Chaos

Picking Up the Kids

I step outside sliding my Beretta 9mm into the speed draw holster at my side and carrying my 12 gauge pump shotgun. To the animals around, it is just another day. The doves and blue jay that are sitting on the feeder, eyeballing the seeds scattered on the ground, along with several crows sitting on the various branches of the tall fir and cedar trees, take flight at my approach. One crow, taking up station on the tallest branch of a tree where the driveway meets the road, calls out its warning. A squirrel sits on the rock wall picking up sunflower seeds, holds them between its hands, and watches me.

“What’s up little bro?” I ask walking down the gravel drive towards my Jeep.

The sound of gravel crunching under my hiking boots adds to the surrealness of the day and the events of the past few days. I am still having a hard time coming to grips with the situation and the speed of it all. However, anxiety and worry over the kids overrides any stray thoughts or ability to focus on anything else. Even the blue sky overhead and the sun shining on the trees, the sun casting its light on the tops and sending rays of light through gaps in the branches, fails to bring its usual inner calmness and peace within. No, today was not going to be taking the top down on the Jeep, driving around with Iron Maiden blaring, and enjoying this beautiful day.

Walking up to the Jeep, I open the tailgate and slide the shotgun into the cargo area with the business end to the rear. I verify the duct tape is still there before doing a walk around checking tires, hood latches and such. This would be the wrong time to get stranded on the road for some stupid reason. The hood latches receive special attention. My memory momentarily floats back to the New Year’s party at a friend’s house; a night of drinking, fireworks, and good times with friends followed by some couch time. Then there was the drive home in the morning. Several miles down the road, my windshield was suddenly filled with a wonderful and close-up view of my hood. The bang alone was enough to drain my adrenal glands for a month. I didn’t want second helpings if I could at all avoid it — especially now.

Satisfied that everything is checked as well as it could be, I climb in setting the Beretta next to me, verifying once again that a full clip awaits me should I need it and crank my baby up. Fuel reads half a tank. Good enough for what I have to do now but make a mental note to stock gas cans and siphoning equipment. Backing up and starting down the road, I pick up my cell to see the magical bars and service. I have no idea how long this will last but thankful it is at least working now. I then call Robert back.

“Hey, Dad,” my son whispers on the other end.

“Are you still down in the basement with Brianna and Nicole?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Ok, stay there and don’t make any noise whatsoever. Is your phone on vibrate?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, and both Nic’s and Bri’s phone are now turned off?”

“Yes.”

“Any changes since we talked?” I ask, thankful I am still able to talk with them, that they are ok for now, and, most importantly, still alive.

“I heard someone walking around upstairs again and banging on the basement door just a couple of minutes ago. It’s all quiet now,” he says still whispering but I can hear the worry in his voice.

I have had the privilege of being this boy’s dad for all of his seventeen years of life and know him well. I also know that Bri, sitting beside him, though scared, will keep her head. Always thinking, that one was. In all of her fifteen years, I have yet to see the gears in her head slow down or not be working. And Nic there comforting her, keeping her own fears internal, worrying more about making sure Bri was okay than herself. They are all so precious to me and I love them like no other. They mean the world to me.

“I’m on my way. Don’t move or make any noise. Don’t talk to each other. Become a black hole in the basement there. No lights and make sure the light from your phone doesn’t show. You’ll most likely hear noise when I get there but you’re not to move or call out or come upstairs until I call for you. You got it?” I say wishing I was there now.

“Okay, Dad.”

“Tell the girls I’m on the way and not to worry.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to go now to save our juice. I’ll be there shortly. I love you Robert! Tell Nic and Bri I love them.”

“I love you too, Dad!” Then the click and dead silence of the phone disconnecting.

Driving down the country road, I realize it does not seem all that different. There are not many cars traveling here even during normal times. The day seems like any other except for the anxiety inside and the impatience of wanting to be at their house now. The sun is shining, sparkling off the water across the green field to my left. This is a small inlet that eventually makes its way to Puget Sound and the tide is in. Two does graze by the side of the road ahead of me, raising their heads to look in my direction before leaping into the trees at my approach.

