Staying Alive

21

The four of them were sitting in a dark, unfurnished basement. The only illumination came from the sunlight that crept through the cracks of the small, boarded up windows.

Bill’s two companions had introduced themselves, but John had already forgotten their names.

They’d given John a full water bottle, which he’d drained in almost a single gulp. And they’d handed him a loaf of stale sliced bread. It was cheap supermarket bread, the kind of stuff that John would have turned his nose up at just a little more than two week ago. But he ate it greedily, devouring the whole loaf in record time.

“So I don’t get it,” said John. “The whole Main Line area has been taken over by some militia?”

“Shhh, remember to whisper.”

“Sorry,” whispered John.

“If they find us, we’re screwed,” whispered Bill. “Trust me, they’re brutal. You wouldn’t believe the things they’ve done… the things I’ve seen….”

Bill had probably saved John’s life, taking him down to this basement. It was evidently a place they’d hidden out in before, since Bill had known exactly which window was unlocked. Maybe he’d left it that way himself.

Bill hadn’t mentioned his family at all, and John didn’t want to ask. He had a feeling that something horrible had happened to them, and he didn’t want to cause Bill any pain by asking about it. At least that was what he was telling himself. Really, he thought of himself nothing more than a coward for not even asking.

“To answer your question,” said one of the men, speaking in low tones. “The military and police had control of the area. From what you’re saying, it sounds like they only lasted a short while in Philly.”

“Yeah,” said John, who didn’t want to say anything more about the horrors in the city. Those screams he’d heard would be featured in his nightmares and waking thoughts for the rest of his life, which for all he knew wasn’t going to be much longer.

“They lasted about a week out here,” continued the man. In the darkness, John couldn’t tell if he was the one wearing civilian clothes or the police uniform. “But without communication, everything fell apart quickly.”

“Too quickly,” interjected Bill.

The other one grunted in acknowledgment.

“That’s the thing I don’t understand about any of this,” said John. “It was like… first there were riots. I mean, there’ve been riots before, ugly ones. And there’s almost always looting when the power is out for a couple days… But things got crazy too quickly… Too quickly…”

“We’ve talked it to death already,” said Bill. “Basically, it doesn’t make any sense unless you consider that it’s just what we are.”

“What do you mean?” said John. He was feeling better now, with the bread in his stomach, refilling his glycogen stores slowly, and his thirst quenched.

“We were all brought up believing that we’re all civilized humans,” said Bill. “We were brought up believing that all those crazy, horrible things in history were from a long, long time ago, and that we’ve progressed past that. They told us in school how the early humans fought brutal tribal wars, slaughtering each other, how they ate each other, etc. But we always considered our ancestors something completely different from ourselves. We’re the modern humans. But in reality, we’re nothing more than cavemen dressed in suits.”

John laughed, to his own surprise. “That’s what they used to say about us investment guys. Or something like that. That we’re sharks in suits, basically. Savage interior, well-dressed exterior.”

“Exactly,” said Bill. “And once the suits and modern society suddenly drop away, what’s left? Nothing but the primitive savage who’s willing to do anything for his own survival.”

“Or what he considers necessary for his own survival,” said John. “I’ve seen things that made no sense. Things that didn’t benefit anyone.”

“Part of the package,” said Bill.

“So what are you guys doing hiding out here?” said John. He couldn’t exactly put the pieces together of what was going on.

“We’re deserters, basically,” said Bill. “I didn’t like what was going.”

“To put it lightly.”

“We call the organization that’s formed the militia, but it doesn’t really have anything to do with the military. Not the military we once had. And certainly not the police force.”

“They were executing people,” said Bill. “Like some kind of demented martial law in effect. It was horrible.”

John wondered if that was how Bill had lost his wife and child. But still, he didn’t dare ask. And he hated himself for not asking.

“So I imagine they’re not so happy about that, about you deserting?” said John.

“No,” said Bill, shaking his head.

“They want total control of the area,” said the other. “And they’re vicious. They’ll do whatever it takes. Trust me, whatever.”

“It sounds chaotic,” said John.

“Sort of. It’s actually pretty organized. Considering that there’s no real means of communication. They’ve started using runners, though, to send messages through to the other leaders.”

“And what’s the goal of all this?” said John.

