Undone: A Dystopian Fiction Novel (3 page)

              We all froze, panic surging. At the same time, we pulled out our phones.

              “You call Tyrsa,” Rick said to me. “I got Beth.”

              “And I have no battery left,” Lawrence added, tossing his phone in the air and catching it.

              I waited anxiously while the phone rang. With each ring, the fear grew stronger. Finally, she picked up. I turned on the speakerphone and Rick halted his call. We all leaned forward to catch Tyrsa’s voice.

              “Morgan?”

              “Are you girls ok?” I sputtered. “Did you see the rioting?”

              “Oh my god, yes!” Tyrsa exclaimed. “I was just going to call you. But we’re ok. Don’t worry. The manager locked the doors and we all went to the back, but they left the restaurants alone. It seemed targeted at retail, where they could just grab stuff off the shelves.”

              “Is it over? What happened?”

              “It all happened pretty fast,” Tyrsa said. “All these people just ran into the stores, grabbed what they could, and scattered. The police were here, so some people got caught, thrown down, that sort of thing.”

              “Did anyone get shot?” Lawrence asked, raising his voice.

              “Not that we saw. We heard some shots, but the police were shooting in the air to disperse the crowd.”

              “Jesus…” Lawrence breathed.

              We all sat back, relief just beginning to pierce the thick wave of panic that had dominated the last few minutes. I swallowed hard, feeling my heart slip back down to its proper place between my ribcage.

              “Well, we’re all glad you’re both okay,” I said. “When are you coming home?”

              “We wanted to stay, hopefully collect some more tips, but it doesn’t look like anyone is going to come out to this area, which makes sense. So in like the next thirty minutes?”

              “Okay. Stay safe.”

              “We love you girls!” Lawrence shouted.

              We could hear Beth laughing in the background before Tyrsa hung up. We all breathed deeply. They were safe. Still, we all felt a little jumpy. We just wanted everyone together. That would keep us safe.

“We need to secure the apartment,” Rick declared. “Once the stores and businesses are all empty, people will come after the houses and apartments.”

              “Damn,” Lawrence said, shaking his head. “People be crazy.”

              “People be
desperate
,” Rick corrected him. “It’s a little different.”

              “Is it?” I asked.

              I glanced at my phone. Tyrsa and Beth should be coming in about ten minutes, if they walked fast.

              “
Anyway
, “Rick said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not interested in definitions right now. The point is, we need to get those planks Tyrsa had us find and nail them up on the windows. We’re on the first floor. Prime targets. People will break those puppies in no time and crawl in.”

“Joe isn’t going to like us putting nails and shit in everything,” I said, cracking my knuckles nervously.

“Screw him,” Lawrence blurted. “I’m sure he’d rather have a few nails in the walls than a bunch of looters stripping the place down.”

We all nodded. It would be in the manager’s best interest to put boards up on all of the windows, especially on the first floor. Rick suggested even asking him if he would pay us to help with the rest of the building, put a deadbolt on the office door, and what not. It was still office hours, so Lawrence and I went to go find him while Rick located the supplies we needed. Sure enough, the manager, Joe Luck, was in his office with his laptop, typing away and frowning at his screen.

“Crazy day, huh, boys?” he said as we entered. “You see any of the situation going down in town?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “A bunch of stores were getting looted. It didn’t look like the police were handling it super well.”

Joe shook his head.

“It’s a powder keg,” he informed us. “They’ll call in for more reinforcements, probably get some people killed. It’s ugly, but that’s what it takes sometimes.”

“Yeah….well, we were hoping to avoid some of that ugly stuff by possibly barricading the apartment a little bit? We’ve got the wood and nails and stuff, board up the windows, maybe install some deadbolt locks?” Lawrence’s tone was hopeful.

Joe looked up from his computer, one eyebrow raised. I did not take it as a great sign. Lawrence and I glanced at each other.

“...of course, we’ll do it for free. A service, for the apartment,” I added, hoping to sweeten the deal.

Joe still looked skeptical. He turned a little in his swivel chair, back and forth, and looked out his window at the street.

“I don’t know, guys…how about just the locks? I’ll pay you for those. I just think the boarded-up windows thing is a bit extreme, you know?”

“Hmm mmm.”

“But I appreciate it. The locks are a good idea, though.”

So it was a partial victory. When we told Rick what Joe had said, he rolled his eyes a little, but picked out a few of the deadbolt locks we had collected.

