December 4th, 10am, 79
days after the Blackout – Los Angeles, CA
Once a famous Hollywood
starlet with a staff to cater to her every whim, Lily McIntyre wasn’t used to
waiting for anything. She had been a household name, beloved by millions; now,
thanks to the blackout, she was one of hundreds in line to register for
Rations.
Her
recognizable face had gotten her this far into the Blackout, though, so she
couldn’t totally complain—not that her face being so easily recognizable was
always a good thing. Riots had erupted all over L.A. once it was announced that
the Dollar had fallen, and she’d escaped her mansion just as the rioters
started in on her street. Her staff had all deserted her when the Second Great
Depression started—her fortune was now worthless, so there was no longer any
reason to stay—so she was on her own. She dressed casually and disguised
herself as best she could, a small duffel bag containing all of her remaining
worldly possessions flung over her shoulder as she crept down the street, away
from the violence.
She’d bribed a
truck driver with some jewels to get to her summer home in Santa Barbara. She
was glad the riots hadn’t reached that far north and that she hadn’t visited in
a while; she was greeted with a fully stocked kitchen, drawers of clean clothes,
and fresh linens. After barricading the doors with heavy furniture, she enjoyed
a hot meal—thankfully she’d taken cooking classes for a character she’d had to
play—followed by a long soak in her hot tub. She saw the charred skeleton of
her former mansion on the television as she got ready for bed, and it sent a
chill up her spine. She hardly slept that night despite the deluxe pillow top
mattress and fluffy down comforter, but at least she was safe.
Lily barely
felt the effects of the chaos overwhelming the rest of the country for the
first few weeks. She spent her days watching television, exercising in her gym,
and swimming laps in her pool. Her chef had kept a shelf of cookbooks in the
kitchen, so Lily learned to cook even more gourmet meals. She hated having to
clean up after herself—her maids used to do that for her—but she was proud that
she was living comfortably on her own.
One night, she
was drinking a piña colada while thinking of Antoine, a former lover whom she’d
briefly dated right after the Blackout began, when she heard the knock at the
front door. Shit, she thought, her
heart racing. Why did I leave so many
lights on? There’s no way to pretend that no one’s here! Grabbing a kitchen
knife, she ran to her bedroom upstairs. She peeked out of the window, and she
noticed at least five men at her door, none of them looking particularly
friendly. Shit.
She hoped the heavy
furniture in front of the doors would block their entry, but they were no match
for that many people working to break down a door. She slid under her bed,
pressing herself against the wall and praying they wouldn’t find her. For a
while, she thought she successfully dodged them as they made their way through
her house, but a blinding light soon revealed her presence. She tried to fight
back as they pulled her from under the bed, slicing one of their arms with her
knife, but they paid her back for struggling.
Lily regained
consciousness hours later, bruised and battered inside and out. She’d never
felt such pain in her entire life despite portraying it in her movies. She
could hear them carrying on downstairs, no doubt raiding her alcohol cabinet as
they took a break from using her. She knew she had to escape; she wouldn’t
survive another round with them.
Using all the
energy she could muster, she crawled to the bathroom window; there was an
awning on that side of the building, so she could fall onto it and roll into
the bushes below. It wouldn’t be a graceful escape, but she doubted the pain
she’d feel on impact would come anywhere near what she already felt. She could
barely stand or see out of her left eye, but with one forceful push her
trembling hands got the window open enough for her to slide through.
Standing on her
tiptoes, she could touch the awning as her finger gripped the outside window
sill, so she landed with relative ease. She rested on the awning for a few
moments, catching her breath as every fiber of her being cried out in pain. She
wanted so badly to curl into a ball and sob, but she needed to get out.
Lily scooted to
the edge, peering below. Light shone from the first floor window, so dangling
over the edge wouldn’t be an option; she’d have to roll off and hope no one was
looking outside at that moment. Closing her eyes tightly, she braced for
impact.
Branches
pierced her skin, but there were no major injuries. She crawled around the side
of the house until she couldn’t see lights, then she got up and ran for her
life despite her trembling legs. She didn’t dare knock on any of her neighbor’s
doors for fear the group who took her home had taken others, so she stayed
hidden in the dark and got as far as she could from her former home.
She must’ve
passed out at some point, because she opened her eyes to find herself in the
back seat of a car, covered with a blanket. Panic consumed her at first—she
thought the men had found her and were taking her back to her house—but the
female driver assured her that she was safe and that she was being taken to a
nearby hospital for medical treatment.
A nurse bathed
her and dressed her wounds, and it felt better than any luxury spa treatment
she had ever experienced. They kept her overnight for observation as she had
cracked ribs and other internal damage. The hospital sheets and pajamas were
scratchy, but she still slept more soundly than she had in weeks.
After she was
released, she caught a bus back to L.A. and found the nearest FEMA camp. There
weren’t many camps on the west coast, but some were now necessary thanks to the
riots leaving many people homeless. Once she got settled into her new home,
they directed her to the Ration Registration Office. Unlike the camps in the
Storm Zone, the government hadn’t allocated separate Rations to those on the
west coast, so everyone received the same Rations.
“Next!” the
Ration clerk said.
Lily approached
the counter nervously. “Hello,” she greeted. “I would like to apply for
Rations.”
“Do you have
identification?” the clerk asked.
She shook her
head. “I lost everything escaping,” she replied, the bruises still fresh on her
face to corroborate her story.
The clerk
nodded, putting medical gloves on. “Stick out your hand, please,” she
instructed.
Lily’s brow
furrowed. “Why?”
“Standard blood
test to verify identity,” she replied. Lily handed over a finger which the clerk
pricked with a needle. She squeezed out a drop of blood onto a strip and placed
in into a machine. “Please look over to this camera as well, please, so we can
scan you face into the system with facial recognition technology.”
The computer
only took a few seconds to recognize her face. Once the confirmation appeared
on the screen, the clerk’s eyes widened. “Miss McIntyre!” she said. “I’m so
sorry; I didn’t recognize you! Please, go have a seat in our waiting room and
someone will call you in just a few minutes.”
Lily thanked
her and proceeded to the waiting room. She perused an outdated magazine, tuning
out the news broadcast on TV. While she once felt sympathy for the people in
the Blackout and Storm Zones, she was much more apathetic these days. She had her
own problems to worry about.
“Please, sir, I
give you everything you need!” a voice pleaded from the registration counter.
Lily peeked out of the waiting room to see an older Asian gentleman speaking to
a clerk. “You have my Visa number, you see my face on the computer. Why you not
give me the Rations?”
“Sir, if you
can please be patient, we just have a few more steps before we can process
you,” the clerk said sternly. He turned around the monitor. “It shows here that
your work visa expired a month ago.”
“I come from
the Blackout Zone,” the man explained. “There was no way for me to renew. I got
to West Coast as soon as I could.” Tears filled his eyes. “Please, sir, I live in
America 10 years. I have schedule to take citizen test before the power go away.
How can I renew with no power? Please help me, sir!”
The clerk
glared at him. “Mr. Cho, I’m going to have to ask you to remain calm, or we’re
going to have to ask you to leave.”
The man’s
shoulders slumped with helplessness. He leaned back in his chair, tears
streaming down his face.
“Miss McIntyre,
please come this way,” a man said from the doorway. “We have your ration cards
ready.”
She nodded,
following the man as she hoped Mr. Cho was granted Ration access.
