Without (2 page)

Sam wasn’t the reason why I carried a gun. She was the
reason why I carried two.

Concealed under my steering column was a compact pistol. In
my emergency bag locked in my trunk, I had a larger handgun that held more
rounds and is more accurate at greater distances. Both are Glocks, and both use
the same .40 caliber ammunition.

After the carnage of the first blackout – and the four that
followed – gun sales quadrupled and self-defense classes sprang up at every gym
in town. I suspected most of the disabled vehicles around me had guns in them
similar to mine. I doubt many of them ever got fired more than a few times. I
was at the range every week for three years.

Even with the hardware and the shooting skill, I knew I
couldn’t legally carry a gun everywhere I went. If I had stayed with Sam the
night she died, I would’ve been lying in a pool of blood next to her. (At
first, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.) Always carrying a knife was more
practical. Using the same logic as I did with handguns, I not only carried it,
I learned how to fight with it.

Planning my first flight out of town, I realized the only
weapon close to me was my toothpaste. Packed like sardines in my introductory
self-defense class – with damn near every woman in Atlanta – I started my
hand-to-hand combat training. After mastering the art of gouging eyes, punching
throats, and kicking balls, I needed something more advanced. I decided to
enroll in a mixed martial arts class. After one session, I was addicted.

At thirty-seven years old I was in the best shape of my
life. I kept a disciplined schedule of shooting, fighting, working out, and
thinking about Sam dying alone on a buffet table while being raped by cowards.
I was scared shitless when my car died and bodies started dropping out of the
sky. But grabbing my bag out of the trunk, starting my long walk to my
apartment, I didn’t feel helpless.

“Hey!” said the man with the yellow dress under his car.
“You can’t leave. You’re a witness. You gotta stay and tell the cops she
just…just landed there. You gotta tell them I didn’t kill her.”

It was one of the few times I stopped walking. “Take a look
around you,” I said. “The cops aren’t coming. Nobody is coming. You need to think
about getting home.”

“What?”

“Listen to me,” I said, getting his attention. “How far away
do you live?”

“About six miles back,” he answered, beginning to notice the
chaos around him. “What’s happening?”

“Mister, I have no idea. How long have you lived there?”

“Ten years.”

“Then you know what’s coming,” I said. “Get home as fast as
you can.”

I turned, abandoned my car and left the trunk open. As if I
were the Pied Piper, trunks popped, bags were grabbed, and people started
walking behind me. As I passed car after car, some drivers were still sitting
with wide eyes and white knuckles on their steering wheels. The first guy got
my speech. I didn’t have time to give it to everyone else.

It wasn’t the first time I had to abandon my car. Last March
a freak ice storm paralyzed the city. I was at work when the temperature
dropped from forty-five degrees to minus three in a matter of hours. (As usual
the meteorologists never saw it coming.) Heavy rain turned from sleet to snow
to ice before I could get home through bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Like everyone else I sat in my car for hours, trying to
figure out what to do next. By the time I made a decision, the sun was setting
and the temperature had dropped even farther. Hoofing it five miles, I made it
home, shivering but alive. I can’t say the same for the twenty-seven people who
froze to death that night, so it wasn’t the first time I had to abandon my car,
but it was the first time I didn’t care.

My apartment wasn’t far. Scanning from side to side as I
walked, I reached the top of the ramp that would get me off the highway and closer
to home. During the journey I didn’t cloud my mind with theories about what
happened to the power. I was too busy scanning faces, hoping I wouldn’t come
across the eyes of an opportunist so early into the event. It would be the last
time I enjoyed such comfort.

There were fewer serious accidents – and no bodies – on the
streets in Midtown. Everything was quiet except for the conversations people
were having over the tops of their cars and on the corners of the
intersections. There were no obvious signs of looting as I passed by a strip
mall. But that’s always been how these things start; they always start dead
quiet.

