Red Lightning (20 page)

I don't know. But in my heart I knew I had to stay, because there were people
hurting
out there. When the water went down for the last time, we could hear a few of them screaming.

So, anybody who wanted to stay at the Blast-Off had to go on the rescue details. I'm not saying there was a lot of argument about that, at least not after the first twenty-four hours, when anybody could see that no help was coming anytime soon.

It was scary at first, going down there. Remember, we didn't have a very clear idea of what had happened. So there we were, cut off, no communication until about Day Three, when somebody dropped some leaflets. All the time we were on the ground we kept looking and listening for that next wave.

But you get used to that. Pretty quick, in fact. After you've pulled your first dozen bodies out of the shit, you start to wish another wave would come. Your whole world has turned into a toilet, literally, the
stench
, even before the bodies started to swell up and pop in the sun..."

Once again she seemed lost in the past, and I thought she wouldn't go on. But she did. In fact, she even laughed for a moment.

"Those idiots saved the steaks? Turns out it was a good thing. I mean, that first day, we ate well, and brother, we
needed
it. You know the kind of people we get. Lot of retired people. My age and older. Some of them pretty out of shape. None of them shirked. In fact, I had to make one old guy stop working when his wife came to me and told me about his heart condition.

Some people couldn't eat at first, of course, or couldn't keep anything down. But hunger gets everybody soon enough. We didn't have much steak or chicken left by the time it was getting too ripe to take a chance on. Since then it's been rice and beans and Spam and creamed corn."

"What on Earth were you doing, stocking Spam, Mom?" Dad asked. "I don't remember it on the menu at the restaurant."

"Oh, silly old me, that was hurricane supplies, Manny. We didn't have any canned meat at all in the restaurant, as you well know, except a lot of tuna fish. We even have mayo, but no bread to put it on. No problem, though. Jorge had his spices and his pots and pans. You'll be amazed at the stuff he can whip up. Although I hope I never eat another bite of Spam in my life."

She smiled briefly again, then went on.

"I think it was about Day Three things began to get edgy. Three or Four; it got sort of hard to keep track. That's when the bad guys really started rampaging. At first it was just liquor and looting. We steered clear of each other. Then they started to get bolder. And hungrier. And some of those boys were just plain ornery in the first place.

We had to give up the rescue operation and sort of pull up the drawbridge. So we boarded up and decided to just stay here until the food and water ran out. I figured that if we had to make a run for it, if help
still
hadn't come, at least we'd be healthier and better fed than those we came up against.

But then it got really hard."

"What do you mean?" Dad asked.

"Remember fallout shelters? You dug a hole and stocked it with food and water for a few months. What do you think is the biggest problem having a fallout shelter?"

"Having the only one in the neighborhood," Mom said.

"What could you do? After the wave we took people in. Anybody who showed up. I still thought help would arrive in a few days, but I think I'd have let all comers in, anyway.

Then there was a time when people were leaving, trying to find their way home. Others were staying, in other hotels, in condos. And food started to get scarce. That was bad enough, you hate to turn away hungry people. The last few days, hungry, thirsty people have been showing up downstairs, begging for food and water. Some of them are already sick from drinking bad water. I guess Americans just aren't used to the idea that water can be deadly, this isn't the third world. Yet, anyway.

I've had to... ration. There's just no way I can turn away a woman and her three children without a drink of water. So, I've been handing out two liters of water and a bowl of rice to most of the people who show up. It's meant cutting our own rations, but what the heck?

Still... I don't really know how long we can hold out. Does anybody know
anything
? Manny? Kelly? Did anybody give you any indication of when we might see some food and water delivered out here?"

Mom shrugged, helplessly.

"Nobody we talked to really knew anything. Everybody seemed to be digging in for the long haul, though."

I was angry, because I couldn't figure it out.

"Why don't they leave?" I asked. "I mean, there must be boats somewhere they could fix up. Make a raft, or something?"

