Alone: Book 1: Facing Armageddon Read online

  Once the refrigerator was no longer cool on the inside, he moved the barbacoa to the chest freezer in the garage. The stuff in the freezer had started to thaw after two days, but was still cold enough to keep his barbacoa from spoiling. At least until he could polish it off.

  Once he finished eating, he went into the garage to start his second project.

  Like many people, Dave and Sarah only parked one of their cars in their two car garage. Usually, people who did that made the second half of their garage into a workshop, or a storage area.

  And technically, Dave and Sarah did that too. But the stuff in their storage area looked anything but typical. For on the unused half of their garage was a huge pile of lumber and plywood.

  The bottom layer of the stack consisted of four sheets of half inch plywood, laid side by side. There were nineteen other similar layers, for a total of eighty uncut sheets of plywood. After that were two layers of two by fours and four by four fence posts, followed by several pieces of plywood that had been cut into various shapes and sizes. The cut pieces all had holes drilled into them in random places, as did many of the two by fours. On top of all of that, from the top of the stack and stretching almost to the ceiling, was Dave’s Faraday cage.

  Boxes of survival supplies and dried food were stacked all around the pile.

  They’d tried to plan for everything. And everything meant not only wood for a soundproof enclosure for the generator. It also meant wood for a safe room and an outhouse.

  The cut pieces of plywood and lumber also had vague markings on them in black sharpie, that seemingly made no sense at all.

  But Dave knew what they meant.

  Dave knew because all of the pieces with holes and markings had been prefabricated. Cut for specific reasons. They’d all been assembled to make sure they fit together properly, and then taken apart again.

  Dave took a propane lantern and screwed it onto a small disposable bottle of propane. He lit it and placed it on the floor next to the lumber pile. So he wouldn’t be overcome by carbon dioxide, he left the door to the house open and opened the patio door on the other side of the kitchen. He hoped it would provide enough ventilation.

  Then he got to work.

  -10-

  Dave worked fast. He knew the dangers of carbon dioxide poisoning. He knew it crept up on its unsuspecting victims, made them think everything was fine until they passed out. And that sometimes they never woke up.

  He took a pair of wire cutters off a pegboard on the wall where he kept most of his tools. He snipped the heavy chicken wire that covered all six sides of his Faraday cage, and removed one of the panels.

  Then he grabbed several appliances from it. The three thousand watt generator. A battery charging station. A small television set and DVD player. A coffee pot and microwave.

  And finally, in the back of the cage, he found what he was looking for. A large cardboard box marked “flashlights, floodlights and batteries.”

  “All right!” he said. “Come to Daddy, so we can get you hooked up. It’s starting to get stuffy in here.”

  Dave opened the box and took out a large camping light. Made to light a large tent, it worked equally well to light a large room. And it worked on six “D” batteries.

  Most of the batteries in the box were rechargeable. But there were also some old fashioned disposable batteries that were fully charged and ready to go. Those were the ones he put into the camp light.

  Once the batteries were in, he held his breath and turned on the switch. The light came on instantly, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  The Faraday cage had worked as advertised. Everything inside it had been saved from the EMP.

  He turned off the propane lantern and unscrewed it from the small propane bottle. He put the bottle back where he’d gotten it, in the corner of the garage with four twelve pack cases of similar bottles. From now on, the propane would be used solely for boiling his drinking water.

  The camp light gave him plenty of light to finish up his project: selecting the pieces for his soundproof generator box.

  Each piece was marked in sharpie, with the letter “G”. It was followed by more cryptic code that only Dave and Sarah understood.

  For example, “G-L-O” meant the piece belonged to the generator box, was the left wall, and that the markings were written on the outside.

  It wasn’t unlike a big tinker toy set. All of the pieces had already been assembled once. But for the box to go back together exactly the same way, all of the pieces had to be returned to their exact original position. Otherwise the screw holes wouldn’t line up.

  The generator box only had five sides. Without an adequate air supply, it would cut out and die. Therefore, the front of it, or the side facing the door leading into the house, was left off the structure.

  The structure was for soundproofing only. It was never intended to protect the occupants of the house from carbon dioxide poisoning. It was only meant to muffle the sound of the generator so it wouldn’t attract undue attention from passersby or looters.

  It took Dave almost until sundown to find the pieces of two by fours that made up the structure’s frame, and to screw everything into place. Then he positioned the generator within the enclosure, and stood back to inspect his handiwork.

  So far, so good. But he wasn’t finished yet. Behind the pile of lumber, up against the wall, next to several heavy plastic tarps, he retrieved two rolls of sound insulation and wrapped the entire structure.

  Then he stepped back again to admire his work.

  It wasn’t pretty. But then, it wasn’t meant to be. It was meant to be effective, and he had confidence it would be. The generator ran quietly anyway, no louder than a car idling. Inside the structure, the sound would be muffled even further. The first time he’d assembled it, the previous summer, he stood in his driveway on a still night, with the garage door open. He couldn’t hear the generator running at all. With the door closed, he was confident he could run it safely for short periods without anyone on the outside knowing.