Feeling a presence behind me, I turned to assess if it was a
threat. When I stopped so did several people with military precision. I
recognized one of them from the interstate. Were they really following me? I
stood in silence for a moment, hoping they would resume, going somewhere else.

“What are you doing?” I asked the man I recognized. He
looked behind him as if I were asking someone else.

“You, I’m asking you. Are you following me?”

“Well, yes,” said the man when nobody else answered. “You
just looked like you knew where to go.”

I’ll be damned. They were following me. “I’m going home,” I
said. “You need to do the same.”

“I live in Chattanooga,” answered the man. “I can’t walk to
Tennessee.”

“Well, you’re not coming home with me.”

“I know that,” said the man, dropping his head. “I’m not
trying to bother you. I’m just a little scared. Nothing works. My car, my
radio, my cellphone…nothing.”

Wiping the sweat off my brow, I looked around for an answer
to his problem. It hit me as I recognized the next street. “At the intersection
turn left. There’s a police station three blocks down on your right. I’m sure
they’ll be able to help you more than I can.”

“But I heard you tell that guy the cops couldn’t help.”

“No, I told him they weren’t
coming
to help,” I said.
“Trust me, there’s going be plenty of them there. It’s the safest place to be
right now.”

“Then why aren’t you going there?”

“Left, and then three blocks down on your right,” I
repeated, avoiding his question.

When I was sure they weren’t following me, I turned to see
the new leader of the group rounding the corner and heading for the station. I
stopped walking and watched as the last person in line disappeared down the
street.

I felt bad for having to be short with him. I remember what
it felt like to be scared and helpless. But I also knew I needed to get home –
alone – as fast as I could. They may have had no idea what was coming, but I
did.

The quickest route to my building would mean passing by the
pub. It was something I hadn’t done since Sam died. It seemed even more
ridiculous, moving one street over, since the pub never reopened after the
murders.

When I saw my building, I resisted the urge to run the last
block. This time I wasn’t worried about how I was going to get inside. I was at
the leasing office every Monday morning until they removed the electronic locks
on the access doors, replacing them with deadbolts. Opening the door, I felt
like a runner sliding into home plate.

There was enough light for me to make my way to the
stairwell with ease. A skylight at the top offered good visibility heading up
to the sixth floor, but with each step the temperature rose as well. Leaving
the stairwell was like leaving an oven.

As if somebody pulled a plug, the tension drained out of me
when I opened my apartment door. I was safe. Well, at least safer.

After locking both deadbolts I grabbed a bottle of water
from the kitchen and headed for the balcony.  I didn’t open the back doors to
get a breeze flowing. I opened them for the unobstructed view of Downtown
Atlanta. When I stepped out, it was awesomely terrifying.

At street level it was hard to see the scope of the
destruction. Six stories above it was easy. I had to assume that at least two
more large aircraft went down near the first. Atlanta was once again on fire.
The three massive pillars of thick, black smoke ascended thousands of feet
before catching the jet stream, pushing east. It didn’t thin out until it
reached the horizon. The lack of sirens – anywhere – helped with my realization
that the majestic city would soon be burned to the ground.

Atlanta wasn’t alone in its silent death. Fingers of smoke
were rising in every direction, joining the dark convoy to the sea. I sat in my
chair finishing my water and watching the show as if I were a spectator and not
a participant.  I didn’t sit there long. Thinking about what to do meant I
wasn’t doing anything.

My little bag served its purpose; it got me home. It was
time to ready the big bag in the event staying home was no longer an option.
Even in an ice storm scenario, driving out of the city was part of the plan.
(My logic being that ice eventually melts.) Having no means of transportation
threw a monkey wrench in all of my escape scenarios. Heading out on foot was
not only a huge drain on supplies and energy; it was the most dangerous way to
travel.

Regardless of the mode, I knew there was a high probability
my apartment wouldn’t be a safe haven for long. They always find a way inside
to take what they want. I can put up one hell of a fight, but I can’t fight
them all.

