Breakdown: Season One (10 page)

Chapter 7 – Shotgun

There was a party raging outside now that the sun had gone down, and the boys decided to use that distraction to their advantage. The less attention they drew to themselves as they pillaged the dining hall, the better.

The large metal doors creaked open; it wasn’t a loud sound, but to Brian, Red, and Bruce, it was deafening. Brian motioned for silence, and the group paused and listened. Nothing.

They continued on into the hall itself. They walked carefully, shoes squeaking as they stepped into the sticky mess of the ice cream Slip ‘N Slide, soles peeling and sticking with each step.

The floors were a mess of broken glass, and the room itself reeked of rotting food and garbage. It was almost unbearable for the trio.

Brian, Red, and Bruce took their time walking to the back room where the food was stored due simply to the darkness enveloping the hall. Red flicked a Zippo lighter, giving them a little light to work with.

“All right, guys, remember what Anna said. We’re looking for things that will keep for a long time without refrigeration.”

“And spices,” Bruce added. “Anna wanted spices. Sugar and salt are good too, for food preservation.”

Red chuckled. “Betty Crocker’s in the house!”

Bruce offered Red a punch in the arm in response.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Call me Betty Crocker again, and you’ll get another.”

Red grinned and said, “Okay, okay. I get it. Jeez.” Half a beat went by, and Red turned to Brian and said, “Betty sure has her knickers in a twist.”

“Cut it out, guys,” Brian warned.

The three of them scavenged for ages, dumping sacks of flour and bags of noodles, rice, and spices into laundry carts they had purloined from the dorms. They added large tin cans of tomato paste, sausage and shells, and other pre-cooked delicacies. They also grabbed Pop-Tarts, boxes of cereal, granola bars, and cookies that would make life just a little more bearable in the coming days.

Once they had the cart filled, they were ready to go.

Pushing the cart to the stairwell, they carefully eased it down one step at a time, eventually reaching the ground level. They got a couple of strange looks, but Red had the idea to toss some actual laundry on top of the cart so that it just looked like three guys moving a ton of clothes. Even that got some heckles.

“Where you gonna do laundry, dudes? No power!”

The trio ignored the jibes and pushed the cart outside to the sidewalk, eased it off of the curb, and crossed the street to the parking garage where Matt waited with his beat-up pickup truck. Or at least, that was the plan.

As the boys pushed the cart, one of the wheels dropped off the curb and broke off of the cart, tipping it sideways. The sheets masking the haul slipped, and packets of food items flooded the street.

A chorus of shouts followed shortly after.

“Someone’s stealing all of the food! Help! Somebody get out here!”

Several nearby revelers spotted the food, sounded the alarm, and rushed to claim as much of the food as possible.

“Oh, crap!” shouted Brian. “Lift! Get this sucker to the truck!”

Bruce and Red pushed while Brian recovered as much of the food as he could. They moved quickly, but their pursuers were gaining ground.

“Matt! Start the truck!”

The three men rushed up the ramp to the second floor of the garage where the truck was parked and heard the ignition roar to life like only an old diesel engine could.

Brian chanced a look over his shoulder and saw a horde of angry college kids just a few precious yards away. He couldn’t help but laugh as he thought back to his film appreciation class when they’d watched a movie about townspeople carrying torches and pitchforks to confront the mad scientist and his misunderstood monster. In Brian’s best approximation, his group of seven was the monster of this film, and while the mob pursuing them wasn’t carrying pitchforks, he didn’t want to stick around and see what they were willing to do in response to the theft.

Rounding the bend leading to the second floor of the garage, the group saw an old red and tan pickup just ahead. Matt stood, shotgun in hand, aiming it right at them.

Well
, Brian thought,
it looks like our robbery charges just got upgraded to
armed
robbery.

A flash of fire and thunder, and the concrete behind them exploded.

Deafening noise reverberated off the concrete walls of the garage, and Brian reflexively took his hands off of the cart to hold his ears. Looking back, the mob had paused, unsure how to confront an armed assailant.

Turning back, Brian realized Red and Bruce had continued to push the cart ahead while he was in his daze, and they were already loading the contents into the bed of the old Ford. Matt stood on guard, shotgun at the ready. Brian caught up just as the others finished loading the food and began piling the mattresses the girls had located on top. Once that was done, they strapped them down with ratchet straps. He could feel his pulse beating in his head, and sweat dripped from his brow.

The mob of students was growing, and they seemed to be calculating the odds of Matt actually following through and shooting them. They started creeping closer, walking at first, and then moving at a run.

“Uhhh, the posse called my bluff! Time to go, ladies!” Matt exclaimed, slapping the side of his truck loudly.

