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Jane, downloading files. IMG-2592.jpg
These strange developments baffled us. There was little warning of it, beyond the growing popularity of the televangelists on tv. But most Americans cared little for religion, and this was an unexpected shift. I thought, with this migration to the coastal cities, it was a matter of re-grouping, for a steady food supply and safety, and I could understand the power grid had to be diminished.
There had been scenes of looting and fires in many towns, where law and order fell apart, men with guns ransacking grocery stores for their families, the fire departments and police stations abandoned. This was even before the grid went down. After that there was no inland reporting, the reporters and cameramen fleeing as their stations shut down. All jobs ended. The only thing to do was get to the coast.
But this rise of an infantile religion, with so many intelligent survivors still left baffled comprehension. I thought wiser heads would collect and form a sane committee to marshal and feed those remaining and keep the research going to find a cure. They must have been in a small minority, because anti-science riots began to take place, specifically aimed at hospitals and labs, at the urging of these religious maniacs. The buildings were gutted and burned by angry mobs, rabid mobs, taking out their anger at the institutions that had failed them. Some were filmed at night with flames raging out of windows, which only encouraged the worst sorts in other cities to do the same. When the hospitals were gone the mobs shifted to factories and then to any building that contained electronics, offices and small plants, even car garages, any building that used electric tools.
Then, what disturbed me most, they turned their attention to books. The Public library went up in flames, the Metropolitan, then the smaller ones and museums, and private libraries in the houses of the rich, the books thrown into the streets and burned with a vengeance. I watched these scenes for over two weeks until the stations went dead, I had a strong mind of moving my whole collection to the bunker.
That was our next mission. Bill made the shelves that filled every wall of the side room of our bunker, built for the guns, now moved to their own bunker, and our entire collection was not only tucked away in that small ten by ten room. It was sealed tight with plastic, so mildew wouldn't rot them, a heater installed and the room hidden behind wall paneling that matched the rest. No one would ever find it.
I had plenty of cheaper duplicates of my favorite authors to keep my reading habits satisfied for a year. I had the others pick out some too, and of the children's books I only absconded the rarities, Robinson Crusoe and Hans Christian Anderson, Aesop and Lewis Carroll and others of that caliber. I didn't think we'd ever be discovered or assaulted. But I was paranoid about their safety.
The media staff and crews were the most pathetic tools and victims of this 'new order'. Didn't they realize, filming all these scenes with the same technology being destroyed in front of them, their cameras and gear, that they were next in line? A general mindlessness or stupidity seemed to rage as much as the pandemic.
During these last weeks on screen this rash of violence doubly swelled the ranks of the Church faithful. It made up the minds of the timid and the undecided who feared for their lives, and most of all the civil magistrates outside the order, trying desperately to keep a hold of the shreds of authority they still commanded, now on their knees praying regularly.
I guessed that the University educated, the scientists and scholars and the rich just snuck out of town. But I found out that most were rounded up at gunpoint in the first days. Then they were interviewed by a wiser set of priests who knew their potential value to the Church, which quickly realized that a few pieces of technology had to be preserved, to keep the lights on and the toilets flushing. Those with degrees in abstract studies were killed. Those with knowledge of medicine or engineering were locked up again, until the higher-ups could decide who to keep.
These were old men, most of them, and they knew they'd need to keep a few doctors and dentists for themselves, along with a few experts in other fields, in case of contingencies. That wasn't on the news. Then suddenly our screens went blank, a scratchy white glow with an equally annoying buzzing sound. We turned them off with a sense of relief, not having to watch this madness anymore. But then their darkness reflected our own as to what was happening out there. Ignorance is no welcome feeling when you know things are getting worse, just not how, or how much.
The few internet radio stations fell silent, and music would have been dead, except for the huge collections Jane had recently loaded onto external hard drives, solid state, the best money could buy. She loved music of every sort. And she made multiple copies, some hidden in the bunker, others bundled up and hidden in the woods, for insurance that some would survive.
She really was a smart woman and had planned to go to university, a straight "A" student. But when she found herself pregnant, after one hot, summer night on a rare date with Rick, drinking beer for the first time and laying in the grass beside him, she accepted her fate, sacrificed those plans and they were married at the young age of eighteen.
Rick promised he would be a good father, work twelve hours a day if need be. He landed one job at a garage and started handing out cards as a handyman for miles around. In small places you have to be that versatile to survive. He had friends and family to help out, but most of all, a winning charisma that strangers noticed. She only had her mother and her one hope for college was a scholarship.
