Grief

"It's all right, Bruce.  It was a natural thing to consider."

My former elementary school was nearby.  My wife worked there, and I suspected that on that particular evening, since she knew I would be tied up with the kids, had probably decided to remain later than usual and catch up on one thing or another.  She was a bit of a workaholic.  Her SUV was parked in the lot.  Her building was in pretty fair shape, only a bashed in front entry door to suggest anything amiss.  It was dimly lit inside, but still light streamed in from the many windows and skylights generously supplied to each classroom.  I ran directly to her room.  The door was locked.  I checked the bathrooms.  No one.  On a hunch, I returned to her room and through her door window, looked for her light switch visible next to the chalk board.  The switch was flipped up.  She wouldn't have left her lights on unless she was returning.  There were two other places that she might have been, the office or the teachers’ supply room.  I decided that the most likely place was the teachers’ room. 

I held my breath as I opened the door.  Rounding the working table that held the large paper cutter and laminator, I spied all that remained of my Lynn-Eve.  There, on the floor, lay one of her favourite light brown skirts encircling her matching blouse.  What I had called her lacey shoes peeked out from under the pile on each side.   Reaching down, I picked up her blouse and held it in my hands.  This was all that was left of my companion, my best friend, my lover.  What had we said about growing old together?

I had been rather oblivious to my surroundings, so didn't realize that I had company.  I felt a hand on my shoulder.  Panic seized me and I turned to take a swipe at whatever it was, only to find Lise, teary eyed trying to console me.  I softened and allowed her to stretch her arms around me and hold me close.  I could constrain myself no longer.  It was my turn now.   And the tears tumbled out.  As I was about to leave, my eye caught sight of a shiny object on the carpet near the shoes.  I stooped down and retrieved a small round piece of gold metal that Lynn-Eve had worn on her finger, where I had placed it so many years before accompanied by the words “with this ring, I thee wed”.

From home to home we encountered the same story.  If both parents hadn't been at the school, then we found the remains of their clothes or their sibling’s at their house.  One thing that proved useful on this trip to town was stepping into Bruce’s place.  His father, being an avid hunter, had a massive collection of firearms, ammunition and other weapons, a fact  that he had not hidden from Bruce, whom he had personally trained in their use from the time Bruce had been capable of holding them.  In his father’s mind, by sharing his love and respect for his weapons collection and stressing the need for safety, Bruce would not grow up constantly curious about what was locked up in the cabinets stored in his basement.  Indeed, Bruce had his own key to the cabinets, and safety was one of Bruce’s main concerns.  What was even more surprising, considering Bruce’s penchant for talking about himself, he seldom mentioned guns at all.  But then, considering the new climate that had occurred after the attack on the twin towers and the massacres that had occurred at several schools over the years, too much conversation on that topic would probably have ended with Bruce spending time with me, in the office. 

I watched as Bruce seemingly fiddled with a thermostat, as if it could turn on the furnace for it was chilly in the basement.  Suddenly, a wall began to move, opening into a secret vault that Bruce’s father had built, where he stored some illegal, unregistered weapons.  Well, they weren’t illegal anymore and might just come in handy.  Handguns, ammunition, scopes, archery equipment, and there was even equipment for reloading the spent cartridges, including several containers of powder and primers were neatly stashed in this incredibly ingenious location.  I picked up one handgun that had a sight on the back.  I hadn't known that gun manufacturers had made any this way.    

"Be careful with that, sir.  It's loaded."

I immediately placed the handgun back on the shelf.  "It's a fine piece of craftsmanship," I remarked.

"It was one of Dad's favorites," Bruce answered as he retrieved the weapon and placed it in a special suitcase designed to hold several more of its kind.  "If Dad had been home, I expect we would be seeing some of our enemy lying around here, too.  He wouldn't have gone down without a fight.  Mom wasn't into guns."

Although the tire store had a supply of weaponry, theirs didn't match the quality of this stash and best of all; Bruce knew how to use every one of them.  We packed as much as we could into the back of the van and headed out.

Counting Our Losses

“Warren!  Warren!  Wake up! You’re having a dream.”  Carol was still shaking me as the day dawned.  The sun had come up. There it was directly before me in all its fall brilliance peeking through the brush.  The doctor was right beside me, and wide awake.

