Chapter 5

December 5th, 5:00pm, 80 days after the Blackout – Harmony, PA

“It’s your hour on the bike, Clint!” Jonathan called.

“On my way!” he replied, jogging over. “I was doing inventory on canned corn.”

“How are we?” Jonathan asked.

Clint smiled. “We still have a pallet and a half. I think we’ll be okay for a while.”

“Excellent,” he said, adjusting his rifle strap. “It’s my watch. I’ll see you at chow time.”

“Have fun!” Clint said as he sat on the bicycle seat. The rear end of the bike was raised off of the ground, a wooden stand built around it to keep it stationary. On one side of the tire was the bicycle chain, and on the other side was another chain which attached to a drive belt behind the stand. As the bicycle was pedaled, the belt drive charged car batteries which had been daisy chained together. Every able warehouse resident was in charge of pedaling for one hour on the bike every other day to keep the batteries charged. With over two dozen people living in the warehouse, they kept the batteries charged enough to run a few lights or small appliances. They primarily used solar powered and hand-cranked lanterns and flashlights, so the generator was used for power tools or to illuminate the deeper recesses of the warehouse when they needed to find a particular type of food.

Not only did the bicycle generator help with keeping the power on, but it also provided exercise. No one had left the premises since the Blackout, and there wasn’t much activity outside of being on watch. Some brought books, magazines, and games with them, so they at least had some form of entertainment.

They had all worked in the food distribution center before the Blackout. It was located almost an hour north of Pittsburgh and was only close to a few small towns. When the radio broadcasts first started to announce that this was no ordinary blackout, the workers decided to band together to fortify the warehouse. Unlike other city-based warehouses, there were no local gangs to speak of, so there wasn’t much hassle in the transition. Anyone who tried to get in was quickly discouraged from doing so by those on watch. Those who weren’t on guard duty went home, gathered their families as well as any supplies they deemed useful, and headed back to the compound.

Once everyone was inside and accounted for, the gates were securely fastened, and the entire perimeter was barricaded by any cars and trucks in the yard. All vehicles were stripped of useful materials—batteries, supplies in the trunks and cabs, seats and benches—then the supplies were stored in the warehouse. Offices were converted into living quarters using the seats, benches, and blankets while other materials were used to fashion rain barrels for storing water. There was plenty of bottled water inside the building, but there was no sense in wasting that for showers, cleaning, and flushing toilets. Luckily the warehouse was almost fully stocked, so there would be enough food to last them several years if need be.

The radio broadcasts had become increasingly grim over the past few months, and he was thankful he was sheltered from most of it. They occasionally had a few issues; there had been a small rodent infestation once it started cooling down outside, but they seemed to have gotten it under control.

The major issue they faced was protecting their new home from invaders. Several groups tried to come in, threats and violence increasing as outsiders became more desperate. There’d been a group of looters a few months back who had tried to breach the perimeter by opening a section of fence, but the guards spotted them and quickly ran them off before they could cause any damage. They heard on the CB a while back that most of the group had been killed during a scuffle at a nearby trading post. Fortunately, nearly everyone who went home brought at least one firearm and several hundred rounds for each, so they had enough firepower stocked to defend their new home. Their supply wouldn’t last forever, though; if they experienced a significant battle they would be scrambling fast.

Clint’s mind wandered as usual while he pedaled. He wondered how his brothers and parents were; without phones, there was no way of letting them know where he was or that he was okay. His brothers were all older with families of their own, so they were probably fine, but his parents had just left on a cruise to the Caribbean a few days before the Blackout struck; he had no idea if they even made it out of the path of the Superstorm or if their ship was at the bottom of the Atlantic. His worry about them kept him up some nights.

“THERE’S MOVEMENT AT THE PERIMETER!” Clint heard someone shout over his walkie talkie.

He stopped pedaling immediately and bolted to the nearest guard post. He retrieved a shotgun as he peered outside. “How many are we looking at?”

“Five males,” a guard responded. “They’re near the southwest corner, and they have binoculars. I see a few holstered firearms and one rifle.”

Clint hurried to the guard station nearest to where the strangers were. A few people had gathered while others went to the opposite ends to ensure the men’s appearance wasn’t a diversion for a larger group getting ready to ambush.

“Who’s going out there with me?” Jonathan, the head guard, called out. Clint raised his hand as did as a few others. “Stay alert, and make sure your safety’s off. Keep an eye on them and our surroundings. We don’t want ambushed. I’ll do the talking.”

The group cautiously exited the side door, checking in all directions before advancing. “What do you want?” Jonathan asked sternly, his rifle cocked and pointed at them.

One of the men scowled. “Nice place ya got here,” he shouted from the fence. “Say, you got any spare water? We’re mighty parched!”

Clint’s stomach churned and his heart pounded with adrenaline. The man at the gate was only pretending to be friendly; a hint of malice in his voice made him sound intimidating without being outright menacing. His calm, manipulative tone was more dangerous than doling out actual threats, in Clint’s opinion.

“We have nothing extra to give to anyone!” Jonathan yelled back. “You fellas had best be on your way!”

“Oh, I highly doubt you don’t have any extras in that place,” he hissed. “I’d be mighty excited to get a gander at what you have stored up in there.” His hand brushed against the tattered rifle sling. “How’s about you just let us in?”