I reach the Highway and it is here that things do indeed seem out of the ordinary. There’s not a car moving on the road. There are some cars to be seen; a couple are angled off the road and some sit in the grassy median between the north and southbound lanes, but not a thing is moving. It is an eerie setting with the gray lanes stretching away to both sides like some futuristic, post-apocalyptic scene.

Looking north, to my right, the peaks of the Olympic Mountains, majestic in the distance with snow still residing on their tops, bask in the sun pouring down on them. They continue on with their existence as if it were any other day. The trees alongside the highway tell the same story; nature continues its everyday course just as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. I feel very small at this particular moment in time.

The only things moving are a few columns of dark smoke drifting above the trees in the distance towards town but it doesn’t seem like anything large is on fire. I find myself wishing I had more firepower but that worry is for later. As are many other aspects. First and foremost are the kids.

Turning northbound, I head towards them. The roads are amazingly clear. Not like the zombie apocalypse books I have been reading where all the roads were clogged with ‘impossible to bypass’ jams. I guess with the sickness, everyone has gone home. After all, where else would you go when you have the flu? I guess some were wanting to be elsewhere or trying to get there when they were overcome or too weak to travel further and thus the cars I see along the way. There are some shadows inside the cars as I pass by, indicating that possibly people are inside. Cresting a hill, a body lays face down in the grass by the side of the road. The once white, summer dress appears dirty or stained.

Ten minutes later, I turn off the highway onto the ramp leading to the north end of town, taking a right at the end of the ramp, and glance over to the Wal-Mart to my left. Barely a car in the lot. Besides the lack of cars on the highway, this is the biggest change I have witnessed yet and adds to the overall weirdness of the day. Normally, that lot would be full. It didn’t matter what time of day I ventured this way or the few times I actually went to Wal-Mart, the lot was ALWAYS full. I always wondered who these people were that crowded the store at all times of the day. Didn’t they work? I would always think to myself.

Ahead is an intersection with a blinking red traffic light which I pass without pause, I mean, who is going to pull me over now? The blinking light tells me the electricity is still working whether by an alternate emergency method or not. I’ll figure that out later. I do know the local power is provided by hydroelectric means from a plant a few miles up the road but whether the plant is still operating is anyone’s guess. The Fred Meyer to my right is the same. It is like everyone has just been removed from earth and left only the monuments to technology and capitalism behind. The only living thing in sight is the occasional bird flying overhead or sitting on power lines. The eerie feeling I’ve had since pulling onto the highway grows and becomes more surreal.

“Ok, time to focus,” I half say to myself.

The high school next to the Wal-Mart passes by and I glance at my 9mm for reassurance. There are 3 mags in my pockets aside from the one loaded. 14 rounds at my immediate beck and call with a further 42 on back up. I always load my mags one round shy in order not to lose spring compression. In my opinion, it would totally suck to have a round not chamber due to a lack of force, especially just when you would have truly enjoyed having that round available. Besides the Remington 870 in the back, a folding blade rests in my front pocket and my boot knife is in place. I can use either with a fair degree of skill but I prefer to have the distance variable on the uphill side; the more, the merrier.

My anxiety both increases and decreases at the same time as I draw closer to the house where my kids are. Action time is coming and I am almost there. I am one who wants to get things done rather than have anything linger or wait. My memory pulls me back to the physical fitness runs in the Air Force. There was always a lot of milling around and taking time, stalling before the actual start. I would think, Come on! Let’s just get this started and over with!

A couple of turns later, I pull in front of the house which is similar to all of the others in the neighborhood. Most are two-story structures with the occasional single-story thrown in. There are really three basic designs with the only major difference being the color. Tan here, a darker brown there and several in various shades of blue. It is a small neighborhood built around an oval, track-shaped road with only fifty or so houses in the entire community. Built on the edge of town, it is surrounded on all sides by trees; their tips showing above the house roofs. The high voltage power lines, across the street to the east, pass close by. The usual humming of electricity running through them is gone.