“Thank God,” I thought.  I really did need to do something about my overactive imagination.  “We can’t stay here any longer,” I said.  "We need some shelter and warmth.  It will be snowing before we know it.  Fall camping is one thing.  But we can’t live out in this forever.”  We were still sheltering in the large wooded area close enough to the city to sneak in to get supplies from the nearest stores, but far enough away so as not to draw any attention to ourselves.  But the temperature of the previous night made it absolutely clear that we were unprepared for any serious weather changes. 

Dr. Manning agreed, although she thought that a snowfall was pushing it.  "So what are you thinking, go back to town?  They’re probably not looking in the houses there anymore.  Surely they’ve taken everything they wanted by now.”  We had assumed that if they were attacking the businesses that they were also taking people from their homes as well.

"I was thinking that we need to check out a farm in the vicinity.  Some would have cellars, maybe with a food cache.  Under ground has to be safer than where we are now.  And the deeper the better.  We might even find some people.”  Manning was nodding as I spoke.  “As for going back to town,” I continued, “there’s a risk to that, but also a need.  We don’t want to be seen, yet everyone needs to know.  It’s been two weeks so far and the supplies we have are getting low.  One way or another, we have to do something about that, too.”

“Do you think we’ll find anyone alive out there?” she queried.  “Whatever those things are, they seem to be quite efficient at what they do.”

"Well, they missed us, and if they missed us, they may have skipped over others.  I haven’t seen any ships overhead for a couple of days.  I am hoping that they’ve moved on and we can have a look around.  But, I don’t think it would be safe to remain there for long.  They may be just waiting for stragglers to show themselves.  So, the plan is, we go back to town, have a good look, find our families, get some supplies and boot it back out here and then to a deserted farmhouse.  Agreed?"

"Warren, I thought you didn't think anyone would be alive back in town."

"Really Carol, I don't, but the kids want to look.  I don't think they're going to like what they find.  But who knows, maybe I'm wrong about the whole thing.  Anyway, one can always hope."

"Aren't you setting them up for a huge let down?"

"I think as we move into town that the truth will gradually settle in as they see what's left of Border City.  And if they aren't paying close enough attention, then we, or rather I will try to enlighten them."

Counting Our Losses

As I had suspected, the streets were bare, no one was in sight, buildings were torn apart, clothing was scattered here and there, wrapped around bushes, trees, light poles and overhead wires. Some businesses were still intact for some reason as were certain homes.  This gave the kids and Doctor Manning, the impression that perhaps there might be survivors.  Yet, I didn't find the empty streets encouraging.

We headed for our homes first, hoping to find some indication that our family members were alive.  Doctor Manning’s residence was the closest to the highway, so we checked out her place first.  The front door was ajar.  Inside, there was nothing but two sets of children’s clothing lying in piles on the floor.  It didn’t take rocket science to figure out what had happened here.  I picked up the phone to check for a dial tone.  Nothing!  I hadn’t really thought it was working, but one never knew.  Besides, right then, it was hard to look Carol in the eyes.  We sat down and waited till she was ready to move on. 

After several minutes of sobbing, she dried her eyes, got up, calmly walked into her kitchen and began making some alterations to the interior.  We didn’t follow, but the noises emanating from the room indicated that we wouldn't be welcome anyway.  The sound of plates crashing into pieces on the floor or bouncing off walls; pots and pans smashing together, doors being ripped off their hinges, were Carol’s frustrating response to our unknown enemy.  Interspersed with the clatter were verbal outbursts, self incrimination, for not being with her children.  When the warfare ended, she returned with a couple of bags filled with canned goods she thought we might be able to use.  We put our arms around her, feeling her pain, realizing that what we had witnessed here was in all likelihood, what we had to look forward to as well. 

My own home was next on the list.  As we arrived, everything seemed to be intact.  The front door was in place, there were no holes in the walls; nothing was touched.  Inside we found nothing.  Our only conclusion was that my wife had not been home. I made a mental note that the condition of my house meant something. So, I would have to wait.  We cleaned out the kitchen, taking what supplies we thought useful.

