“Of course, but where are you going?”
“Where do you think?”
11
I woke up two hours ago to a freezing room. My first thought was that maybe I had inadvertently brushed against the thermostat and turned the heat off. I wrapped myself in my blanket and walked over to check. The slider was set at 72º where I always leave it.
I stepped out into the hallway, thinking I could warm up there, but the hallway was just as frigid. It seemed the heating problem wasn’t limited to my room. My first thought was that something had happened to the heater, and I would have to go down to the basement and try to fix it. Never mind that I don’t know the first thing about heating systems or, well, pretty much anything mechanical. We all have our things, I guess. That’s not one of mine.
I was so focused on the heater itself that I almost didn’t realize the cause of the problem was right there in front of me. For safety purposes, a few of the hall’s lights are always on. I have a feeling it’s probably some kind of OSHA rule for dorms, or maybe apartment buildings — those kinds of places. You can’t have residents tripping around in the dark. Only now, my hallway was exactly that. Dark.
I reentered my room, and saw that the digital clock on my desk had gone blank. Already fearing what I knew was going to happen, I flipped the switch for the room light. Nothing.
My floor had lost power.
Hoping that was the limit of the outage, I hurried down to the common room, and looked out at the dorm wings across from me.
Every day since I’d found out what was going on, I could see the flicker of televisions in many of the common rooms. For the first time, all the rooms were dark.
In the interest of telling the full story (though I don’t know who I’m telling it to, will anyone ever read this?), I lost it there for a little bit. I guess at some point I sat down on the floor, because when I finally got ahold of myself, that’s where I was, leaning against the window, my face cold and wet with tears.
I finally walked back to my room. I had this insane notion that if I just crawled into bed and shut my eyes and forced myself to sleep, when I woke again everything would be as it was. Not pre-plague; I couldn’t hope for that much. But like yesterday and the day before that, when I was still alone but the power was on.
By the time I reached my door, though, I knew I couldn’t afford to ignore the reality of my situation. The first thing I did was dress as warmly as I could. (Layers are your friend! That’s what Mom always said.) I ate two cans of cold ravioli one of the other girls on my floor had left behind when she’d gone home for Christmas. Not the best breakfast in the world, but without the microwave to heat up some oatmeal, I couldn’t be too choosy.
When I finished, I sat down at my desk and opened this journal. My thoughts have turned to what I should do now. The one thing I know for sure is that I can’t stay here. This place is already unbearable enough. Another twenty-four hours of no heat and I’ll probably be dead of exposure.
The easy answer (using the word easy very loosely) would be for me to find a house nearby that, hopefully, still has power or, better yet, a generator. At the very least, one with a fireplace and a supply of wood that will last awhile. Here in Madison, that is/was pretty much a prerequisite for home ownership.
The harder answer is Chicago.
I can’t help thinking about the UN survival station there, and that if I don’t start heading for it soon, I’m liable to be snowed in here until spring — if I survive that long. The problem is, the trip to Chicago could be just as dangerous. I could still freeze to death or run out of food or, I don’t know, get attacked by a pack of dogs? (I’ve seen a few passing by the buildings.) But the prize at the end is so much better than the prize of staying here would be.
What’s also tipping things in Chicago’s favor is that yesterday’s storm passed through sometime during the night, and this morning the skies are blue and the wind is pretty much nonexistent. If I am going to go, today would be a good one to start.
It’s a 150-mile trip. In a car, less than three hours. But without the roads being plowed, that’s not really an option. So that means walking. I have no idea how long it would take. Days? A week? A month? Best probably not to have any goal in mind. Just walk what I can, rest when I need to, and get there when I get there.
I guess my mind’s made up, isn’t it? Better to die alone searching for others, than to die alone where no others may ever come again.
Work to do now. More later.
Brandon woke to the sound of someone walking by the door to his family’s motel room. He sat up and looked around. Both his father and Josie were still asleep. Given the last evening’s excitement, he knew he should be, too, but he was done sleeping.
After changing into the cleanest clothes he had, he found a pad of paper in the drawer of the nightstand and jotted down a quick note:
I’m right outside.
Brandon
He left it on the nightstand, tiptoed to the door, and let himself out.
Though it was still dark, he could easily make out the clouds hanging over the town. The good thing was the storm seemed to have tapered off, only a few scattered flakes still falling. In fact, it had dissipated enough that he could now easily see the building on the lot next door, where all the action had been.
Hours earlier, when he’d scrambled to the top after Chloe, he hadn’t even thought about its size, but this morning it looked huge. Pre-plague, Brandon probably wouldn’t have climbed it in the dark, with a rifle, no less. Post-plague, Brandon would not hesitate to do it again, or whatever it took to protect his family and friends, even if it meant shooting someone else.
Rick, it turned out, was Ginny’s cousin.
“My dad and Rick’s dad were brothers,” Ginny had told them once they were all back at the motel. Matt was the one doing the questioning, while several others — including Brandon, Josie, and their father — looked on. Rick was in another room having his missing finger treated by Lily while Dr. Gardiner finished with Chloe. “They owned Thorton’s Equipment together.”
“What happened to your parents?” Matt asked.
Ginny bit her lip, fighting back tears. “Mom and Dad, they…they died quick, day after Christmas.” She paused for a second. “Uncle Jerry held on for a couple more days. He’s the one who gave us the rifles. Told us to protect everything.”
Brandon couldn’t help but ask, “From what?”
“Looters,” she replied. “Bad people. People who would make us sick.”
“Did you ever have any looters?” Matt asked.
She shook her head. “We saw a few people walk by, a couple cars, but that was it. No one even tried to come through the gate.”
“When was the last time you saw someone?”
“Before you?”
“Yeah.”
She thought for a moment. “Three days ago…no, four now.”
“So when you heard us…” Matt left the sentence unfinished.
“Rick thought you were type of people Uncle Jerry warned us about. He thought that if we shot in your direction for a while, we could scare you off. I wasn’t so sure who you were. I was just…” Her tears started to flow. “We were only…I’m sorry.”
Matt put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s all right. I understand. We all do. You were doing what you thought you had to.”