Reaching into my closet, I pulled out my backpack and threw
it on the bed. There were heavy items inside that were worthless. Anything that
held a battery or I could plug into an outlet would be left behind. What
baffled me is what happened after I pulled out an emergency radio and
flashlight that created their own power.

Each item had a small hand crank that sat flush against the
housing. Extend the handle, crank it for thirty seconds, and it produced five
minutes of power. I cranked the flashlight for several minutes; nothing. I did
the same to the radio; again, nothing.

I sat there rubbing my wrist, thinking about the
improbability of both devices being defective. I knew I had used them with no
problems during a brief power outage five weeks earlier. Two defective devices
was improbable. Three was impossible.

I went into the hall closet, pulling out a larger
hand-cranked unit that combined a radio, flashlight, and adapter to charge my
cellphone; nothing. I surrendered to the immediate fact that they were useless.
Whatever knocked out all the power and drained everything with a charge was
still happening. How long it would stay that way was a question I couldn’t
answer. And answering questions wasn’t my priority.

One positive aspect of removing everything from my pack that
used, stored, or created power was that it gave me more room for food, water,
and ammunition. If I had to leave my home in haste, I wasn’t sure which of
those items I’d be using first. That would depend on who I came across.

After my bag was packed I put it beside the front door. I
looked at it for a moment, took a deep breath, and walked into the kitchen. I
grabbed two steaks out of the freezer and put them on the counter. I wondered
how long I had before one of the longest nights of my life was going to start.
Looking at my watch, I started laughing.

8:13.

I woke up in that strange place between dreams and reality.
I guess a full stomach, a long walk, and a mentally exhausting morning was more
than my body could take. It took a few moments for me to remember how the day
started. Looking down in my lap at the odd coupling of a dinner plate and a
shotgun helped. I then remembered eating a steak, watching the sun go down. I
knew I hadn’t slept the entire night. I then remembered I shouldn’t be seeing
anything at all.

Thinking sleep would be impossible, I didn’t light any
candles before I sat down to eat. I watched in amazement as my white dinner
plate faded from green to orange and then back to green again. My apartment was
flooded with a kaleidoscope of colors. I cleared my lap and walked to the
balcony.

The orange glow was easy enough to explain; Atlanta was
burning bright. I looked up for the source of the other colors. Waves of green
light were rolling across the night sky like an upside down beach. When they
broke, the foam was a rainbow of colors. I stood on my balcony, mesmerized.

When a large green wave burst into a brilliant purple and
red cloud, I heard clapping from below. I looked down to see hundreds of people
in the streets. It was as if they were watching fireworks on the Fourth of
July.

I think we all felt it coming. It started as a slight
vibration in my chest. I put my hand over my heart when the resonance inside me
intensified. I became queasy, dropping down to my knee to stabilize myself.
Glass rained down on the spectators after a sonic blast shattered hundreds of
windows.

During the event, a blinding flash of white light burned our
eyes. With my hands covering my ears and my eyes shut tight, I heard the
clapping being replaced with screams from the injured. It took a few moments
for my senses to readjust. The orange glow from the city was the only light
that remained. The green sea above us disappeared. It was as if Mother Nature
had taken our power, but she was showing us that she still had all of hers.

I rose to my feet and peered down into the darkness. I
didn’t need to see the panic below, I could hear it. People were running
through the broken glass, looking for shelter from the deadly shards that were
still separating from the panes.

As I stumbled back into my apartment looking for the
candles, obstacles were illuminated by another green hue. The light show was
starting again, but the people below had learned their lesson. Nobody was in
the street when the second sonic boom and explosion of light rocked the city.

The bizarre storm lasted for hours. As if to show mercy,
Mother Nature sent a cooling breeze after the finale. The euphoria of the first
light show had been replaced with fear.

I thought the imminent danger would be from the looters and
cowards that would take to the streets at sundown. I wouldn’t have guessed the
first victims of the night would be taken by falling glass. There were more
ways to die than survive.