“Control? Power? Who knows. The people who lead the militia—maybe they were frustrated with their old lives. Maybe they were always on the bottom of the hierarchy. Now they’ve clawed their way to the top. And they want to punish the others.”

“There’s also the practical aspect of it all. Those at the top get the most food. The water, and the booze.”

“I can’t imagine that’s going to last long,” said John. “Not without any food being shipped here.”

“And don’t forget most of the farms in the US are heavily automated,” said Bill. “Don’t think that those farms out in the Midwest are going to be able to grow corn and wheat like before. Maybe eventually. But not for a long while. And still the food won’t get here.”

“Has the militia started on plans to produce here in the suburbs?” said John.

“Not from what we can tell,” said Bill. “The whole thing is bound to collapse when the food that’s available here runs out. But there’s quite a bit of it, if you consider all the stores that are packed full, and all the food in people’s houses. And it’s not like it’s being divided up equally. Far from it. Those at the top of the hierarchy get the most. They’re the only ones with full stomachs.”

“And what about you guys?” said John. “Are you like the resistance or something?”

Bill and the others laughed.

“I suppose so,” said Bill. “Although I don’t think we’ve ever actually said that.”

“And what are your plans?” said John.

“To get out,” said Bill.

“We can’t take them all on. There’s just no way. We’ve been hiding out in basements and stuff for the last few days. But we won’t last long here.”

There was silence for a moment in the dark basement.

“You want to come with us?” said Bill.

“Yeah,” said John, without hesitating, without even asking where they were going. “When are we leaving?”

“Tonight,” said Bill.

The four of them fell into silence for a while longer. Each of them seemed to be lost in their own thoughts.

John tried to think of the journey ahead, and what it would entail. But he knew in his heart that there was simply no way he could predict the coming dangers and trials. He’d already been through so much. His mind and body weren’t ready for more. But there was no other option. He had to keep going.

The light outside was starting to grow dim as the sun fell lower in the sky. It was late afternoon and it would be dusk soon.

The rumbling truck in the distance hadn’t passed down this street, or they would have heard it for sure. There were no sounds outdoors except the chirping of the birds.

Bill had a small medical kit and he put something on John’s cut. It stung, but John hardly even paid attention to it. There was so much to think about, and so much to avoid thinking about, that he’d completely forgotten about the cut, not to mention his stomach problems. Those were simply the least of his worries.

Clear plastic tubs were stacked along one wall of the basement. They were full of children’s toys, stuffed animals, train tracks, and toy soldiers. Next to the tubs, there was a child’s mountain bike.

This had been someone’s house. A family’s house. Children had lived here and played here. Maybe they’d been old enough to go to school. The parents had gone to work, gone to the grocery store, cooked dinner, watched movies, and made love. Whole lives had been lived in this house.

And now there was nothing left but their possessions, hastily abandoned. What had happened to the family here? What had happened to the children? Had the parents waited like John had, until something awful had happened? Or had the parents hastily packed their children and some essentials into the car, only to get stuck on the roads somewhere? Had they all died on some overcrowded, jam-packed highway? Had their car even started? There was no way to know. And it wasn’t fun to think about.

Suddenly, a sound rang out.

It was someone knocking on the door. Knocking loudly.

Whoever it was, they knocked incessantly. Constantly.

John hadn’t heard anyone approaching. He hadn’t heard any vehicles.

John froze.

In the dim light, he saw Bill and the others reaching for their guns, which they had laid on the floor, or against the walls.

Bill and the others rose slowly to their feet, making gestures at each other.

John rose too, but he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have a gun. And no one handed him one. In fact, no one even looked at him. And why should they? It wasn’t their job to protect him. It was everyone for themselves.

John searched blindly with his hand for his knife on the ground. He found it, and his hand formed a fist around its handle once again. It was comforting having something in his hand, even if he knew it wouldn’t do much good against a gun. No good at all, really.

But he clutched it anyway.

John didn’t dare to speak. But he desperately wanted to ask what to do. He wanted some direction. He wanted a plan to follow, something concrete. But he knew that was a ridiculous wish. There were no plans. No certainty. No safety.

Glass shattered on the first floor, the sound coming down loudly to the basement.

Whoever was up there, they’d just broken a window. Soon, they’d be inside the house.