Shutting down the Jeep, I leave the keys on the seat. Yeah, like I am worried about someone taking it. I want the keys there instead of on me in case the kids are able to get out, and, well, I don’t. Robert has driven the Jeep a few times and could manage to get it somewhere without involving trees or having a parked car intervene with his progress. I feel the warmth of the sun on my back as I holster my 9 mil and grab the duct tape from the back of the Jeep along with two flashlights. One of them is a silver monster with a bell-shaped light compartment. The other is a nice little LED I picked up from GI Joes a few years back. Well, it was GI Joes before it became just Joes and before it became nothing. The flashlight is almost perfectly cylindrical which makes for an effective attachment for the shotgun so I attach it to the barrel not feeling a bit shy about my liberal use of duct tape. The idea is to keep the light aligned with the barrel and not venture off on its own should I bump into something or from the recoil if I need to send the massed pellets outward.

Grabbing the 870, I load the magazine putting one in the chamber giving me five shots and head to the front of the Jeep. I have little intel on the house or on whatever these things have become. The front of the house has a large window built of smaller panes. A porch runs in front of the house and around the corner to the right where the front door is. All of this is overhung by the upstairs where two facing windows shine darkly back at me. My guess is the front contains a living room downstairs. Most houses like this have a kitchen opening to the right with a central hallway running through the middle to a bathroom in the back or rooms off the hall. Stairs are most likely somewhere close to the living room with bedrooms upstairs. The windows upstairs facing me are most likely bedrooms with either one or two more in the back with a bathroom. The basement door should be downstairs close to the kitchen or possibly in the back; most likely under the stairs leading upstairs.

As to what happened to the people who fell ill but didn’t die, well, I know even less about that. I don’t truly know what their capabilities are or how they might be transformed. All I know from reading news articles online and such is that they are extremely aggressive in nature and attack on sight. There were those reports of them attacking and killing others, some of those reports even mentioning cannibalism. Everything has happened so fast. Another thing mentioned is an aversion to light. No ideas as to why were ventured. I guess there just hadn’t been enough time for anyone to have figured out these aspects.

What was known was that some sort of genetic mutation had occurred on a DNA level. Some articles ventured that higher cognitive abilities or self-awareness aspects had been burned away, perhaps from the onset of the high fevers or from the genetic changes. All of this is unknown; at least to me. I have some guesses, but that is all they are, guesses.

The light aversion might be from a sensitivity of the eyes, ultraviolet light, solar radiation, just a general aversion to birds chirping or the color green. All that was reported is that not one of these transformed things has ever been seen in daylight. All I really know is that one of them is possibly in the house with my kids and I am going to get them out.

It is amazing how thoughts fly lightning fast through the mind. I allow myself a few seconds of these meandering thoughts and push away from the Jeep. I want to just rush in and grab the kids but I have to take the time to do this right or I will do more harm than good. It has been a while since I had done something like this and never with the stakes so high. I just hope I am still as good as I once was.

Okay, entry. The two car garage to left the house is a no go. There are several cars in the driveway which alludes to the possibility that the garage is being used as storage which means clutter. The additional possibility that there is a garage door opener makes opening the doors from the outside a difficult option. My options are therefore the front door, the back door, the front window, or one of the upstairs windows.

I know from years with my ex that the doors are most likely barricaded in some aspect leaving either the upstairs or front window. Not wanting to scale up to the roof; age seems to made me a touch lazier plus, if I have to make a quick exit, that would mean I would have to jump from the roof leaving my knees either a permanent fixture on the lawn or shooting across the street to blast through one of the windows of the house across the street. I like my knees where they are so that leaves the front window.

Tucking the large flashlight at the small of my back and cradling my shotgun i, I start across the lawn. I climb the porch staying away from the window and approach it from the wall so as not to cast a shadow across the window. With my back to the wall, I listen for any sound. Nothing. Absolute dead silence. Even the birds seem to have left this zone of tension. Drapes are pulled across the windows so I can’t see far into the room. Keeping my ears open, I ease down to the corner of the window and slowly move to see if I can catch a glimpse of the inside through a crack in the curtains. No luck.