The girls jumped into the cab, and the three boys leapt onto the mattresses in back, holding onto the ratchet straps for dear life.

White smoke poured from the tired old pickup as Matt slammed it into reverse and floored the accelerator. A moment of frantic motion, and they were in gear, another squeal sounding as they launched forward toward the crowd.

Matt let out a hearty “Yee-haw!” as the seven survivors sped toward the mob. Expletives streamed readily from the occupants of the truck; the girls screamed and told Matt to stop before he hit someone, but Matt would hear none of it.

Someone in the mob launched a rock, hitting Brian’s already tender wrist, and he slipped from the truck to the pavement, rolling and tumbling to a stop. The truck kept going.

Brian pulled himself shakily to his feet and ran toward the truck, when his brain finally flicked on and registered that he was running right into the hands of the oncoming mob. Sneakers screeching to a stop again, he turned and did the only thing he could think to do; he ran to the next level of the garage.

He ran slowly. He could feel the mob press in on him, gaining ground as he ran. Injuries slowed Brian as he ran to the third floor. He could also hear the sound of the Ford, and someone shouting his name. Several someones.

As Brian peeked over the wall of the third floor, he saw the truck parked below. Its six occupants urged him to jump.

“Uhhh…Anna? Heights, remember?”

“Angry mob trumps heights, Brian!” she shouted back.

He looked over his shoulder, and the mob was only a moment away, so he climbed up onto the wall and dropped down to hang over the edge.

“Worst game of ‘rock, paper, scissors’ ever,” he muttered.

And then he fell.

Episode 4: The Hunted

Chapter 1 – Goat Savior

Linus was having an incredible dream. He was on the floor with two beautiful women, and they were all over him. These ladies were crazy. They just kept licking his arms, face, and chest. Then, just as things were getting good, a dinner bell woke him up.

He found himself on the floor of the treehouse, two small goats licking his face. His vision swam. Reality crept in, and his head pounded in response. That damn dinner bell kept ringing. His mouth tasted like bile, and his tongue felt like sandpaper. 

A woman yelled an “All clear,” and Linus remembered the gas. It had been a close call, but he’d managed to get to safety just in time and had managed to put a pretty good dent in the bottle of Jack to celebrate his victory.

Taking a look out of the window, he saw someone tossing chicken after chicken into a wheelbarrow. They must have died when the gas rolled through the neighborhood. He hoped that everyone else was okay.

“Well, crap,” he thought, “they’re going to know I took the whiskey.”

Another thought struck him then, and he smiled. The goats. He’d saved the goats. Linus laughed, and the goats bleated. 

It took several minutes to get the goats down from the treehouse, and when Linus finally reached the ground, he was covered in sweat. At this point he realized he couldn’t just clip the goats back to their tether and tell someone they were safe; he needed to make a more dramatic entrance, and knew just where to do it. 

Linus had been looking for a way to impress Talia. She’d stood up for him when her husband had laid hands on him, so if he was going to endear himself to this community, earning her trust would be the way to do it. Not to mention she was a good-looking lady, and this was a dangerous time. It’d be a shame to leave such a lovely lady alone if something were to happen to her husband. If he could drive a wedge in their relationship somehow, he might be able to leverage himself into a position of power in this militant little utopia.

He staggered over to the clinic, a goat over each shoulder. It smelled horrible, but the look worked, so he ran with it. Initially Linus wanted to kick the door in, but he realized that wouldn’t earn him any points, so he opted to set one of the goats down, open the door up with a free hand, and then pick the kid back up. 

Golden sunlight cascaded through the doors and created a silhouette about the hulking form in the doorway. Talia’s brain had a hard time processing what she was seeing. She had returned to the clinic to give her husband a drink for the pain he was in but had found the keys to the storage cabinet missing. She figured she must have lost them somewhere in the chaos. 

Her brain finally realized what it was she was looking at, and Talia couldn’t help it; she broke down and started crying.  The crying alarmed her husband, and he sat up, gun in hand, aiming at the door, and was startled to see his wife run over and hug the hulking shadow-form. 

John lowered his weapon, and when his wife finally broke her embrace, he was shocked to see Linus standing there holding two of the neighborhood’s pygmy goats. One of them at least was a buck, from the smell of it. He grinned, holstered his gun, and sat up on the table. 

“Well done, Linus. I don’t know how you did it, or where you’ve been, but saving those goats might have secured your spot in our little village. Come over here for a minute.” 

Linus set the goats down and walked over to the table, stopping a few feet away.

“Come closer, I don’t bite.” John was smiling, but Linus was on edge.

