Breakdown: Season One (13 page)

Chapter 8 – Triage

“Hold your hand here. Press hard,” Talia ordered a nearby woman. “Adam, bring those lanterns over closer, I need more light!”

John watched his wife with wonder and awe. This had been going on for the last thirty minutes or so. The bullet had caught the man on the table high in the right side of his chest, just below his collarbone.

John needed some fresh air.

He reached out and took the man’s wallet from the steel tray it had been placed on and headed outside, where he quickly flipped it open.

“Duane Jackson. Age seventeen. Duane, what in the world are you doing wrapped up in all of this mess?”

Well, now he had a name. The kid would most likely pull through. His wife was good at her job, and the shot placement wasn’t immediately life-threatening. The big danger, he knew, was something they couldn’t do much to control. Blood clots would be a concern for Duane after recovery.

He shook his head.

“Can’t start thinking of him like a kid. He was taking shots at my friends. At me.”

John was watching when Talia cut the man’s shirt off. He saw the tattoos and knew through his training that they identified the young man as a gang member. The colors of his clothes and the style that they were worn matched the profile.

What John needed now was information. What had they been trying to achieve here tonight? How many men did they have? Where were they headquartered? All of these things needed answering so that he could plan and keep his family safe. For now, though, he needed to sleep. Answers could wait for the morning.

John started the short walk home. The clinic was just down the street from his house, and it would only take a minute under normal circumstances, but his hip still hurt like the very devil himself, so progress was slow, even with the cane. He’d overexerted himself, and he knew tomorrow there would be hell to pay for it. The worst part was that his wife wouldn’t even feel sorry for him. She’d warned him, after all.

The boys at the gate greeted him as he walked by, and he gave them a wave. Only 36 hours or so into this thing, and already they’d been shot at and returned fire. He wondered what would be next.

He wouldn’t have to wait long.

Episode 5: Reunion

Chapter 1 — The Missing

Linus heard the gunshots and knew exactly what was happening. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he’d made a huge mistake.

He’d left the neighborhood briefly the day before to meet with an old acquaintance who used to provide him with all sorts of recreational drugs. He figured he’d do himself and the neighborhood some good by going to trade for some painkillers. His burns hurt like hell, and he didn’t want to risk getting caught stealing from the clinic’s private supply of booze again.

The dealer lived just a couple of blocks away in an old Craftsman-style home that had seen better days. The mortar of the stonework was crumbling and the paint was flaking like skin after a bad sunburn. Linus knocked, and his old friend answered. “Friend” probably wasn’t the right word, though. A buyer didn’t hang out with his dealer. A buyer made a purchase and moved along before the dealer got too suspicious and decided he was an informant, or a cop. Linus’ old dealer offered him a drink, which he promptly accepted; he didn’t want to be rude to a potential trading partner. Thankfully, it wasn’t whiskey. After the incident with the goats he didn’t think he’d be able to stomach the taste of whiskey for quite some time. They moved out onto the porch, sitting in some broken-down lawn chairs.

The man talked with him for a while longer after that first drink, and more alcohol flowed. After a couple of hours of sitting and talking in the shade—something they’d never done before—the dealer pulled his lawn chair in close and began his pitch.

“Listen, Linus,” the old man started, “I’m going to level with you. Times are hard right now, but I can tell that you’re a good man. That’s why I want to help you.”

Linus was starting to get tipsy, but he wasn’t drunk enough to not be at least a little suspicious. “Help me how?” He asked, his face drawn into a puzzled frown.

“My associates and I have some medicine we can trade. Narcotics…some good stuff for the pain you’re in. Got a bottle of oxy for you. Free. No charge.”

Now Linus was really suspicious.

“What do you mean, free?”

“Well, we’d need a favor, of course. Just a little bit of information.” The older man grinned. Then he explained his plan.

Linus found himself nodding along, against his better judgment.

So much for that angel on his shoulder.

…

Juliana really wanted a cookie. She’d tried her old trick of insisting her baby brother wanted one, and she wasn’t sure why it didn’t work. Apparently her parents believed it was too late at night for cookies. Juliana disagreed.

She’d heard the fireworks going off earlier and knew that her mom and dad were outside watching. It was the perfect time to go downstairs and see if there were any cookies left from the batch her mother had made before the electricity decided to go away.

She crept down the stairs as quietly as she could, even skipping the third step from the top; that one always squeaked no matter how careful she was.

Finally, she landed on the ground floor and walked to the kitchen. The fireworks were still going, but she couldn’t see any of the pretty colors, and she started to think they might just be the noisemaking kind. Those weren’t as fun.

Juliana moved a chair to the counter and climbed to the countertop, where she spied the wooden box her mother kept the baked goods in.

She opened the box and exulted; there were three cookies left. She could eat one now and still have one tomorrow at breakfast with her brother. Her hand reached in; tiny fingers wrapped themselves around a cookie that seemed impossibly large to the little girl, and then a hand wrapped itself around her wrist.

She was caught. Her Daddy had caught her, and she was going to be in trouble. She’d probably get grounded, and maybe get a spanking. Juliana turned to plead her case.