It looks like I am going to have to break the panes, pull the curtains down, and enter via the window. This is certainly not like times past when I always had the tools to do whatever was needed and didn’t have to break through a window like I was in some Chuck Norris flick. In the movies, the heroes are dressed up with more tools, weapons and supposed training than they knew what to do with yet they would all eventually crash through a window on the end of a rope. Really!!! Are you for real!?

I try the doors first. You never know and so ease around the porch to the front door keeping my foot falls light. Balls of my feet; slowly increasing my weight with step, testing for creaky boards. No window on this side so I don’t have to worry about being seen from the inside. Upon reaching the front door, I stay against the wall and try the door handle. Yep, locked. I leave the porch and walk around to the back door making sure to keep under the windows while keeping an eye on the neighbor houses just to make sure I am not in for any surprises. My head is a constant, slow swivel. Reaching the corner of the house, I kneel surveilling the back yard looking for movement or any indication that I am not alone and feel slightly foolish for playing commando here in someone’s yard. But the kids said someone was in the house and I keep that and the recent events clear in my mind.

Looking along the back side of the house, a small, basement window is set into the foundation at ground level. Robert was right; there is no way they could fit through that. Crouched there, I ponder whether I should peer in to let them know I am here or if this would cause them make noise either from startle, excitement, or hope. As much as I dearly ache to see them, even with a quick glimpse through a small window, I don’t want to jeopardize their situation any more than it is.

Rising, I ease along the back of the house checking my shadow so as not to cast a shadow across the window. I sidle up to the back door and test the knob. Locked with curtains across. I peek in the window corner. Nothing. At least here though, I am able to see below the curtains and it is pitch black inside. A thin ray of light hits the floor through the small opening but that is it. Back to plan A.

As I turn to leave the back door, I hear a faint scuffling sound and a very low growl. It is so low that I am not even sure I heard it but in the absolute silence of the world around me, it rings like a bell inside my head. So, if there is anything inside, it seems to be on the ground floor. At least for now. I follow my path back to the front porch.

Before climbing back the porch, slowly and silently, I remove the shotgun shell from the chamber. I am going to have to break in the window panes and supporting slats with the butt of the shotgun. Not the best idea with a loaded gun, safety on or not. The business end will be pointed in entirely the wrong direction. Chamber open and ready for a shell yes, actual shell no.

Silently, I walk back to the wall beside the front window. “Ok, well, I guess the stealth and silent approach isn’t going to work here. It’s going to get a bit noisy from here on out,” I breathe to myself. I was hoping to be able to find a stealthy way in and get the kids out without whatever is in there knowing but as I guessed and dreaded, that is just not going to happen.

Break out one entire side of the panes, — Det cord would be especially handy right now but I seem to be fresh out — reverse the shotgun slamming home a shell, use the tip of the barrel of the shotgun to lift the curtain rods off or force them down on this end bringing light into the room, crouch away from the window on the porch covering the room, and see what I see. That is the entirety of plan A. I again think about playing ‘climb on the roof and check every window’ for a stealthier entry point but am also fairly certain that whatever is in there, if anything, already knows I am here. Plus, my knees again cast their vote for Plan A and seem to have the majority vote in this instance. I also have to keep care initially not to let the barrel poke inside after drawing the curtains down so that it can’t be grabbed from inside.

Adrenaline has me pretty keyed up. That is good for reflexes, but if it is not kept under a semblance of control, it can lead to mistakes. My Arrid XXXtra Dry is getting a workout trying to keep pace.

A deep breath, another one, and I feel my nerves settle into place. I step in front of the window with the butt aimed upward at the first cross intersection of slats on the side, hoping to take out several sections of slats both to the side and upward. These are generally only glued together so I figure three good shots, with each shot focused on the two slat intersections above the previous ones, should cave the entire side of the window in. Game on.

Steeling myself back, I thrust forward and up with my arm and shoulders. The forward momentum of my shifting weight is focused entirely on the intersection of the two slats. A flash of a second before the butt meets my aim point, I shift my head down with my chin in my chest to protect my eyes and vulnerable parts of my neck from flying glass and wood. I feel the contact first with my forearms, then shoulders, and continue to drive forward. Go through the point of impact, I remind myself.