“We’re boarding up our windows. As soon as it’s clear things are getting worse, okay?” he said.

“Agreed.”

“Rick will probably change his tune on that, too.”

Having the most experience with handy work, Rick installed the deadbolt locks. Joe stood by and watched as Rick fitted them unto the office door, the door to the whole apartment, and our door.

“I’ll ask the other tenants if they want locks too,” Joe suggested. “They can pay you for the lock and work if they think it’s a good idea.”

“Thanks,” Rick said, softening towards Joe at the prospect of getting work. “Appreciate it.”

Rick had just finished with the lock to our unit when the girls returned from work. They appeared breathless with dewy faces, but unharmed.

“How was it out there?” I asked, leaping to my feet.

Tyrsa set down the plastic bag of leftover food that she always brought back with her and heaved a dramatic sigh.

“Better than before,” she said. “There were cops everywhere and yellow tape. Looked like they got things under control.”

“The street was full of glass!” Beth exclaimed. “People had been breaking windows.”

Tyrsa gestured towards the pile of wood Rick had gathered in a corner.

“What’s all this? Boarding up windows?”

“Not yet,” Rick said. “Joe just wanted the deadbolt locks. We thought it was a good idea to fortify the place a bit.”

Tyrsa nodded, frowning. Lawrence peeked into Tyrsa’s bag and exclaimed happily at what he found.

“Is it ok if I have some of this?” he asked her, holding up a take-out box.

“Yeah, sure. I already ate,” Tyrsa replied absentmindedly.

“Wanna split it?” Lawrence asked me.

We busied ourselves with the hamburger Lawrence had discovered in the box. Beth went to her bedroom to change while Tyrsa went into the kitchen. I heard her open the fridge and close it without taking anything out. Rick went to join her and I could hear them murmuring together in tense voices. I didn’t catch exactly what they were saying, but I guessed it was about the unpaid electric bill. After a few moments of hushed arguing, Rick returned to the living room looking guilty. He counted the deadbolts in the box of supplies again under his breath. Lawrence and I had just finished the hamburger and were licking ketchup and mustard off our fingers when there was a knock on the door.

“Hey, guys,” Joe smiled, “I’ve got the news on in the office if you want to check out what’s going on. It’s pretty big.”

We all walked over to the office and looked up at the TV that Joe had atop a shelf. It was small and old - it even had an antenna - but it did the job. We watched with our mouths open as images of looting and rioting across Bloomington, Indianapolis, and other smaller towns flashed across the screen.

“A state of emergency has been declared for the Bloomington area,” the reporter said, standing in front of the police station where rows and rows of officers stood with guns across their chests. “Police officers from Indianapolis and other stations have moved in to support the overwhelmed Bloomington force. There are growing fears that these riots will escalate and begin to involve residential areas as well as retail. It is generally believed that the riots and violence originated among students upset with the price of food, before others in town - the unemployed, homeless, and similarly discontented - joined in.”

Joe scoffed, crossing his arms.

“What’s the point of violence?” he asked, to no one in particular. “If you’re lucky, you get away with some stuff without much but a scratch, but then you run out and then what? Do it over again? It’s not smart. Not thought out. Like most ‘protests,’ whatever that means.”

Joe turned to Rick and pulled out some folded bills from his pocket.

“Here’s some cash for the locks. I asked Mrs. Gaither and the gal with the kid if they wanted you to install the deadbolt, and they said yes, so you can put those on whenever they say it’s convenient. The other tenants aren’t around. Maybe they were mixed up in all the trouble in town.”

Rick took the money eagerly, thanking Joe more times than necessary, and looking relieved. We watched the TV for a few more minutes, but the story had already changed to more bad news about the economy at large. Some politician was being interviewed coming out of his big house and trying to sound sympathetic about “the hard times folks are going through,” but it just sounded like noise.

What did he really know about sacrifice? Did he have to fill up his Escalade once every week instead of twice? Buy the less expensive organic chicken at the store?

People in this country would have you believe that any sort of adaptation to a lifestyle - even the most lavish lifestyles - was a “sacrifice,” but the way I see it is, until you have to choose between paying your rent on time or getting enough to eat, it isn’t really a sacrifice. Sacrifices have to hurt. You have to really feel like you’re losing something. And maybe it really did hurt that millionaire to not get season tickets to whatever sports team he loved that year. I guess we also have different opinions about what “hurting” really means, too.

