I
When I first heard about it, they were ‘riots’ on some island I’d never heard of in the South Pacific. In a few days, before anyone knew what’d happened there were reports that it’d reached Tokyo and London. Before the Senate voted on the Republican’s plan there were ‘cannibals’ in LAX, and JFK. That night was when Nancy and I decided to try and get out.
We drove the two hours over to Creevy to get Nancy’s sister, and her two kids: Kimberly and Bradley, who were only five and three.
The night we got back Nancy and Elizabeth put the kids to bed and started to pack all our food and clothes and tools into boxes and line them up in the garage. The plan was that I go straight to my Dad’s house and convince him to leave the city with us, so we could use his truck, and trailer. We didn’t think we could take enough stuff for the five of us in the sedan. I was obviously anxious to seem him, and decided I’d go and get some gas first as a stalling tactic. The line for the first gas station was, thankfully, around the block, and I had to wait twenty minutes in line. By the time I got to the pump they would only let me get one twenty gallon can, and fill the tank. It took me a an hour and a half, and four other gas stations, (one of them completely dry) before I filled our cans. Cars filled the road going in different directions, but mostly west—out of the city. I was, for the moment, moving against them.
When I got to my Dad’s house it was late, and I wasn’t surprised to see dark windows. I pulled up the short gravel driveway and to the garage door, which was closed. Things were relatively quiet. I could hear the hum of cars idling through the traffic and all the breath left me when I heard a noise behind me in the gravel. I turned my head quickly, grasping at my hip for the crowbar I’d forgotten in the car—to see my father, sitting in a silver aluminum lawn chair, holding a rifle in his hands.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
He patted the gun sitting in his lap.
“What are you doing with the rifle?” I asked shaking my head and walking to him.
“What’d’ya think I’m doing. Keeping my property,” he said nodding up to the wizened Streamline trailer behind him, “from the crazies.
“What are you doing here? I’d’ve thought you and Nancy would’ve left by now.”
I walked the rest of the way up to him and squatted down by his legs. “We think you should come with us,” I said. He cocked his eyebrow, “Me and Nancy.”
“Why the hell do you care what happens to me?” He asked.
I clenched my teeth, “You’re my father,” I said.
He let out a huff in the dark.
I stood up abruptly, “We don’t have time for this.” I began for his house, which was unsurprisingly unlocked, and went inside. I could hear him making disgruntled sounds for his chair, and then it’s plaintive squeaks as he got out of it and lumbered after me.
I was in his bedroom before I head him shout from the front door, “This is my house, damnit.” I found and old College duffle bag and began packing his sturdiest looking clothes in it—quietly.
“Why are you stealing my clothes?” he shouted. These are my things.”
“Dad, you’re coming with us.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I can pack your things myself.” I said.
“This is a felony,” He said, “I’ll call the police.”
I turned and looked up at him, holding his clothes in my hands. I sighed and kept packing. “Dad, you’re coming with us.”
“Why the hell would I do that?” He shouted.
“Because Mom wouldn’t want you do die in your fucking trailer all alone. She wouldn’t want your corpse eaten by monsters.” He fixed me with a steely gaze. “—and neither do I,” I said, looking down feigning contemplation, ashamed of myself.
There was a long pause, where I (not knowing what else to do) continued packing his clothes, a pile of unsuitable Hawaiian shirts, and cheap slacks piling around my knees.
“I don’t have much food,” he said.
“We’ve got food,” I said. There was another long pause. I heard the bed creak under is weak frame as he sat down. He didn’t have any decent shoes. Just cheap leather loafers, and old wingtips.
I could hear him breathing heavily behind me. “I guess I’ll go start up the truck.” He said standing up.
He got to the door before I, without looking up, gathered the courage to say: “Dad we need guns.” I let out my breath and dropped the sweater I was holding.
“Of course we do,” He said. I turned around to look at him, gaping. “You go put those clothes in the streamline, I’ll go get ‘em”
I threw a balled pile of clothes at him. “Put these on,” I said.
—Introduction and Dramatis Personæ