The sheer volume of noise from the glass and slats breaking is enormous. Especially considering the silence I was engulfed with. It sounds like a glass bomb went off. Pulling back quickly, I refocus instantly on my next aim point and thrust forward in the same manner. The momentary glimpse I catch of the window, besides focusing on my next target, is of broken glass and slats either missing or turned up and in. Some of the glass is still falling, catching various prisms of light. More noise comes from the second blow but not as loud as the first. Finishing with the third blow, I step back momentarily, bring the pump action forward chambering a shell and fully expecting a tidal wave of action. Nothing. The window is completely demolished on the right and silence once again dominates the scene.

A warm breeze picks up, reminiscent of those lazy summer days. The days when a breeze would carry the sounds and smells of summer; the sound of lawnmowers lazily chugging along leaving the sweet smell of cut grass; the smell of BBQ’s wafting from backyards; the sounds of kids playing; the ringing of a bike’s bell or the music of an ice cream truck as it makes its way through the neighborhood. Outside of the city, the breeze would bring the smell of trees, a feeling of peace, and the simple joy of just being outside in the sun. A part of my mind realizes those days of peace, joy, and warmth was not that long ago, but this breeze, although carrying the feeling of summer, also carries a slight, sharp, pungent odor along with it. Almost too faint to notice, but it’s there nonetheless. It stirs the curtains slightly but not enough to allow a view within other than to let me know that darkness reigns inside.

I glance around momentarily to see if my festivities have drawn any attention. The only thing I see is a dog standing in the street a short distance away looking in my direction. Not directly at me towards me. Must be a neighborhood dog. Although hard to tell, it appears to be some sort of German Sheppard/Lab mix. That is another thing to think about down the road. The pets are most likely going to migrate to their wilder, more feral side as they integrate themselves back into the survival-based food chain. Another fleeting thought passes through wondering how, and if, they will be affected by what is going on? Will their DNA be susceptible to the change or will they have immunity? Apparently satisfying itself that all is right in the world around it, the dog continues across the street and disappears between two houses as I refocus on the window and task ahead.

Rising, I step back toward the now open window. I am focused on any sound that might emanate from within and tense for anything that might erupt. My muscles are loose but the adrenaline is wrapped around me. With the light tan curtains still wafting slightly in the breeze, I raise the barrel of the shotgun to the curtain rod and give it a good push to lift it off its bracket. The rod and curtains lift up slightly and I feel the release of pressure against the barrel as the rod lifts and the curtains begin their fall to the ground. I step back into a semi-crouch to begin the final step of the Plan A entry — to see what I can see.

The curtains land on the right side at an angle downward as the rod is still attached to the left bracket and light floods into the once darkened room. As it does, the silence is broken by a loud, high pitched shriek.

“Holy shit!” I exclaim. The hair on my arms stands straight up and my neck hair comes to attention.

I cannot immediately even think about what it sounds like except that it is bloody loud. A large, startled cat is the only thing that comes to mind within that flash of an instant. It also has a growl-like quality. The shriek is accompanied by the sound of footsteps moving at high speed — um, called running I believe. A flash of movement from my right to left vanishes past my line of sight. The movement didn’t seem to be to my immediate front and leaves the impression that it was further back in the room.

I switch on the flashlight to get a better picture but can’t see what moved so hurriedly in the room just moments before. The light confirms my earlier assumption that this is the living room. Still holding the shotgun, I lean to the side to see all that I can around the angled, hanging curtains. The curtain rod is caught on what appears to be a console-style TV against the front window. I was wondering why the curtains didn’t fall all of the way down like they should have and still had a significant angle to them. The front door is to my right with some sort of contraption blocking it. However, the lighting is not good enough to identify what it is. Two couches sit facing each other and are piled high with clothes. One couch is a little in front of the door and the other against the wall to my left. Where in the world would you sit, I think and glance at the coffee table covered with glasses, plates, and what appear to be various magazines. Next to a lazy boy recliner, sitting in the far corner, stairs climb upwards to an intermediate landing before continuing up to the right.