“Daddy I’m sorry I—”

Her voice was cut off to a muffle as a second hand clasped itself over her mouth. Her eyes adjusted, and she realized it wasn’t her father holding her, but some other man, a stranger. She screamed and kicked and tried to bite the hand, but it was stuffing something in her mouth; a rag, or a sock, something foul-tasting. Then they put something over her head so she couldn’t see.

“Don’t worry, little one. If your Daddy plays nice and does what we say, you’ll be just fine.”

“You don’t know my Daddy,” she thought.

…

John knew something was wrong when he saw the cookies lying on the counter. He knew that Juliana wouldn’t have left evidence behind like that. She was too smart. Too cookie-crazy. She would have eaten every last crumb. The thought brought a smile to his face, before the present situation flicked back into his mind and wiped it clean. A look of grin determination replaced the smile; the softness of his features turned to sharp edges. He headed up the stairs slowly, pistol drawn, remembering to skip the third step from the top. That one always squeaked and woke the kids when he was getting home late.

The door to Nathan’s room was cracked open. The hinges creaked as John nudged the door open further. Stepping in, he was happy to see his boy sleeping soundly in the crib. He cleared the room and headed back into the hall. John padded quietly down to his daughter’s room and nudged the door open. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He headed inside and used his free hand to pull the covers back from Juliana’s bed. Pillows. Someone had used pillows to make it look like his daughter was still sleeping in her bed. He howled and limped quickly back down the stairs and outside, heading toward the clinic.

The doors slammed open and John blasted through. His wife looked up, startled, and held up a calm hand.

“John, the patient is stable, but I’ve worked very hard to get him that way. Be nice, and try and keep him in one piece?”

She paused when she noticed the look in his eyes and the small stuffed rabbit in his right hand.

“Talia, they have our daughter.”

Talia’s eyes hardened, and the faint light of the room seemed to dim as she spoke her next words. “Do what you need to do, John.” She placed a hand on his arm and looked him squarely in the eyes. “I’ll be just outside if you need to resuscitate him. Just yell.”

The raider’s eyes flew open wide, panic striking deep.

“Talia?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Get my tool kit from the garage. I’ll need the vice grip, hammer, and pliers.”

The kid on the table was crying now, babbling on about how he’d tell them exactly where they took her. Talia and John just ignored him for the time being.

“Oh, John, surely you can be more creative than that?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, darling. The fishing tackle box too. We’ll need those hooks.”

“Anything else?”

“Salt.”

She nodded too sweetly.

“Get our girl back, John.”

“I will, Talia.”

Talia stepped outside, and the screaming began.

Chapter 2 – R&R

Thom slept uneasily as the van rumbled down the back roads toward Columbia. Every now and again Herbie would hit a bump at the wrong angle, and Thom would wake. It wasn’t the most restful sleep he’d ever had, but he was running on empty and needed whatever shuteye he could get. They’d been driving for an hour or two, but progress was slow. Cars clogged even the back roads, and the lights on the old van were shot, so they were driving blind. Still, it was better than walking. At their current rate, they’d hit Columbia right around sunrise.

He wondered how his daughter was holding up. He hoped she’d had a chance to go to the store that morning before class, but he knew in his heart she probably hadn’t. Food would be scarce in her dorm room. Thom tried not to think about the long list of possible hardships she’d be facing: hunger, thirst, illness, assault. He’d see her soon, and she’d survive until then.

She had to.

“You awake?” Herbie asked, chancing a look over his shoulder to where Thom rested in the back.

“Yeah. Sort of. What’s up?”

“Well, I’m just thinking about what tomorrow’s going to bring. It’s going to be a doozy, Thom.”

“Yeah? Care to elaborate?”

“Tomorrow’s day three. That’s important for a few reasons. One: most folks only keep around three days’ worth of food on hand, meaning the majority of people in America will be eating the last of their food today, if they haven’t already.”

Thom nodded and thought about how silly the gesture was in the dark, but Herbie must have registered the movement in the rearview, because he started talking again.

“Two: most Americans don’t keep any sort of water stored. Folks are going to have to start getting creative with where they’re finding water. Many of them will turn to some pretty questionable sources. People are going to start getting sick. Diseases are going to start spreading in the next week or so.”

Thom sighed. He knew what they were up against, but he knew Herbie well enough by now to know that the man wouldn’t say something if he didn’t think it was important.

“What’s the plan, Herbie?”

“Well, you’re not going to like it, but I think we should pull over for the night and rest. We can sleep in shifts and get some quality rest so that we’re ready to face whatever craziness tomorrow brings.”

“No way, Herbie! We’re just a few hours away from Anna. We push on until we can’t go any further.”

Herbie nodded. He’d expected this reaction. “Well, Thom, we can do that. We’d probably get to Columbia right around daybreak. We’d be completely exhausted, and our reaction times would be slow. We wouldn’t be thinking straight. Heck, we might not be thinking straight now. Our bodies aren’t used to pushing like this, and we haven’t exactly been giving them ample time to recover. We keep pushing like this, and we’re going to be worthless for Anna when she may need us the most. She’s your daughter, Thom. That makes this your call, but you know what my vote is.”