  He went back to his fence project. It was twilight now, but he could already see a half moon in the sky. There was no need to stop working. Not just yet.

  He’d already found that it was good to exhaust himself before going to bed. That way he’d fall asleep almost immediately, instead of thinking about Sarah and the girls.

  And wondering if they were dead or alive.

  So for another two hours, until just past eleven, he inserted screws into the fence.

  By the time he’d finally done the last of them, his arms felt like putty and burned.

  But anybody dumb enough to climb over this fence, by God, would pay a very heavy price.

  -11-

  I’m writing this by candlelight. It’s about three in the morning, and I’m having trouble sleeping. I pray every night that you made it safely to Kansas City and met Tommy and Susan there. I know they’re taking good care of you, if only you were able to make it that far.

  As for the other option, that your plane fell from the sky, I’m trying not to think of that. It keeps popping into my head, and I try to force it back out again. It’s just an option I refuse to accept.

  It occurred to me that I haven’t cried for you yet. I wondered why. And then I realized that crying for you would be tantamount to admitting that you didn’t make it. And I will never admit that.

  As for me, I’ll continue to press on. If I knew you were all dead, I’d end my own life in a heartbeat. But I believe you’re still alive. I have to.

  I believe something else, too. I believe that someday, somehow, we’ll be together again. I will find you, and I will find a way to get you back here. I promise you that.

  I’m just not ready to give you all up yet.

  The fence project is finished in our yard as well as the Hansen house. I’ve also vacated the front room and cleared out the driveway. It appears to have worked. I’ve seen people reading the foreclosure signs and then leaving, without breaking in or knocking on the door. I don’t know if they were bad men looking to loot our belongings, or just desperate men begging for food or water. In the end, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got plenty of both, but won’t be sharing it. That may not be the Godly thing to do, but I’m not giving it all away to strangers and then running short when you guys get back here. So I’ll continue to conserve it as best I can, and to make it last as long as possible.

  I can hear gunshots in the distance. Even more than last night. I fear the world is turning into an ugly place. I only pray that you are safe.

  I’ve decided to let the rabbits out of their cages tomorrow. I’m also going to assemble the outhouse. I’m tired of pissing into a hole in the ground.

  Well, I guess that even with the outhouse I’ll still be doing that. But at least I’ll have some privacy.

  Good night, sweet Sarah. I love you.

  -12-

  Dave awoke at mid morning, and looked at his watch. He’d forgotten to wind it the day before. For a brief moment he panicked, then decided to reset it for twelve when the sun was at its highest point and call that good enough.

  He cursed himself for wasting so much of the day when there was still so much to be done.

  First, he went to the window, and carefully lifted one of the blinds to look down at the street below. There wasn’t anyone out and about. Perhaps the distant gunshots were keeping everyone in their houses. Still, he expected to see more people looking for food and water.

  In the street, he could see a box of corn flakes and two cans of V-8 juice, still attached to their plastic carrier. He wondered where they came from. Dropped by a looter in the darkness, perhaps?

  Then he saw a front door open, at the house across the street and two houses over.

  Someone else had al
so seen the corn flakes and V-8. Someone perhaps a bit more desperate than Dave.

  Dave watched as the man, who he recognized but never met, scurried out to the street and grabbed the items. Then he ran back into his house and closed the door.

  Dave wondered how desperate his neighbors would become a week from now. Or two weeks, when their pantries were running low.

  Then he heard gunshots again. These were much closer than the ones the night before. They sounded like they came from the end of his own block. Three gunshots, a few seconds apart. Then a fourth shot, maybe thirty seconds later.

  He picked up the AR-15 he kept leaning against the window sill. He didn’t expect any trouble. After all, who would assault an empty house?

  But somehow just holding the weapon, and knowing he was ready to use it, gave him some comfort.

  His second AR-15 was downstairs, by the back door. When he worked outside, he kept it within a few yards at all times.

  Just in case.

  Another twenty minutes ticked by before Dave decided he was wasting his time, standing by the window. There was no assault coming. Maybe another day, but not today.

  He wondered about the gunshots. In all likelihood, he’d never know what they were all about. He and Sarah had discussed many times what the world would be like in the weeks and months following the blackout. They knew that as the situation became more and more desperate, that the weak would decide to take the easy way out.

  Was that what he’d heard? A father, killing his family, then turning the gun on himself? He expected a lot of that to happen, but not quite so soon. Maybe it was a homeowner, scaring away looters. He was sure it wasn’t a firefight. He heard only one weapon, he was sure of it.

  Then he put it out of mind, confident that whatever it was, it was no threat to him. He expected to hear a lot more gunshots in the weeks ahead. This was surely just the beginning. And he had better things to worry about.

  He was famished, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten since noon the previous day. The barbacoa was all gone now, and he’d have to start looking for something else to eat.