"Some people have done that. I understand there's a sort of water taxi with a Boston Whaler people are rowing back and forth. But I don't think you realize how many people survived out here, Ramon. There's a lot of tall buildings along the coast, and most of them survived. The crossing is no picnic, either, which you know. Falling into that water is not something you want to do.

But part of it is some kind of syndrome, I guess. Shock, grief, and sheer exhaustion. These people are dehydrated and weak, and a lot of them just sit there and moan, until thirst drives them to get up and look for water. They need food and water, first, and then they need medical help."

I remembered what I'd asked about at first, which was the bad guys, the ones who were responsible for the fire we saw last night.

"So people are pissed at you?" I asked. "Because they don't think a bowl of rice is enough?"

"No, the bastards who tried to fry us last night are guys who already had a grudge against us. The rats and cockroaches that come out of the swamp after a hurricane, only a lot more of them this time, both the lowlifes who were on the street and survived the hit and the inmates who didn't drown in their cells. Ask yourself this. You're the warden at a big penitentiary, like Raiford, and you hear the government telling you the biggest wave anybody's ever seen is headed your way. Now, I don't know for sure, but I don't think a lot of high-security pens are located very close to the ocean, beachfront prices being what they are. But there's bound to be some, we've got so damn many prisons in this country. Then you got your medium-security places, and your city jails. If you're the warden, and your jail is only two or three stories high... what are you going to do?"

It was a tough one, I had to admit. Pick and choose? Let the ones go who were in for drugs or embezzlement, keep the ones who were murderers locked up? And what about the criminally insane?

"There was this dude calls himself 'The Humongous' – which is a laugh, since this dude is six-six, maybe 120 pounds he's so eaten up with the speed. We'd heard from the survivors at the Sea Breezes that his gang had raped about a dozen women there, and killed one of them and two men. So we were ready for them when they roared up on their big hogs.

I was on the fourth floor with my bullhorn. I told them to get their sorry asses off of my patio. They laughed, and headed for the stairs. So I started putting rounds through their gas tanks. That got their attention. They fired back, but this was... Day Four? Day Five? Whatever, by then they still had plenty of guns but were having trouble finding ammunition. They fired a few rounds, but when they saw they wouldn't be able to get at us without being in my field of fire for way too long, they hightailed it.

We didn't see them here again until last night. They're pretty cowardly, they only operate in gangs, and only when the numbers are in their favor. They managed to stack a lot of lumber against the side of the building and we didn't hear them. It gets
dark
out there at night, now, and we don't waste power to run any lights down there. Have to change that. Anyway, they poured gas on it and set it on fire.

Big mistake, tactically. When we saw the light, we could see
them
. I'm afraid I got a little angry. I didn't see any bikes around this time. So I shot at Humongous. I was aiming at his arm, a pretty thin target from the roof, let me tell you. And the little turd moved at exactly the wrong moment..." She stopped. She took a deep breath.

"I think I killed him, Manny."

"Jesus Christ, Mom," Dad said. "He was trying to burn you out. If you'd tried to escape, he'd have killed you. If ever there was a justifiable homicide..."

"I'm not worried about the legal part, Manny. You see any cops around here? And you think any of my people here would testify against me? I'm not even sure I killed him. His pals dragged him off, and it was too dark for me to tell much. But I know I got him in the chest, and if he is alive, he'd better get to a hospital real quick."

"In any case," Mom said, "it's over and done with, Betty. There's not one of us here who wouldn't have done the same thing."

"That's not it. I know it was justified. I know if I hadn't done it, somebody else would have, either vigilantes, or the Army if they ever get here, or the cops would have arrested him, and there's plenty of witnesses to the capital crimes he's committed... and I have a feeling that order's going to be restored here a lot quicker than law, if you know what I'm saying."

"I'd guess there's going to be some quick trials and speedy hangings," Dad said. "And that's my point, Mom. That's already started. On our way here we saw some of it. By now there may be a bad guy hanging from every lamppost that survived the wave. What you did... it doesn't even compare."