To the right and across from me, a hallway stretches towards the back of the house with a kitchen opening up to the right. I don’t know how far the hallway extends from my angle as the light can’t penetrate that far. Back to the living room, there doesn’t appear to be any place where something as large as the shadow I glimpsed previously could be hiding. I can, however, hear what appears to be a faint panting coming from the direction of the stairs. I am actually beginning to wonder if perhaps there isn’t a mountain lion in there.

I use the end of the barrel to remove the last bits of glass from the bottom of the window and hanging above. This noise creates a stirring and sound of something shifting gives me the impression that whatever is inside has gone upstairs or is possibly at the top of the stairs. I step into the room beside the TV to the sound of glass crunching beneath my boots. I lay my shotgun on the TV with the light on and angled toward the stairs as I want to keep that part illuminated full time. I slide my 9 mil out and pull the slide back slightly verifying a round is chambered. Given the confines of the house, I prefer to have my Beretta at hand for speed of movement.

I withdraw the larger flashlight and flick it on, flashing the light around the room to verify once again that the room is clear. I yank the rest of the curtains down allowing more light to flood into the room. The panting is a little louder now that I am inside and I can locate it better. It’s definitely coming from upstairs.

With the light from the shotgun focused on the stairs, I shine the flashlight I’m holding to the contraption by the door. A smile briefly crosses my face. Boards are wedged under the knob with more boards against those, everything terminating against the back of the couch. Something an architectural engineer might be proud of. Not so much from the aesthetics of it, but more from the structural stability. I was right not to try the front door. I would still be there working on it. Even if I used the shotgun to blow off the hinges, I am pretty sure that door would still be standing. In fact, I am sure that it could withstand the best that a cruise missile has to offer.

I step to my right and crouch by the couch to get a better picture down the hallway. The light penetrates most of the way to the back of the house. I told you it was a monster. One of these 6 D cell battery jobs. If I missed with the Beretta and something was able to get close to me, I could probably melt its retinas with this light. It would also substitute as a bat should I find a pick-up game of ball. Nothing is moving nor can I see anything down the hall except a door ajar at the end of the hallway, but I can’t see inside whatever it leads to. There is a door to the left side of the hallway across from the kitchen which I assume leads to the basement. I get the impression that another door is about half way down the hall on the left. Perhaps a bathroom?

I move at a crouch around the couch, keeping between it and the wall towards the front door, making sure to keep as far from the stairs as possible. My head again on a slow swivel with my light and gun following; barrel always in line with the eyes. At the front door, with my attention between the stairs and the hall, I try the light switches readying myself for an increase in light. A faint ‘snic’ as the switches fall into position is the only response, along with the realization that normal electricity is not flowing, at least not to here.

I look at the mechanical engineering marvel and determine basically where to start taking it apart. At least I see which board to remove first. Setting the flashlight on the back of the couch, I balance it so that it casts its light down the hall. The stairs are still lit, although less brilliantly, from the shotgun light on the TV. I glance down long enough to get a grip on the board, and then my focus is back up and on the house. I tug and the board comes free. Setting the board down, I find the next one and in less than a minute, the door is free from its bonds.

I release the multiple dead bolt locks from the door and open it so that it sits ajar, making sure it is not blocking any line of sight nor impeding any movement. The stairs are almost at a right angle to me and almost out of my line of sight. The panting from the stairs has not changed and I am not all that interested in finding out exactly what is causing it. Well, actually, I am but the kids come first. And, the ‘ol “be careful what you wish for” adage. My thinking is that, with whatever is here and seeing it’s upstairs, I should be able to get the kids out without having to engage it. A part of me thinks I should but the light from the windows is seemingly keeping it at bay and where it is. I like that idea equally well and just want to get the kids out safely.

I step towards what I think is the basement door dislodging one of the boards from where I set it. It skitters across the wood floor. Damn, I must have lost my touch. That would have never happened before.

The sound of the board moving triggers something. Another cat-like shriek from upstairs reverberates through the house followed by shuffling and growls coming from the top of the stairs. Something big is moving around up there. Based on the sounds and apparent size of whatever is up there, I have an idea of what it could be. The panting and growling and movement continue. Sure hasn’t improved your disposition much.