  He went to the refrigerator and opened it. It was still cool, but not cool enough to keep anything fresh.

  He took the top off the milk and sniffed it. It was sour.

  “Damn!”

  He kicked himself. He should have drank the milk before it went bad. At this point, he couldn’t afford to waste any food. He needed to be smarter in the future.

  He took a package of bologna from the meat tray and a loaf of bread from the pantry, and made himself three sandwiches. He wasn’t crazy about bologna, but that no longer mattered. It was no longer food. It was merely fuel, something to keep his body running, and it no longer mattered if he liked it or not. Nothing could go to waste.

  Not anymore.

  He lathered the sandwiches with mayonnaise. He despised mayonnaise. Always had. But he was shifting from a mindset of eating what he liked to considering food as essential calories. Nothing more, nothing less.

  In order to keep up his strength, he knew he had to take in two thousand calories a day. It didn’t really matter that much what form those calories took.

  The mayonnaise was very high in calories, and would only last a few more days without refrigeration. Once it went bad, the calories it contained were wasted.

  And that was just unacceptable.

  Luckily, the temperatures were still cool. It was the transition time between winter and spring. Nights were still a bit chilly, and daytime temperatures were still mostly cool. That would help the perishables keep a little bit longer.

  He went through the refrigerator to survey what was left. He’d use as much as he could, even if it meant eating the rest of the mayonnaise right out of the jar. He wouldn’t waste calories if he could avoid it, no matter how disgusting it was.

  He couldn’t help but smile. He’d always had a friendly debate with Sarah about the whole Miracle Whip versus mayonnaise thing. It was his contention that there were only two types of people in the world. Those who loved mayonnaise and those who loved Miracle Whip.

  He believed that those who grew up in a Miracle Whip house, as he did, loved the stuff and hated mayo. Those who grew up on mayo, as Sarah did, hated Miracle Whip.

  Early in their relationship, they decided to compromise, and keep both. They’d let their children decide for themselves which one they liked.

  And to their credit, Lindsey and Beth both sided with their dad and said Miracle Whip was the best.

  But Sarah took it well, proclaiming, “Good! That just leaves more of the good stuff for me.”

  Dave felt his eyes moisten from the memory of his girls, and shook his head in an effort to chase away the thought.

  Maybe later on he’d have time for sorrow. Now he wouldn’t allow himself the luxury. He wouldn’t be one of the weak who blew their own brains out because they couldn’t cope with the heartache and the stress.

  Not him. No way.

  After Dave finished his sandwiches, he took the meat from the refrigerator and carried it to the chest freezer in the garage. He was confident that the well-insulated freezer would keep his perishable food relatively fresh until he could eat it all.

  Once done, he went back to his pile of lumber and pulled out all of the pieces marked with an “O.”

  “O” stood for “outhouse.”

  Like the generator structure, he’d already built the outhouse once. The summer before he’d assembled it in the corner of the back yard, well away from the house. He’d called Sarah out to show it off, and she’d turned up her nose and said, “Seriously? You want me to use that?”

  But she was joking. She was holding out hope that the Mayans were wrong about the solar storms and the EMPs that would be coming their way. But she also knew that if it did happen, there would be drastic changes in their lives. And in a newly chaotic world this would be a relatively minor adjustment.

  The one thing she asked for was a padded toilet seat, and he gave in to that. It was the least he could do.

  He’d been using a hole he’d dug up against the fence, and was looking forward to something a bit more comfortable. So this was one of his two projects for the day.

  The other was to set the rabbits loose.

  -13-

  Dave found all of the pieces to his outhouse and carried them into the back yard. Then he went back for a coffee can full of hardware marked “Outhouse.” Lastly, he took the two screwdrivers he’d been using on the fence project the night before and two bottles of water, and placed them on the covered deck in his back yard.

  He stood in the doorway between the pantry and the garage, looking around to make sure he had everything he needed.

  Once he fired up the generator, it would be several hours before he could safely go into the garage again. So it was important that he not forget something.

  Satisfied he hadn’t left any pieces or tools behind, he went to one of his Jerry cans and took a glass measuring cup from one of the shelves.

  He measured out one cup of gasoline and poured it into the generator’s fuel tank. Then he primed it four times and pulled the crank to start it up.

  The generator came to life.

  After he bought the generator the previous year, he experimented with it to see how long it would run on a cup of gasoline. His tests varied, from just over an hour to almost two hours. Averaged out, it was right at an hour and a half.

  It had occurred to Dave a couple of nights before, when he was laying in bed after being awakened by distant gunshots, that the chest freezer might still work. There were few electronic parts in it to short out. When he’d examined it, he discovered that the power cord was melted, but the compressor showed no signs of wear.

  He took an old extension cord from the garage and replaced the cord, then crossed his fingers.

  If it did work, it would enable him to freeze excess fruits and vegetables from his garden for use during the winter months. The generator was large enough to power the chest freezer in the garage, as well as several other small electrical items within the house.