Lighting the candles in my living room, I heard a knock at
my door. I grabbed a pistol and looked through the peephole. I recognized the
face as one of my neighbors from down the hall. He was holding a gas lantern up
to his face so I could identify him. For a few seconds I stood motionless and
silent, hoping he would go away. I surprised myself by opening the door.

“You okay, Mr. Allen?” I asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. You?”

“I’m good.”

“It seems my apartment has turned into a gathering spot for
some of the residents,” said Mr. Allen. “I figured I’d make the rounds on our
floor and invite everyone over.”

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Allen, but I think I’ll stick
close to home tonight.”

“Please, call me Frank. Mr. Allen makes me sound old. And I
live two doors down. That’s pretty close to home, kid.”

Frank was in his early seventies and one of the most
pleasant people I’ve ever met. Most of the other tenants were college students
or young couples saving for their first house. Many of them looked at Frank and
his wife as surrogate parents. It wasn’t odd that they were gathering around
them.

“I can offer you fresh coffee and good conversation,” said
Frank. “Most of the folks are scared to death and would feel more comfortable
with you there.”

“What makes you think I’m not scared?”

“I know people, son. I can see it in their eyes. There’s no
fear in yours. Never has been.”

“I’m not sure how to take that,” I said, smiling.

“Take it as an old man who would appreciate your company for
a few minutes. Share a cup of coffee with me, give my wife a hug, and then I’ll
leave you be.”

“Ah, using that sweet lady against me,” I said. “You’re
good. Let me grab a few things and lock up.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Just one cup, Frank,” I said, turning away from the door,
walking down the hall. “Sitting around listening to people blame terrorist or
aliens for this mess isn’t my idea of good conversation.”

“Like I said, we’d all be more comfortable with you there,”
said Frank, noticing the gun.

I grabbed a lantern and followed Frank down the hall. I
didn’t like the idea of being so far away from my things, but I wasn’t
uncomfortable. I walked into his apartment to find five people sitting in his
living room. I recognized all but one. As soon as I made eye contact with him,
I knew I didn’t like him.

“Oh, good,” said Frank’s wife, Harriet, coming out of the
kitchen. She handed coffee to her guests and gave me a warm hug. “I’m so glad
you came over. How are you, handsome?”

“I’m well. How are you holding up?”

“We’ve been through this so many times I’ve lost count,”
said Harriet. “But I have to say that crazy storm about did me in.”

“Aurora Borealis,” said Frank. “And thunder. That’s all it
was. Strange enough on its own, but explainable.”

“Aurora what?” asked a young woman sitting on the couch. Her
name was Joanne. She was a student at Georgia State University and was wearing
a thin tank top to combat the earlier heat. The man I didn’t know was sitting
across from her. His eyes were locked on to her cleavage.

“Northern lights,” said Patrick, sitting beside Joanne. He
lived across the hall from me. His wife, Anna, was sitting next to him. The
night after they moved in the building three months earlier, they invited me
over for drinks. I liked them both.

“It’s when solar winds collide with earth’s magnetic field
at the poles,” continued Patrick.  “They create the same type of light we saw
this evening.”

“I thought you could only see them in, like, Alaska, or
something.” said Joanne.

“There was an event in 1859 where the Aurora was so bright,
people in Boston said you could read the newspaper by it at midnight. It’s
rare, but possible. I have to agree with Frank. I have no idea about that
insane thunder, but hey, after today, anything is possible.”

“I still say the military fucked up,” said the unidentified
man. “The sonic booms were probably from fighters we couldn’t see.”

“Watch your language, Steven,” said Connie, putting a name
to his face. She lived at the end of the hall. A friendly, decent looking
middle aged woman, but she was losing a battle with her weight. Every
conversation I had with her over the years revolved around her latest diet
plan.

“It’s okay, baby,” said Steven. “We’re all adults here.”