The intoxicated Linus stepped closer, and John extended his hand. Linus accepted the handshake, and John gripped the hand hard. “Thank you, Linus, for saving those goats. They’ll produce enough milk for the family they belong to. There may even be a little left over for butter and cheese that they can barter with.”

Linus relaxed, and for the first time since they met, he gave them a legitimate smile.

“One more thing, Linus. The whiskey.”

Linus tensed, and he realized with a panic that John still held his hand tightly. The smile slipped from both of their faces.

John saw Linus’ face pale, and he nodded. “Thought so. Wasn’t completely sure until now, but there you go. Linus, that alcohol isn’t for recreational use. That’s barter material. That’s medicine. God forbid you come in here with a gunshot or a serious injury,” he said, making a point to look down at his own hip and leg. “If something like that happened, and we were out of alcohol to dull the pain and clean the wound, you wouldn’t be very happy. I’m giving you a pass this time, to make up for what you did saving the goats. Next time, though, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Linus nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, John.”

The injured man smiled from his bed. “I’m happy to hear it. I do mean what I said about consequences, though, Linus. This is our survival at stake. It’s not a game. If you’re caught taking from this community again, you’ll be branded a thief and removed from our township. Go make yourself useful helping with the wall, or maybe the gardens. We’ll need you soon to join a few of the men to try and establish some trade routes. Never too soon to make friends and establish territories.”

Linus showed himself out of the clinic. He didn’t know what he was feeling. Something inside of him was starting to awaken. It felt good to be praised for a job well done. He could offer something to this group. He could help them survive; he owed it to them, even.

He imagined the old cartoons, an angel on one shoulder, a devil on the other, and chuckled. Never had he felt it more acutely than he did right now.

He walked over to a group of people who were busy turning over the soil of the neighborhood yards, preparing them for planting, and lent a hand busting sod. The group laughed as they worked, and one man even sang some old songs that Linus had never heard before. In all of his days at the office, or nights at the bars, he’d never felt more connected. Linus knew he could easily stumble in the future, but for now, while it served his best interests, he was choosing to listen to the Linus with the tiny halo.

Chapter 2 – Anyone Home?

Herbie eased his way into the house. It was a complete mess; it had obviously been ransacked. With each step he allowed the heel of his boot to rest on the floor, and then gradually increase the weight on that foot to make sure he wasn’t crunching on broken glass or some other debris. Moving this way allowed him to move incredibly quietly, but at the cost of speed. Speed wasn’t what Herbie was after, though. He needed to move safely and quietly to discover if the intruder was still in the house.

The spring day was beginning to cool slightly as evening set in, but there were still a few hours to go before the sun went down. The soft afternoon glow filtered through the drapes, offering some light in the otherwise dim house. Even with the cool air, sweat had begun to bead on Herbie’s wrinkled brow. Every few moments a bead would slither down his weather-beaten face, trying to find his eyes. It took all of his concentration to search the house. All it would take is a moment lost wiping his forehead for a shooter to come out of hiding and take him down.

He held his revolver in both hands, pointed at the ready, the index finger of his dominant hand resting gently on the trigger. Herbie continued to carefully clear the home.

A pair of heavy drapes moved suddenly as he edged near them, and Herbie almost let out a shout. Pulling the curtain back, he realized it was a gust of wind that had found its way through the broken glass of the window.

Minutes drifted by. Thom had begun to worry and pace around the front yard. Eventually Herbie sounded the “All clear,” and Thom breathed a sigh of relief that his friend was all right.

When he stepped inside and saw the mess, he nearly screamed. Framed photos of his family, including some of his wife, were smashed.  The photos the frames had contained were torn and trampled on, the broken glass littering the floor like tiny gems. The television and stereo system were missing, but that hardly mattered now. What really bothered him was the sense that the home he’d made with his wife and child, his safe place, had been invaded. Anger bubbled up into Thom, and for the second time in as many days he wished there was someone nearby to punch. Instead, he settled for collapsing into the overstuffed armchair he loved so much. He smiled as he thought about how much his wife had hated the stupid chair. It was one of the few points of contention in their relationship.

“Thom, I hate to bug you, little brother, but we should probably take what we need and get going.”

Roused from his thoughts, Thom nodded. “Herbie. After all of that running and walking, I’m not sure I can make myself get out of this chair.”

The old man plopped down on the sofa next to him in response.

“Oh, mama,” was all that Herbie could muster.

“What do you say we take a little nap? We’re beat. Running tired makes us a little reckless. World we’re living in now, we need to be on guard.”

Herbie responded with a snore.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Thom said, shaking his head. “That has to be some kind of record. I guess I’ll keep first watch.”