"It doesn't have to!" Grandma shouted. "I know it was an accident, and even if it wasn't, I know it was justified. It's
me
! It's
killing
! I've never done it, I never wanted to, and I don't like it, even a bastard like... whatever that pathetic man's real name was. I was hoping I could get through this without having to kill someone. I'm good, you know that. A good shot, I mean. I figured that, came to it, I could always put a round through a shoulder or a kneecap. Something with some stopping power. I know I could have done that and never lost a minute's sleep."

She
was
good. She was way more than good. Grandma had won a lot of trophies, and even went to the Olympics one year. If you asked her to shoot that fly sitting on that can over there thirty feet away, she'd ask you if you wanted a head shot or if just cutting off a wing was enough.

"I've always liked guns and shooting. But I never hunted after one time when I killed a deer. I'm a shooter, I'm a
markswoman
, and I'm proud of it. It's the discipline I like... and the sense of assurance you get when you know you can protect yourself. But I'm not a gun nut. Am I, Manny? I mean, I own a couple of handguns, and six target rifles, but I don't have a shotgun... No, wait a minute, I think I do, that one I bought for skeet shooting. But I haven't used it in years."

That was true. Grandma had tried skeet for a while, decided it was too easy. Shotguns? Why not use a flamethrower? she said.

"That makes... eight guns. No, nine. Does that make me a gun nut? Does that make me a killer?"

"No, Mom," Dad said, gently. "By Florida standards, I think that qualifies you as unarmed."

"It's right there in the Florida law, Betty," Mom said, solemnly. "Less than ten firearms means you're a bleeding heart liberal."

Grandma laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"But I'm not a killer. I'm having a hard time dealing with it. And if this doesn't end soon, I may have to do more of it."

"We're here now, Mom," Dad said, patting her back. "You won't have to shoot anybody else. If it comes to it,
I'll
shoot them."

"Me, too," Elizabeth said.

"Damn right," Mom said.

I felt I ought to say something sufficiently bloodthirsty, too, but Grandma smiled, shaking off her momentary weakness.

"Anyway," she said, sniffing and wiping her nose, "you have to be prepared. I'd already strung a hose to the pool. It's still down there, under all that floating crap. One of my people, Jerry, is an engineer, and he managed to hook the pump into the fire-fighting system. We weren't thinking arson, we were remembering seeing three other buildings go up. So we just soaked it down from a hose on the sixth floor and pretty soon it was out. We heard them driving away, and it didn't sound like there were many bikes left. I hope not, anyway. I hope we've seen the last of them."

Travis and Dak returned that afternoon with no real news. The military were getting information over their own radio system, but they weren't passing it on.

"I tried chatting up a few of the officers," Travis said. "My name still carries some weight. Didn't get anywhere. Some of them acted a little scared, though."

"Scared of what?" Mom asked.

"Rumors floating around, no idea how reliable they are, probably not very. Stories about civilians attacking food convoys, riots here and there. Troops firing on crowds. Nobody understands why there haven't been airdrops, more choppers to bring out the seriously wounded. Hell, to bring out everybody."

"Myself, I don't think most people have grasped just how big this is," Dak said. "People stuck in here, they just know it's bad as far as they can see."

"What are you saying, Dak?" Dad asked.

"I'm saying there just ain't enough choppers, and there ain't enough big cargo planes for the airdrops or the evacuation flights. We heard that's happening some places. But it's two thousand miles of coastline, and the river estuaries up to a hundred miles inland, all of that got hit hard. I'm saying they just ain't got around to us yet."

"So be patient, right?" Grandma said.

"Not much else we can do."

The next morning we woke up to the roar of airplanes. I ran out onto my balcony and was in time to see a flight of three olive green cargo carriers flying fairly low and slow, north to south, right over the beach. As I watched, something fell out of the open cargo bay in the back of one of them, a bright orange cylinder. It quickly sprouted an orange parachute and began drifting to the ground.