I focus on the bottom of the stairs where they empty into the living room, ready for anything that may sweep into the room, setting my sights slightly to the left of where they would enter into the room. Pointing straight at the entry point will miss whatever target emerges. Instead, I point to the approximate position to where it will be if it enters into the room. “Sure wish I hadn’t kicked that board,” I mutter.

Nothing emerges. I want to go to what I think is the basement door but if I do, I will lose visual with the stairs and I don’t really want that to happen. I move back by the front door, set the light once again on the back of the couch, and take out the cell phone from my back pocket. Still bars and service. Very cool! I press the green ‘send’ button twice and “Dialing Robert” appears.

“Dad? Was that you?” He answers in a whisper.

“Yeah,” I whisper back, “I’m inside. Is the basement door the one by the kitchen?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok. You and the girls come up the stairs as quiet as you can, and I mean quiet. Open the door slowly. I’ll be almost right in front of you. Don’t just run out. Wait for me to wave you out. Then all of you come out and head right out the front door.”

“Ok, Dad. We’re moving now. Shouldn’t we stay on the line until we get to the door?”

“Good idea,” I breathe back to him.

I hear sound coming from the basement door as the knob is slowly turned. The door creaks as it is pushed out a crack. There, through the crack in the door, I see my son’s eyes peeking out. He looks around taking in his surroundings to the extent he can see them. His eyes lock on mine. The sounds of movement and panting increases from upstairs but are changed to some degree. I swear footsteps are coming down the stairs only to stop and run back up. Whatever is there emits a growl each time it stops. There is an almost physical feeling of agitation in the air. I almost want it to come all of the way down the stairs just to end this tension one way or the other.

Looking over to Robert, I wave him over. He opens the door; the hinges once again protesting their movement. The growling increases and the panting seems even louder making me want to look behind me as it feels like this thing is right next to me. I hang up the phone and grab the flashlight. Robert steps into the kitchen with Nic and Bri right behind him. The sounds of feet running up and down the stairs increase. The rise in agitation is obvious.

Swinging the front door wide open, I yell firmly, “Out! Out now!” Whispering is moot at this point. Without pause, they run right behind me and out the front door. As they pass by, I tell them, “Get to the Jeep!”

I back out of the room onto the front porch stowing the flashlight and take another look around to ensure we are alone. We appear to be. It seems safe enough for now but I wonder how long that will last. I am thinking we have just been moved down the food chain a notch and entering the survival-based food chain ourselves.

I walk to the front window to retrieve the shotgun. The sounds of agitation still reach out to my ears but I don’t see anything. I turn and walk down the porch stairs holstering my handgun. Batteries, I think turning off the flashlight attached to the shotgun. That and so much more to think about in the very near future. Food, water, safety, Lynn, future.

With a heavy sigh, I walk over to my kids standing at the front of the Jeep, hand Robert the shotgun, and give them all the biggest hugs I have ever given. And that is saying something because I have given some pretty big hugs before. “I love you all so much,” I say into their ears. Well, not quite like that. Nic and Bri are both coming on par with me for height, and, well, to say anything into Robert’s ear, I have to tilt my head up.

“I love you too, Dad,” they all reply.

We step back from each other; Bri is there in her plaid blue flannel jam bottoms and an Abercrombie t-shirt. Her fine, golden hair hangs down close to the middle of her back and her blue eyes stare back at me. She doesn’t have to tilt her head far back as this year has given her quite the growth spurt. She has reached the five foot mark recently.

Nicole’s thick, dark hair hangs down to her shoulder and her plain green jams accentuate her hazel eyes. Robert holds the shotgun and is wearing blue jeans with his black Navy JROTC sweatshirt. His close-cropped hair has turned a darker shade of blond over the years but his eyes retain that same blue intensity. The thought crosses my mind, as it sometimes does, of how neither Bri nor Robert has my dark hair or my hazel eyes. Ok, perhaps my hair is not so dark anymore. The years have replaced some of the black with gray. I like to keep my hair short and the barber I go to has a peculiar knack of only cutting the dark hairs. I have heard the word distinguished used but I am sure it is only them being courteous.