Thom rose with difficulty from the recliner and started collecting things he thought they might need into a pile on the floor. When Herbie was awake, they’d take a few minutes to sort through the items, categorize them, and repack.

The thieves, whoever they were, had taken most of the food and given the hall bathroom a pretty good once-over…most likely looking for prescription medication. Thom took a minute to toss some generic over-the-counter medications into his bag; a fever reducer, some anti-diarrheal medication, and some stool softeners to make sure both ends of that particular spectrum were taken care of.

Thom placed a water bottle under the sink’s faucet and turned on the tap. He filled up the first bottle and placed a second under the tap, which filled about half way before the line ran dry.

“Well, crap.”

He’d heard a few times that the water in the back of the toilet tank was clean, so off went the lid, and in went the bottle. He figured as long as he added iodine like they used to do when hiking, it would be fine, even if it were a little germy.

Moving on to his bedroom, he paused as he looked at the giant, pillow-top, king-sized mattress. “I’m going to miss you,” he said, thinking of the long nights he and Herbie had ahead of them out on the road. Sarah’s jewelry had been stolen. That was no surprise. He knew that his daughter still wore her mother’s wedding ring around her neck, and he took some solace in that. It would have infuriated him if thieves had stolen something so dear.

Fortunately, the looters must have been in a hurry. There was a small safe in the closet, something inexpensive that wouldn’t have stood up to a determined burglar. Thom cursed, remembering that the locking mechanism was one of those biometric fingerprint situations. Not the most useful way to unlock things under the current circumstances. Thankfully there was a physical key that could be used in a power outage; he just had to hope it was still where he’d left it.

Thom slid his hand to the top of the doorframe just inside the closet and felt his fingers rub against the key he’d taped to the wall. Ripping the key from the drywall, he quickly opened the small safe and grinned. His father in-law had left Sarah and him a small collection of firearms when he’d passed. Thom had never really been a “gun guy,” but he wasn’t one of the people out there who blamed all of society’s problems on them, either. They were a tool, and he’d just never grown up in an environment that would lead him to be proficient in firing them.

He and his wife had sold a few of them over the years to collectors, but there were still two guns remaining. One of the guns was a newer model Walther PPQ handgun chambered in 9mm, the other a Ruger 10/22 rifle. Thankfully there was still a box of ammunition for each of the weapons left in the safe, though he had no idea how old it was or how long it had been since either of the guns had been cleaned.

The grin that split his face was a perfect reflection of the joy he felt. He barely knew how to use the guns properly, but he knew that Herbie would show him later.

Clothing was next. Thom had hiked often enough in the past to know the value of thick socks, clean undies, and dressing in layers, so those items took priority.

Hygiene was next, so Thom stepped into the master bath. “Master” was such a misleading word; it never seemed to quite fit the humble bathroom attached to his bedroom, and Thom wondered, not for the first time, where that particular naming convention had come from.

Thom reached under the sink and grabbed two tubes of toothpaste and a couple of new toothbrushes he always kept on hand in case of guests. He also grabbed dental floss, both for its obvious uses and for use as cordage. It was strong, it could hold a knot, and he had plenty of it, and so if he needed to tie something together he wouldn’t necessarily need to cut up his good climbing rope. He also grabbed some unscented antiperspirant, a few bars of soap, and a couple of rolls of toilet paper. He’d take the tubes out later to save space and put the paper into sandwich bags to keep them dry.

After heading back into the living room where Herbie still snored away, he realized the mound of supplies was growing to a level that would be difficult to carry. An idea struck him then, and he walked over and woke the old man up.

“Herbie. Get up. We need to get this stuff packed up.”

The old man stirred, and when his eyes finally settled on the pile of cookware, medicine, clothing, random odds and ends of food, hygiene items, and the two firearms, he couldn’t help but stare.

“You have got to be kidding me.  There’s no way we can carry all that. Maybe when I was younger, but not now. There’s just no way my back could take it. I sincerely doubt yours would fare much better,” he said, poking a finger into Thom’s soft stomach.

Thom grinned. “Follow me, if your geriatric back can take it. I’ve got an idea.”

Herbie grumbled but followed Thom into the garage.

“All right, Thom, I’m here. Now what in the world is this idea of yours?”

Thom pointed, and Herbie’s humor sank to a new low.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Tell me you’re kidding me.
Please
be kidding me?”

“Afraid not, old man.”

“I was worried you’d say that.”

“Nothing to be done about it, though. You know it’s better than walking.”

Herbie sighed, an admission of defeat. “All right, then, let’s get packing.”