The Rule of Three (5 page)

“But this is different—it’s only temporary.”

“It’s only temporary
after
it’s been fixed.”

“But it will be fixed,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

“Right?”

“Of course it will. It’s all a matter of time. Are you still wondering about the chlorine?”

Again, he was changing the subject, but I
did
want to know about it.

“Do you know about the rule of three?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“It’s an expression that has to do with emergency survival situations. You can go without air for three minutes, without water for three days, and without food for three weeks,” he explained. “Beyond that, you’re dead. In controlled doses, chlorine, the stuff that you put in your pool to kill bacteria and algae and keep the water clear, can make contaminated water fit for drinking.”

That made sense.

“With the power going out, the entire system for maintaining fresh drinking water is gone. Not only can’t they sanitize the water, but they can’t deliver it. That all relies on pumps.”

“But why would you need this much of the stuff?” I asked—and then I realized why. “You think this is going to last a long time, don’t you?”

“I don’t
know
that,” he said. “I just know that it’s better to have something and not need it than to need it and not have it.”

“But this much?”

“I hope I don’t need it. And if the computers start working again soon, then I guess I’ll have to get myself a pool.”

5

The old windup alarm clock I’d set woke me from a deep sleep with its grating ring. It was two-thirty in the morning.

I was surprised I’d managed to get any sleep with all the things rumbling around in my head. I had passed out on the couch. Somehow it seemed better to be downstairs—between the front door and the twins. Was that protective or paranoid?

My eyes strained to see. There was no light from the little nightlight in the main floor washroom, no glowing lights from the printer or TV or DVD player. Our home computer was dead in the corner; the thing I’d spent so much time on was totally useless. Not even any glow coming in from the streetlight near the end of our driveway. It was complete darkness.

I got up, still dressed and wearing my shoes. I shuffled through the room, trying not to bump into anything. Why hadn’t I put the flashlight on the coffee table instead of the desk across the room? I inched my way over and felt around until I found the light. Flicking it on was reassuring and troubling all at once—it was a blazing reminder about what was happening.

The twins were upstairs, sleeping. My mother wasn’t home. Not long after Herb and I had gotten back from the pool store, she’d sent word with an officer on a bicycle that she was all right and occupied, and that I was to sit tight.

The officer she’d sent, Brett, was a rookie. Brett said she was posting officers all around her precinct. He was assigned to patrol our neighborhood.

Did Mom really think that was necessary?

Herb was also going to stand guard at the top of our street, where Powderhorn Crescent met Folkway Drive. I didn’t think that was necessary either, but still it was strangely reassuring. I’d set my alarm so I could go out and see if he was okay.

I followed the flashlight beam over to the front door. I went to turn the lock and hesitated. After a moment I reached into the umbrella stand behind the door and pulled out a baseball bat. Then I opened the door, stepped out, and locked up behind me. The twins were asleep; it wouldn’t matter if they were alone for a few minutes.

A shiver went up my spine. It was much cooler outside. I guess closing and locking all the windows last night had really kept the heat in. My footsteps against the pavement seemed loud because everything was so silent. There were no cars on the highway a few blocks away, no trains in the distance or planes in the sky. No random sounds escaped from open windows, no breeze rustled the trees. There was nothing except the sound of insects, and even they seemed quieter than usual.

I breathed deeply. There was a heavy scent of barbecue hanging in the air. Every home had barbecued for dinner. Propane or charcoal grills still worked. With freezers defrosting and people worried about spoiled meat, there had been a feast in every backyard. We barbecued, too. At least I tried. Dad was the expert griller, but I managed not to burn the thawing burger patties too badly. Didn’t stop Danny and Rachel from complaining, though.

The sky above was streaked with thousands of stars that we never usually saw at night. It was kind of strange to see them all—I was so used to streetlights. With no other light to block them, the stars were amazingly bright. Together with the half-moon on the horizon, they bathed the street with soft, gentle light. It was brighter out here than it had been inside the house. I wasn’t even sure I needed the flashlight—although it made
me
more visible. I didn’t want to surprise Herb and risk being shot by a paranoid old paper pusher with a gun that I thought he only pretended not to know how to use properly. I really did have to talk to my mother about this.

Then I smelled Herb’s cigar. I recognized the smell that often drifted from his backyard. Down the street, at the corner, I saw the ember of that cigar.

“Herb!” I shone my flashlight on him.

He waved and I walked over. He was in a lawn chair in the middle of the intersection. A bike, leaning on its kickstand, was beside him.

“Going to play a little baseball?”

I’d forgotten I was carrying the bat. “Yeah, wondered if you wanted to play.”

“Night games don’t work so well unless the lights do. What are you doing out here?”

“I thought you could use some company.”

“I’ve had company all night as people have limped their way into the neighborhood.”

“Have there been a lot?”

“Quite a few. Sitting here I can hear people coming from a long way off. I’ve biked out to meet them. The last few walked all the way from the city.”

“That’s thirty or forty miles. That would have taken them—”

“Most of the day and half the night,” Herb said.

“And they’ve been all right?”

“Most have been exhausted and confused, but relieved at finally getting home—and eager to see their family members. They’re all hungry and thirsty. I’ve given each one a bottle of water.” He tapped a nearly empty case of water at his feet.

“That’s nice of you.”

“Most need it, but it also calms them down so they can talk. With all the local communications down, word of mouth is the only way I can know what’s happening out there.”

“And?”

“There have been acts of kindness. Some grocery stores have been handing out bottled water and pieces of fruit. Other people have given jackets and shoes, lent their bikes.”

I got the sense he was telling only half the story. “But not everybody has been so nice, right?”