The guards trained their weapons on the outsiders as soon as his fingers touched the sling. “That isn’t going to happen!” Jonathan shouted. “All of you back the fuck away from our property before me and my buddies here make sure you never go anywhere again!”

The group laughed scornfully. “We’ll go for now,” the leader said. “But there’s a pretty good chance you’ll be seeing us again real soon.” He nodded to his group, and they retreated into the woods.

Chapter 4

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.

Chapter 3

December 3rd, 2:00pm – Slippery Rock, PA

The militia members sat underneath the pavilion around various metal garbage cans, heat radiating from the logs burning within. Someone was walking around with cups of coffee, everyone eagerly drinking the warm liquid. Steve, Taylor, and Harry were huddled together to preserve body heat. The cold weather hadn’t been so bad during drills; they were all moving around enough to stay cozy. Now that practice was over, though, the sweat on their backs and brows felt like sharp, cold thorns that drained the warmth from their bodies.

Taylor shivered slightly, pulling her coat around her. “That warm shower sounds amazing right about now,” she muttered.

Harry nodded. “I’m looking forward to changing into thermal pajamas when we get back home.”

“Are there any other chores for us to do when we get home?” Steve asked.

“I don’t think we should hunt today,” Harry replied. “It’s too cold for that. Hopefully Chloe and Tori got some fish. Even if they didn’t, I could go for one of Meghan’s jars of beef stew.”

Taylor’s stomach growled in response. They always brought food with them to keep their energy up, but she could use a hot, hearty meal after practicing so hard all day.

“Hi there, guys,” Bobby greeted as he walked over. He glanced at Taylor and smiled bashfully. “And Taylor.” Bobby was one of the vendors from the trading post with whom Steve, Harry, and Bryan had made friends when they’d saved his mother from a cholera outbreak. Bobby never knew there were any females in their group until Taylor joined the militia; for the first few months, the women had never visited the trading post and the men kept quiet about their living situation. The less people knew about the cabin, the better, as far as they were concerned.

It didn’t take Bobby long to learn, once she joined the militia, that Taylor could hold her own—better than most of the older men there could—and that she didn’t take anyone’s crap. Whenever other militia members would give her flack for being a “little girl trying to be tough,” she’d put them in their place. Harry was always filled with pride when he saw her defend herself against arrogant chauvinists; he never had to intervene as she’d easily come back at any man who challenged her. It wasn’t long before Taylor was treated like one of the guys, and Bobby admired her greatly for her strength. She reminded him of his mother having to be strong and take care of him and his brother after his father had died. She and Taylor would probably get along quite well.

Taylor looked at him and smiled. “Hey there, Bobby,” she replied casually. Six years his junior, he was the only person near her age in the militia, so they would often discuss pre-Blackout hobbies like their favorite movies and video games. He was always polite to her, and her father and Steve had taken a liking to him.

“How's your town holding up?” Steve asked. “Are the people from the tent cities still helping out?”

Bobby nodded. “We’d probably be much worse off if it wasn’t for them,” he responded. “I’m really glad they moved into the vacant homes. They’ve done a great job teaching people how to hunt and fish, and many of them contributed extra supplies to the community’s rations. Many of us would be close to starving by now if it wasn’t for them.” He sighed. “That doesn’t mean we still won’t, though; it’s getting harder to find food, and the rations are getting low even with everyone just taking the bare minimum and reducing portion sizes. I’m sure there are those who are hoarding food—which honestly I totally understand because of all the hard work we put into our vegetable garden—but most of the neighborhood has been great.”

“Maybe the militia can figure out a way to get more food to the towns, at least until spring,” Harry said.

“I hope so,” Bobby began, “otherwise I worry that a lot of us won’t make it to spring.” He shuffled his feet. “Um, I also wanted to ask: will Doctor Bryan be coming to any of the militia meetings?”

“Probably not,” Steve replied. “Why? Your mom isn’t sick again, is she?”

“No, she’s fine. I just…well…I was thinking. There’s probably going to be an outbreak of the flu at some point—it is that time of year, after all—and I was hoping to maybe get with him to get a game plan together in the event another communicable disease hits the town. We don’t have a resident doctor; it’d be nice to have a little bit of know-how to prevent too many people from getting gravely ill.”

Harry nodded. “Good thinking,” he agreed. “I’ll talk to Bryan. Maybe you guys can meet at the trading post to discuss arrangements, or he can come to your house on cold days.”

“I’d really appreciate that,” Bobby said. “Thank you.” He finished his tea, throwing the paper cup into the fire. “I should get going.” He shook Steve’s and Harry’s hand, smiling again at Taylor. “I’ll see you at the next meeting, if I don’t see you at the trading post first.”

“I’m sure you’ll see us around the trading post soon,” Steve said. “Hopefully we’ll have some warmer days so the dairy farmer and baker will show up.”

“I hope so,” Bobby agreed. “I have lots of potatoes I’d like to trade for canned food.”

As Bobby walked away, Taylor shook her head. “We have it pretty good,” she whispered. “I feel bad for these people. I wish there was more I could do.”

“We’ll figure out a way,” her father said. “Without them, there’d be no militia, and I worry about what kind of people we’d be dealing with without them around.”