his wrist off. One of the boys flies backward from the shot and crumples to the ground. The other boy staggers to a stop. No one makes another move while Harold keeps the gun pointed in their direction.
Cally pulls forward and stops next to Harold and Mark.
“Get in, Son!” Harold yells, his voice wavering. He hears the door open and backs toward it.
“Come on, Dad!” Mark shouts from inside.
Harold keeps the gun pointed at the crowd as he slides onto the seat. He leaves the door open, leaning out so he can watch the other people in case they try to shoot at him and his family. “Okay, Cally. Drive away, nice and easy.”
Harold watches the crowd looking smaller, and no one attempts to stop them. When Cally turns the corner, Harold leans back inside the car and closes the door. He collapses against the seat and sighs with relief, still holding the gun on his lap. “Oh, my goodness!” he mumbles. “I just killed that boy!”
“You didn’t have any choice, Dad,” says Mark.
Harold looks over at him, feeling like he’s turned into some kind of savage beast. “I know, son. I know.”
The Woolly’s drive east on Interstate 90, out of Seattle. The highway is crowded with abandoned vehicles, and on several occasions, Harold and Mark shove cars out of the way so they can continue. They pass several people walking, their thumbs out for a lift and eyes imploring for sympathy, and a woman with two small children sitting on a suitcase beside the road. The woman stands and shouts for help and Cally starts to pull over.
“What are you doing?” Harold asks.
“Look at them, Harold. Those poor children must be exhausted, and that woman is all alone.”
“No, Cally.”
“Oh, Harold, don’t be so selfish. There’s room enough to squeeze them in,” Cally tells him in her familiar, domineering tone as she slows the car to stop.
“I said, NO!”
Cally glances in the rearview mirror at Harold in the back seat and a chill runs through her body. She’s never seen that look in Harold’s eyes before. He’s changed. “Whatever you say, Dear,” she sighs, and steps on the accelerator.
As they pass the forlorn mother, something slams into the side of the car. Startled, Cally swerves across the road, nearly slamming into the guardrail before regaining control. Harold flinches and looks out the back window. A man is running after them, heaving large rocks at their car.
“What was that?” Cally cries out.
Harold is shaking, more from rage than fear. “Those were rocks! It was a trap, Cally. Probably that woman’s husband was hiding nearby waiting to carjack us! We can’t trust anyone. Understand. The world’s gone crazy!”
Harold stares at Cally’s reflection in the mirror, her eyes showing stunned understanding. Pamela turns in her seat to look at him. She looks scared, and he pats her soothingly on the shoulder, trying to hide his own fear of this new reality. “We’ll be all right, honey. We just have to be careful.”
Mark leans forward in the back seat. “We have guns, so nobody will mess with us!”
“We have one gun and that stupid toy,” says Pamela. “What if somebody has more guns? What do we do then, dummy?”
“Don’t call me a dummy, you wart hog!”
“That’s enough, both of you!” Harold snaps. “Listen, all we have is each other. We’re a family and we have to work together or none of us will survive. Is that clear?”
Pamela turns and stares out the front window, and Mark does the same out the side window. Silence fills the car until Cally speaks a few minutes later.
“We’re getting low on gas, Harold. We’re down below an eighth of a tank.”
They pass a sign advertising three major gas stations in North Bend a mile ahead. Harold knows it’s the last stop for gasoline until they make it over Snoqualmie Pass. “Take the next exit. Maybe they still have some gas left.”
Cally continues up the grade. As they come around a sweeping turn, they see thick black smoke drifting across the highway, and a few moments later, they see the source. A four-car accident on the off ramp into North Bend. Half a dozen people are standing off to the side, staring at the carnage.
“Stay on the Interstate,” Harold says in a cool tone. “Get as far over to the left as you can. Keep the speed up. Go faster.”
The group of people stares at them as they pass, but no one tries to stop them. The highway continues to climb, and Cally keeps glancing at the gas gauge. There are fewer abandoned vehicles along the road, and they don’t see any more people walking. The gas gauge is touching the red line when they reach the summit and the sign for Snoqualmie Ski Resort. The exit looks clear.
“Harold?” Cally asks. “We’re on empty.”
“All right, take this exit. It will be better than being stranded on the highway.”
Cally takes the off ramp and follows the road to the ski lodge. A large sign announces it’s closed for the summer, so she drives past it into the little community. Everything appears abandoned, and from all the broken windows, it’s obvious the buildings have been looted.
“What are we going to do now, Harold?” Cally asks in a quivering voice.
“I’m not sure. Pull in here at the motel and we’ll think about it.”
The parking lot for the motel is nearly empty, except for a long fifth-wheel RV trailer attached to a one ton Dodge pickup truck parked at the far end. Cally parks at the opposite end and shuts off the engine. The four of them remain in the car, and no one speaks as they listen to the ticking of the engine as it cools down.
Harold sighs in resignation. “It’s getting late. I think we should hold up here for the night.”
“Do you think it’s safe, Dad?” Pamela asks.
Harold shrugs. “Safe as anywhere, I guess. At least we’ll have beds to sleep in. I wouldn’t want us to have to sleep in the car on the highway.” Harold grabs the gun sitting on the seat next to him. “I’ll look around first.”
Mark grabs his toy gun. “I’ll go with you.”
Harold smiles at his son. “No, you stay here and protect the women.”
“Yeah, right!” Pamela says and stares out the window.
Harold opens the door and slowly climbs out. He pauses to look around and listen. At first, he hears only the wind, then faint traces of music. He tucks the pistol into his belt, cups his hands around his ears, and tries to locate the source. It seems to be coming from the RV trailer. As he stares at it, one of the curtains slides back and a man stares back at him for a moment before the curtain closes.
Harold wonders why the man didn’t come out, then realizes he must be as leery of strangers as he is. Not much I can do about it. He walks to the front doors of the motel and the glass from one side lay scattered on the carpet inside. Harold walks through and the reception desk looks unscathed. Even the little bell still sits on the counter. Harold taps it and hears the little ding. No one comes to the desk, so he walks past it and stops at the corridor, looking left and right, with only the setting sun streaming through the windows for light. Most of the doors are open, and the nearest one has been kicked in.
Harold’s heart beats faster, and he grabs the pistol from his belt as he walks down the left corridor, wondering if someone might still be lurking around. He stops at each room and takes a quick look inside, and except for a few unmade beds, all of them look as though they haven’t been stayed in for quite a while. He stops at the glass exit door at the end of the hall and looks out. A cement walkway curves around the building back to the parking lot.
His nerves settle down a little as he walks in the opposite direction and sees the same thing in the rooms down the right corridor, and again he looks out the exit window. The door suddenly flies open, and a huge rifle barrel is thrust in front of his eyes. Harold’s heart leaps into his throat and he staggers backward, tripping and crashing to the floor. He stares up in stunned disbelief, as a tall, slightly overweight man with gray hair steps through the doorway and shoves the rifle barrel against his chest.