“Not everybody. There’s been some looting of stores, electronics and valuables taken, rumors of jewelry store robberies. One guy who lives on Stonemason was mugged at knifepoint—he’s pretty shaken up. I even heard about a couple of buildings that were on fire.”

“Has anything happened up at our mini-mall?” There were a few stores over by the gas station.

“It’s all safe. At this stage, one police officer making himself visible is assurance that everything will be fine.”

“This stage?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Adam, as long as people think things are going to recover quickly they won’t panic.”

“But you still don’t think things are going to get better anytime soon.”

“Here’s the problem. It’s not just that the lights are out and all our computer screens are dead. It’s also all the computer-controlled tools and equipment that are used by first responders like police and EMS and fire departments to help people recover in an emergency. Like the vehicles to transport food and medical supplies. Or the trucks and tools used by the electric company to fix power outages. None of that’s working.”

“And you think people will act differently once it doesn’t get fixed right away.”

“Everything changes when people are desperate for water, food, when they’re scared for the well-being of their children.”

“But that couldn’t happen here. We’re too … um…”

“Civilized?”

I nodded my head.

“Civilized behavior is nothing more than a thin veneer. Once that’s peeled away it can get ugly very quickly. I’ve seen it close up.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“You probably don’t believe me.”

I shook my head. “No, it isn’t that I don’t believe you. It’s just that I hope you’re wrong.”

“I do, too.” He paused. “In the morning I’ll run a line over to your house so you can have electricity from my generator.”

“That would be great. Maybe we won’t even need it by then. I can hope.”

“It’s good to have hope,” he said with a grim smile. “Right now I should go up and make sure our young police officer is doing fine. You should probably head back inside.”

“I could wait here until you get back—that is, if you think it’s necessary to have someone here.”

“I wouldn’t be out here if I didn’t think it was.” Herb climbed onto the bike. “I won’t be long. Remember that discretion is the better part of valor.”

“What?”

“Sometimes the bravest thing to do is run.”

Herb rode away, getting smaller and darker until he vanished. I went to sit in the lawn chair and then stopped. I decided I’d feel better on my feet. I looked up and down the street and then for good measure did a complete three-sixty.

I started pacing into the intersection and then back again. Twenty steps up and twenty steps back. I rested the bat on my shoulder like a rifle. A rifle would have made me feel better. I
could
have a rifle. I knew where the key was to our gun cabinet, and I could be back here in a few minutes. But I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t give in to Herb’s paranoia. There was no need for a gun—or even a bat.

I heard something from down the hill. It was somebody coming, dragging their feet as they walked. I could hear them a long way off, just like Herb said. After a while, I could make out a faint image. It was one person. I retreated a few steps and circled around the chair until it was between me and the person. That didn’t make any sense, taking refuge behind a piece of plastic lawn furniture, but somehow it still felt reassuring.

The man’s head was down and he was moving slowly. He hadn’t even noticed me yet. Wait, it wasn’t a
he
—it was a woman and I recognized her. It was Mrs. Gomez from up the street.

“Hello,” I called out as I turned on the flashlight.

She screamed and jumped. “Don’t hurt me!”

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“Leave me alone!”

“It’s
me
, Mrs. Gomez, it’s
Adam
, Adam Daley, from down the street.” I grabbed a bottle of water and took a few steps toward her.

“Adam … I’m so glad it’s you.” Her voice was hoarse.

“Here, take this.” I handed her the water. She tipped it back, draining half the bottle.

“Thank you. I’m so thirsty and my feet hurt so much.”

I panned the light down. She was shoeless and her feet were bleeding.

“What happened?”

“My heels were no good for walking. I came all the way from the city.”

She looked like she was going to fall over. I took her arm, holding her up.

“I’ll help you get home.”

I led her up the street. Her steps were small and strained.

“How’d it go out there?”

“Not good. I saw a man being mugged. For most of the time I stayed in a group, mainly women and a couple of men who were walking this way. It just seemed safer. One by one they dropped off as they reached their homes or had to go a different way. Nobody else was coming this far. I’ve been by myself the last hour. I was
so
scared.”

“I’d be scared, too.”

“I just wanted to get back to my family.”

“Your husband and kids were out on the street earlier this evening. They were worried about you.”

She started crying. We neared her house. She pulled out keys and tried to put them in the lock, but her hand was shaking so badly she couldn’t do it.

“Let me help.”

As I went to take the keys the front door opened up—Mr. Gomez rushed out and swept her into his arms. From behind them the kids appeared and they threw themselves at their mother, all four of them hugging and crying.

I felt awkward and started to walk away.

“Adam!”

I turned back.

“Thank you so much,” Mrs. Gomez called out.

“Yes, thank you for bringing her home!” her husband said.

“I didn’t do anything. I just walked her from the corner. I have to get back now.”

“You’re watching the street?”

“Herb is with me.”

Mr. Gomez came out and shook my hand. “I’ll get my wife and kids settled, and then I’m going to come watch, too.”

“It’s all right—we can handle it.”

“No, it’s important that we pull together. I’ll be there.”

“Thanks.” It would be good to have another person. Even if none of this was really needed.

6

I opened up one eye and then the other. I was back on the living room couch, where I’d crashed after Herb had sent me home for the night. Sunlight streamed through the windows. There were soft voices and strong smells coming from the kitchen. The voices were too quiet to make out, but the smells were unmistakable—coffee and bacon. Did that mean that we had electricity again? I looked over to the DVD player—no little red light glowing meant there was still no power from the wall sockets.

I got up and shuffled toward the kitchen. Before I’d rounded the corner to see, I could make out Rachel’s and Danny’s voices—and Mom’s.

“You’re home!” I said from the doorway.

It wasn’t just Mom and the twins, but Herb and that officer, Brett, all sitting at the kitchen table.