The van was silent for a long while, bumping along on failing shocks.

Thom sighed.

“You’re right, Herbie.”

Herbie smiled behind the wheel. “I’m glad you agree. It’s what’s best for us right now, and what’s best for your daughter. We’ll get there tomorrow. We’ll be well-rested. We’ll make sure she’s safe, but for now we rest. Deal?”

Thom nodded, and Herbie pulled off to the shoulder of the road. He took the keys from the ignition and pocketed them before drawing his pistol and laying it on his lap. They were on the outskirts of a little town. Herbie wasn’t sure what it was called; he must have missed the sign. It seemed as good a place as any to get some shuteye, though.

“You go ahead and get some real rest, Thom. I’ll take the first watch. You sleep.”

Thom gladly acquiesced, folding out the sofa in the back of the Westfalia into a bed. Sleep found him quickly.

Herbie did what he could to occupy himself. He used a lot of the old tricks he knew to stay awake, like drinking a lot of water. Another trick he used was staying in motion. Every count of 500, he’d get out of the van, take a little walk around, and do some pushups.

His eyelids grew heavier with each circuit, and soon he ran out of water to drink. Herbie’s muscles weren’t what they used to be, and he was doing fewer and fewer pushups to get his blood pumping. Eventually on one of his 500 counts, Herbie drifted off to sleep.

They were completely unaware of the handful of armed men who encircled them.

Light filtered through Herbie’s closed eyelids, prompting him to wake. His heart pounded. The van was on fire. No. Not the van, but something in front of the van. His tired eyes took a moment to focus, and what he saw took him back to the days of his youth.

A burning cross, and cowardly men hiding their identities beneath sheets.

Chapter 3 – A Good Morning

Anna snored softly on the sofa, covered by a few old sheets the boys had taken from their linen closet. A small river of drool had worked its way from the corner of her mouth, down her chin, and onto one of the pillows they’d taken from the dorms. Every so often she would stop snoring and smile, mumbling a contribution to a conversation that no one in the waking world was privy to.

Brian tried not to stare. He hadn’t slept last night—Trinity’s orders. She was concerned about the hit he’d taken to the head, and she didn’t want him to risk sleeping. Anna had volunteered to stay awake with him through the night but had fallen asleep a couple of hours ago. His best guess placed the time around 5am. The sky was starting to lighten, and the birds had begun to chirp noisily, happy that spring was finally arriving after a long, cold winter.

Prying his eyes away, he stood slowly from the chair he’d been sitting in. He was still a little dizzy and had thrown up a couple of times soon after regaining consciousness, but he was feeling better, all things considered. Brian walked his way into the bathroom and, out of habit, flicked the light switch on. Of course, nothing happened, and he laughed at himself, slightly embarrassed.

Old habits.

Brian opened the cabinets and retrieved a bottle of ibuprofen, taking a couple of them and swallowing them with a glass of water.

Matt passed by the bathroom door on his way through the hallway to the kitchen, pausing momentarily to offer a mock salute and a “Good morning,” muffled through a huge yawn.

The little girls were next, running down the hall giggling as Brian brushed his teeth, Ms. Grimes close on their heels. Trinity, Sephi, Bruce, and Red soon joined them.

Brian could hear Bruce in the basement dragging something heavy up the stairs. He spat, swished some water in his mouth, and spat. That little habit seemed so wasteful to him now. He’d have to break that quickly.

He popped out into the hall to see what all of the commotion was, only to see Bruce setting up a propane stove in the kitchen. Ms. Grimes started preparing a breakfast of oatmeal and what little fresh fruit they’d managed to scavenge from the school. Carla made sure everyone washed their hands thoroughly, warning that getting sick now was not an option.

Breakfast was delicious, especially considering the fact that Brian’s diet over the last couple of days had consisted primarily of dry ramen and Pop-Tarts.

After breakfast, Trinity and Red carried the dishes outside and set up a system of five-gallon buckets next to a trashcan. First, Trinity would scape any leftovers into the trash and wash the dishes in the sudsy bucket. Then, she’d pass the dishes to Red, who would dip them into the clean water in a second bucket before placing them in a rack on a nearby folding table to dry. When they finished, they set the water aside, deciding they’d use it to water the garden they were going to plant today. It was a good system, and it saved on water, which would become a very important commodity in the coming weeks.

The rest of the crew got to work digging a temporary slit trench latrine, which was basically a long, shallow ditch that they’d do their business in. It would suffice until they could work on something more permanent.

There were several other projects underway, including some solar food dehydrators and a solar oven Bruce and Matt were working on.

Anna stepped outside and scrubbed the drool from her chin. She’d always been a heavy sleeper. She caught Brian looking her way and they both blushed, embarrassed.

Brian smiled. There was a lot to do, but they’d get it done. They would find a way to survive until help arrived, and maybe, just maybe, he’d win over Anna in the meantime.