Nic has her flips on but Robert and Bri are barefoot. I consider going back in to gather some of their clothes from the pile I saw on the couch but I have some at my house and we can gather other clothes for them later. Right now, I want to head back, try to wrap my mind around what has happened, and start putting a plan together for the future.

“Okay guys, into the Jeep,” I tell them. They all climb in with Nic and Bri in the back and Robert in front. Robert has the barrel of the shotgun pointed toward the floor between his feet. Good job. My hand shakes from post adrenaline as I put the Jeep in gear.

We start the drive back home, retracing my previous route. There is only the wind as it whips against the soft top of the Jeep and our minds are all working through the situation in which we find ourselves. Kind of numb and working furiously at the same time. In my peripheral, I see Robert looking around us at the total lack of people. Through the rear view, I see Bri doing the same thing while Nic is staring at her hands folded in her lap.

“Dad?” Bri says from the back.

“Yes, hon,” I say wondering what question is coming and worried about it at the same time. I am not sure where her mind has ventured but her question should ascertain that for me. Like I said, her mind is always working. So does Nicole’s and Robert’s but they are more silent and contemplative.

“Was that Mom? I mean, in the house? Making that noise?”

Sighing heavily, I answer, “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

I pretty much know the answer given the fact that the front door was sealed and locked from the inside but I don’t know for sure. One of the windows upstairs did seem to have been broken, but honestly, my answer came more from a dad-protective place. Robert gives me a sideways glance from the passenger seat but says nothing.

“Do you think she’ll be okay? I mean, will she get better do you think?” Her questions say that she already knows the possibility of who it was.

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

“Should we go back and see if we can help her?”

“No, Bri, I’m not sure what we could do.”

A tear forms in her eye. She turns to the window once more as the tear slowly trails down her cheek. Silence once more descends as I drive along the mostly empty highway. My thought turns to Lynn hoping she is okay. I don’t think even the sands of Kuwait would be spared from the kind of pandemic we are looking at. I mean, the military ensures that its members get the vaccines first and, if memory serves me right, requires flu vaccines for everyone, so this must have erupted everywhere.

We both enjoy zombie books and the genre in general. Well, she actually introduced me to it but I became taken with it. We would cover scenarios, stories, and ‘how-to’s’ in case such an event happened. Not seriously thinking anything would actually happen, just an amusement between us with what we would do. We were more interested in applying our survival skills than seriously thinking it could happen. We had both had to apply survival skills a lot in our military careers so that was a natural progression for us to take. We had an agreement in our stories that I would fly to pick her up. Now, I feel unsure as to what to do. What if she is okay and waiting? Should I follow through with what we talked about even though it was more play acting than reality? My heart is sick with worry as I truly love this woman.

I stare out of the windshield at the sun shining on the trees, grass, and houses as we pass. Should I do what we agreed even though we were only telling a story? Is she is okay? Should I just focus on creating a safe environment here for my kids? I haven’t had any contact with Lynn for the past two days. She hasn’t been online and no phone calls either. I called and left a message but have not heard anything back. No great revelation comes. No light bulb suddenly flares in my mind. With the kids looking out of the windows, the trees just continue to pass, unaware of our situation and without a care to my quandary.

Both thoughts and questions continue to rattle back and forth. The movie drive-in passes by on our left with “CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE” on the sign board. Oh, the fun times the kids and I had there on summer nights. Bri always wanting to watch from the back of the pickup and me wanting to be inside because I couldn’t hear the speakers very well. Her falling asleep during the second movie and me having to wake her when we arrived back home. Both her and Nic just appreciating our being together; loving the moment more than the event. Or the times where it was just Robert and I. Popcorn, drinks, and a multitude of snacks from the service station nearby. “300” on the screen in front and us proclaiming this was the best movie ever. Those times are over now and this is just one of the many changes that have occurred in this new world we find ourselves in.

Turning off the highway towards home, my heart is light, because my kids are safely with me, but heavy with thoughts of Lynn. My stomach is in knots when a decision clicks into place. I have to find her. I have to go to Kuwait. The guilt and shame of not trying would be too much. I love Lynn and can’t, no won’t, do anything less. My decision is made, as if there were truly any other. My thoughts turn to the when and how.