              We returned to our apartment feeling confused and a little scared. Rick was relatively cheerful, he had money in his pocket, but he was also worked up about what we had seen on the TV.

              “Joe’s right about violence being pointless,” he said, taking his usual spot on the floor and pulling out the envelope of money he had been counting earlier. “It just makes everything worse for everyone.”

“I mean, I don’t support the violence, but what else can people really do?” Beth asked quietly, her eyes questioning. “I’ve never been so hungry that I would loot a store, but if I had kids or people who depended on me, what other choice would I have?”

“There’s just got to be another choice,” Rick insisted. “There’s always another choice.”

“Is there?” Lawrence pressed, leaning against the back of the couch with his arms hanging down. “Seriously. Think about it. No money, no food, no time. The system won’t help you. The soup kitchens are full. No one is hiring. What would you do, Rick?”

Rick was silent. He knew Lawrence was right, but he didn’t say anything. He just looked down at the envelope of cash he held and sighed.

“So I got the money,” he said, changing the subject. “For the electric bill.”

He held it out for Tyrsa.

“Sorry it took so long.”

Tyrsa took it from him without a word and disappeared into her bedroom to put it with the rest of the cash. She returned, licking the addressed envelope.

“Hopefully the lights go back on soon,” she remarked, lifting the envelope like she was toasting the room.

Beth still looked lost in thought. She sat on the floor, her back against the couch, knees up to her chest. I reached out and rubbed her back to comfort her, but she acted like she didn’t even feel my touch.

“What do we do when we run out of food?” she asked suddenly. “Are we going to have to start looting, too?”

I glanced at Rick and Lawrence -who were looking at Beth with concerned faces. Tyrsa returned from putting the envelope in the mail slot and Beth repeated her question.

“Our stockpile will run out eventually,” she said. “What are we going to do when that happens?”

We all looked to Tyrsa. She was the one who was supposed to have all the answers. She would put our minds at rest.

“Well,” Tyrsa began. “We have enough for a couple days. A week, if we stretch it out. And we can still go out and buy stuff, we just have to be careful and should probably do that pretty soon, before everything runs out.”

“So...like tomorrow?” Lawrence asked.

“Yeah.”

“We should all go. We’ll be safer in a group,” Rick suggested. “And in the morning.”

We agreed to head out as early as possible, when the stores first opened, and get as much as we could afford.

Rick went out with his tools and installed the locks on Mrs. Gaither’s door as well as the single mom’s, whose name we finally learned was Jenny. She had a little girl, about five, who she introduced as Darcy. Jenny seemed to take a liking to Rick and talked to him the whole time he installed the lock. She gave him ten dollars, which was all she said she could afford.

              “That’s more than generous,” Rick insisted, breaking into a grin. “You girls stay safe, all right?”

              Between what Rick got for installing the locks, and the cash the rest of us were able to scrounge up, we had around fifty dollars for our supply run.

Beth began to look more relaxed and cheerful. She brought out her sketchbook and drew happily in the living room for the rest of the early afternoon. Lawrence and Rick went off to find an open coffee shop or bar where they could charge their electronics and where Rick could look for advertised work on the bulletin boards. Left to entertain myself, I sat by Beth on the couch and thumbed through one of my textbooks.

              Getting books for school made me feel like I was a spy trying to locate certain secret documents. I traveled to cheap bookstores, sifted through pages upon pages of Ebay and Amazon, copied chapters from library books so worn their pages were practically transparent, and tracked down former class participants to ask if they still had their copies. The book I held in my lap was one of the few full textbooks I had, as opposed to the binders of photocopied or even handwritten pages I put together. It was a lot of work compiling those binders, but the fifty to a hundred dollars I saved made it all worth it. With the money I hoarded from my unusual methods, I had been able to pay my share of the rent our first month in Bloomington
and
buy Tyrsa a pint of ice cream for her birthday, which had been in September. Now it was late October, almost Halloween, and all that saved money was gone.

              Uninterested in reading, I looked over to see what Beth drew. She had been focusing mostly on pencil sketches lately, since pencils were cheap and she was reserving her paints for large projects.

As I watched her hand move, an image of a building revealed itself. Beth added steps and a door, and I suddenly recognized it as our apartment. I was about to say something when I noticed she was drawing wooden boards in our window. The glass in the window was shattered, with some jagged pieces still clinging to the frame, and the door had splintery nicks in it like someone had been striking it with an axe.