Rick knew her aspirations, to be a nurse or doctor someday. She was the brightest girl in school and also, the most beautiful. He had his qualities too. He was honest, kind, and completely devoted to her, thinking he'd won a prize far above his grade. He'd been good in athletics and had boundless energy. So they rented their stucco shack and he went to work. He was good with his hands and tools and always made ends meet, insisting she sit at home and study online during her pregnancy.
She enjoyed this life with him and motherhood. They had another child a year later, their little girl. All this time she was making good progress online, slowly working her way to a degree the only way she could afford it, his parents helping out with the costs. She kept up the hope that when the kids started school, she could enroll part time to finish all the courses requiring hands-on experience and get her degree.
They were a happily married couple when I gave Rick his job, a financial boon to them, happier still when I kept him on. She was even more delighted when she met Nancy, a real nurse and kindred spirit. They became fast friends. Then the offer to stay on our lot was like icing on a cake. But by then the pandemic put an end to all plans, or so it seemed.
I'd never talked to her much until this panic hit us. I'd been teaching her children for almost a year. She was a quiet person, and I always thought it best not to intrude on another's privacy. But sometimes, at night in bed, Nancy would give me bits of her story and how she really had a fine intelligence.
It was only as I watched her download these catalogues of music and sat beside her that I heard the whole story and we became friends. I followed suit, downloading libraries of books with her help. She was computer savvy.
After that I asked her to handle picture collections and museums. We had two laptops and this kept us busy for weeks, side by side, saving culture for future generations. I was amazed at her dexterity and knowledge of just what to copy. Until then she'd only played the role of a mother and cook. Now I knew why Nancy valued her as a friend.
She won my high regard in this collaboration, a place in my heart, and as the mother of Miranda, I began to imagine a mirror image in their personalities. I would do anything for their safety and thought about it many hours each day. They were family to me. But I realized, like everyone else with loved ones, there is only so much you can do against all the myriad possibilities we face in this world. But the bunker was a good start.
In some ways this news outage, the umbilical detachment from the rest of the world held another benefit. There were a few people with their own power supplies still talking on the internet, but they knew as little as we did, being in remote areas and unwilling to leave their homes. One link we had in Ohio said there were bands of marauders abroad and as he lived with his family on wide open farmland he had no protection besides his gun. Neighbors not thirty miles away with a shortwave had told him neighboring farms were being raided, burned down and the people killed, for no reason, even after they offered up their food supplies freely. Then that shortwave went silent and he figured he'd be next.
He was, and it bothered me to no end that with a population so diminished, some were killing others for no reason. There was still plenty of livestock and food in the countryside. Were these bands half-demented by disease or the shock of the world crumbling, or just natural brutes who let their cooped-up natures loose when civil order was gone. They seemed like 'Hell's Angels' at their worst. All our hopes of civilization ever recovering were vanishing fast.
We quit our gun practice in case someone might hear. But we had several pellet guns and we practiced with these, putting the scopes on them. We even let Eric, Rick's son, now seven, join in the daily practice. Besides, we didn't want to waste any real bullets. Only Jane and Miranda, her darling girl, to no part. Besides, we didn't want them involved in any ugly encounter that might occur. They were too innocent and pure, and we wanted them to stay that way forever. It was so rare a thing now.
So we stayed mum, went about our farming and chores undisturbed for another full year. Our farm produced enough to maintain us. Things like sugar and pickles and oysters ran out, delicacies. But they were just that. My cigarette and coffee supply was intact as I'd packed away caseloads. I'd cut down on them. Bill ran out of Bourbon and switched to wine, which he'd never had before but agreed it was quite pleasant.
My collection wasn't cheap. I had so much money many of the bottles ran about forty dollars each and if he didn't like that wine, something was wrong with him. When those three hundred cases ran low, we switched to the beer. Eric drank only a few a day. The three of us finished off his stockpile in another two months. We had more in the bunker but decided not to touch that supply. It was a last resort, like a medical kit and to be without it seemed folly.
That's when Bill suggested he make a trip to town, driving the Cherokee to within five miles of it and walking the rest of the way, to see if anyone was left. Earlier on we thought of making a still. We had instructions from the internet but not all the parts, so that fizzled. Besides we were bored and hungry for any information which the town might provide. The children could do without sugar but knowledge and alcohol, that was just too big a sacrifice.
We were all plagued with curiosity. The children were growing tall, and Nancy and I quit trying for a child, not in this world, so we used protection during sex. After many dinner table discussions we agreed that Bill and Rick should go together, armed to the hilt and spend hours in the woods with binoculars spying for any activity. They'd even circle the town staying in the woods, check from every angle. If they saw anyone, any sign of recent life there our decision was that they immediately retreat. Contact could either be contagious or deadly, and worse, give us away.