“When the power went out, planes were dropping out of the
sky,” said Frank. “I doubt the military aircraft were immune. No, this is the
environment getting its revenge.”

“Bullshit,” said Steven. “No hole in the ozone did this. The
military accidentally fired off an EMP. I bet they’ll end up blaming the
terrorists for their fuckup and send us off to fight another war.”

“Steven!”

“Relax, Connie, damn.”

“Terrorists, huh?” repeated Frank, grinning at me. “Or maybe
aliens?”

“Aliens?” asked Steven. “You seriously think this is an
invasion?”

“No, son,” said Frank. “We’ve been doing this to ourselves
for the last two hundred years. Man has done nothing but strain this planet to
its breaking point since the first smokestack. Mother Earth has just had enough
and is putting us in our place.”

“I’m with you, Frank,” said Patrick. “We did this to
ourselves with pollution, pillaging natural resources, and trying to force
Mother Nature to comply. They say she can be a bitch for a reason, and we’re
witnessing it now.”

“You’re not going to tell Patrick to watch his mouth,
Connie?” said Steven.

“Shut up.”

“What’s an EMT?” asked Joanne.

“How much is your tuition at that college?” said Patrick,
laughing. “He said EMP.”

“I’m a physical therapy major,” replied Joanne, cocking her
head at him.

“You can practice your back rubbing technique on me
anytime,” said Steven.

“You really are a pig,” said Connie, folding her arms.

“That’s funny,” said Steven. “You’re calling
me
a
pig?”

I watched as Connie lowered her head after his stinging
comment. His insult gave more weight to my uneasy feeling about him. From his
appearance it looked like he spent more time in the gym than at a job. Connie
was probably with him to improve her appearance to others. He was probably with
her because she paid for all the bar tabs.

“Electromagnetic pulse,” I said, taking the attention away
from Connie.

“Correct,” said Patrick, who was a bit of a science geek.
“It’s a burst of electromagnetic radiation. The problem with that theory is, it
causes disruption of electrical devices with a massive surge. At the very least
we would’ve seen transformers and street lights exploding. None of that
happened. It was as if somebody just flipped a switch and turned off the
lights.”

“Whatever it was, I’m sure they’ll figure it out soon and
everything will be back to normal,” said Harriet. “Like I said, we’ve been
through this before.”

No, Harriet. We haven’t.

Sipping my coffee, looking around the room, all I saw were
ostriches with their heads buried in the sand. They were trying figure out what
happened, thinking someone smarter than them would figure it out and then turn
on the lights again. They needed to be thinking about what they were going to
do when the power didn’t come back.

“Thanks for the coffee, pretty lady,” I said, handing
Harriet my cup. “If you need anything, I’m right down the hall.”

I said it loud enough for Steven to hear. I wanted him to
know I wasn’t far. I wanted him to know someone was watching.

“You leaving so soon?” asked Frank.

“I have to take care of a few things,” I said. “Walk me
back?”

“Sure,” replied Frank.

I said my good-byes to the rest of the guests. I shook
Steven’s hand with a firm grip, holding eye contact with him longer than I did
with the others. I told Joanne to lock up tight when she went home. I reminded
her that there were bad people out there who were going to take advantage of
the situation. Walking down the hall, reaching my door, I turned to Frank.

“Keep an eye on Steven,” I said. “He couldn’t take his eyes off
Joanne’s chest. There’s something about that guy I don’t like.”

“Don’t worry,” said Frank. “There’s a lot about that guy I
don’t like. Trust me; you’re not the only one armed up here.”

“You’re a good man, Frank,” I said, shaking his hand. “You
take care of yourself.”

“You’re leaving the city, aren’t you?”

“At dawn.”

“I know trouble is coming, son. I’m just too damned old to
run anymore. I’m gonna stay here and protect my bride to the bitter end.”

“I know you will,” I said.  “I can see that in
your
eyes.”