The town seemed dead, just like one would, deserted for over a year. They arrived by mid-day and entered at night in pitch darkness. They found supplies. The grocery store had been partially ransacked, along with the hardware store for guns. But they even found some ammo left in drawers so they figured only a small band must have looted it and took all they could carry and left. They came back to us the next evening fully loaded, with cans of fruit, bags of sugar and flour, a notebook found beside one of the skeletons which looked like a log of events, and a dog.
It was a skinny brown Labrador, still with life to it, not sick and not a danger as we knew early on dogs were immune from the covid and not carriers. It had run up to them in a store, waging its tail. So they brought it along for the children, who loved it. In a few days it was less skinny and their constant companion, even sleeping in Eric's bed.
The men wanted to make another run, claiming there was absolutely no danger, and they'd only checked a tenth of the houses, all of which contained valuable supplies, like candles and flashlights and tools, probably even more canned food and guns. But since we now had two more cases of Rum and Vodka found in a basement, we put it off. They came across five dead bodies in separate houses, now skeletons. That's where they found half the supplies. When those people caught ill, I suppose no one dared enter the premises. There was a red circle on those front doors and several others. My only question was: how did the dog survive for over a year?
I didn't think much on it at first. But the second and third day the problem began to nag me. The dog's fur was fairly clean, not scraggily and full of thorns as one would expect, almost as if it had been brushed. I went to Nancy, as I knew nothing of animals and asked her to examine it. She said it was a female and in heat, still young, maybe five years old and it did look like it had been well maintained, even recently.
This fueled my curiosity with a dozen possibilities. Maybe there was one or more survivors there, living off the stores of food, or some old lady who'd hidden herself while Bill and Rick rummaged around. This was a distinct possibility as they said they only checked a few houses. But then why did it run off with them. If it had a comfortable life there with its owner it would have stayed, unless it got so excited at the sight of new humans it just ran off with them. Or maybe the owner had recently died. Like I said, a dozen scenarios filled my head. I thought too much.
The answer revealed itself the next day, in a scene I could never have imagined.
It was midday. Most were outside at chores. Miranda was with her mother helping in the vegetable garden. Eric was with Rick helping to split wood and stack it up for the fireplace. Lucky they weren't using the chain saw as that would have drowned out any noise.
The dog was with them and started barking. I stepped out on the front porch and could hear the faint sound of a motor far off, but getting louder. Rick noticed this too. We had a plan and all took quick action as we ran to the others. Jane and Miranda headed straight for the woods and the bunker. She had a set of keys and locked it from the inside. The door was camouflaged with pine needles glued on, to match the canopy, so when she closed that steel door, she was perfectly hidden.
Bill was in his loft where he had a perfect view of the front gate, the best rifles and scopes and a heap of ammunition. Rick and Eric ran into the house, each grabbing a rifle and taking positions at two front windows ten feet apart. Nancy ran to me, as are plans weren't really complete after that. We stepped inside the front door, closed it, both grabbed an Uzi from the closet and waited.
An old, blue Ford drew up to the gate, with another truck stopping some twenty yards behind. I had a good set of binoculars and was peering out the window of the door to see what would happen next. Bill had his scope and could see just as well.
There was a long pause. We could see four men in the front truck but nothing of the truck behind it. They couldn't see us, but with just a glance at the neatness of our place they knew it was occupied. Our front gate, besides being built of four by fours also had three heavy logs fixed in the ground and propped against it from the inside on an angle. It would take a bulldozer to ram through it.
I suppose they wondered at this obstacle and what to do next.
Finally, the driver of the first truck stepped out with a boy, probably as a gesture of friendship. I guessed this meant a parley was in order. My Uzi had a strap and could easily be positioned on my back, out of sight. So out I stepped and walked towards them. He was a middle-aged man, big and burley, smiling and dressed in camouflage gear, not military, like a deer hunter.
I stopped fifty feet away, safe from contagion. He also had a rifle slung over his shoulder, the barrel protruding above it.
I spoke first asking what they wanted. There was another long pause. He finally asked: "how many of you are here? We need supplies".
I definitely wasn't going to answer the first question. I supposed, later on, that if I'd been wiser, I should have told him thirty men with guns. But that wasn't in my nature. I never thought of lies. I lamely answered: "what kind of supplies"?
Another long pause. This was beginning to look more and more like your typical Western stand-off. Then he calmly took the rifle from his shoulder, with the same smirk on his face, leveled it at me and said: 'we don't ask, we take.'
I took a few steps back in fear. But before the bullet I expected to rip through me any second, a shot rang out from behind.
Bill shot him dead, right through the chest. He tumbled back from the impact and lay face up, motionless. I took this opportunity to run back to the house. The boy scrambled into the truck.
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