As we left for the van, Shari warned us of a coming scout ship.  There were no roaring engines or sounds of that nature.  It was more like a gentle breeze rustling through the trees.  Shari had heard it first.  It was something that we later came to realize as her gift.  I had had no idea that her hearing was so acute, but Shari could hear things much sooner than any of the rest of us.  She reminded me of a certain character in a military medical show who could hear helicopters before anyone else, except Shari was even better.  Sometimes, she heard things that we were never able to hear at all.  Just to let you know, she was not one to be seen wearing earphones and listening to music all day.  Shari’s other senses seemed to be more acute as well, particularly her sense of smell and taste.  She was able to pick out the various ingredients in a mixture simply by sniffing and tasting small amounts of the substance.  Of course, she didn’t try this trick on anything other than foods.  Her ability to smell spoilage was of great importance to our group.  But this gift could also be an annoyance.  Body odors bothered her, requiring all of us to maintain a certain level of cleanliness, something nearly impossible under the circumstances.  And, as incredible as it may sound, Shari could also identify people by their smell, something you might expect from a hound, but never a human.

At Shari’s warning, we froze, not wanting to give ourselves away.   When it passed, we boarded the van and headed to the school.  This was where the parents were supposed to be waiting for our return.  The vehicles were empty.  Only one car was damaged in the lot.  I had not yet matched the owners to their transportation, but was pretty sure this belonged to Bruce’s father.  From the driver’s seat, I couldn’t see anything around the car, so wasn’t able to determine what had happened here.  Bruce jumped out and investigated, but found nothing either.  It would be hard to tell, considering that the wind may have blown things away.

We went inside.  Keys were unnecessary as the large hole in the wall made entering a snap.  Frankly, I didn’t expect to see any sign of survival and I was not to be disappointed.  Each student seemed to recognize their parent’s clothing, and when there was a question of identity, there were the purses or wallets to remove any remaining doubt.  More tears followed along with a dreadful sense of emptiness.

The electric clock now on the floor in the foyer read 4:45 P.M.  Bruce read the time then spoke to us all.  "There wasn't anything we could have done.  They hit here at the same time they hit us at the store.  And to think I kept trying to get you to take us back."

The Doctor

Dr. Carol Manning was in her late 30’s.  The only daughter of a West Indian mother and an Asian father, Carol had a constant tan, wavy black hair, and a rather noble appearance.  She also inherited a work ethic from her father that served her well on her way to med school thanks to generous scholarships earned throughout her college years.   After her college graduation, she had attended a large University medical school in southern California for a few years, and graduated a second time, certificate in hand, and debt free -- an unusual combination, usually reserved for only the very privileged.  Dr. Manning turned down many lucrative offers in order to serve the less fortunate of society.  Now she had become the most important individual in our small company.  More good luck? 

We first met a couple of years earlier when she had become a member of our elementary PTA.  In the passing of time, she had also become a good friend.  But it was at a get-together, about eight months ago,  at a local buffet, where we had met to discuss school issues and draw up plans for school improvement that she had really opened up.  She had asked hard questions and didn't take platitudes or clichés for answers.  I had to smile as she grilled some of the more conservative educational personnel on the committee.

As the others left, we'd had time to chat.  Her charm was disarming and I really enjoyed spending those initial minutes.  She had been speaking of her failed marriage, not a topic usually shared with a teacher, let alone the vice principal, and particularly not of someone of the opposite sex.  Her marriage had lasted long enough for her to mother two lovely children, the oldest of whom attended my high school.  Not one to avoid a faux pas, I decided to ask the obvious question. 

“So, have you ever thought of remarrying?”

”Not a chance, Warren.  Once was enough for me.”

“But you’re a beautiful woman.  Surely there’ve been other suitors!”  My face flushed a bit, realizing that I may have sounded like I was hitting on her.

“None that I was interested in.”

“Do you think that Mr. Right will ever come along?”

“Nope.  Not a chance.”  She had repeated herself and this time more forcefully.

“Oh, come on.  How could you be so positive about a thing like that?”

“Let me be clear about this, Warren.  There could never be a Mr. Right.”  Carol could read the question on my face as she emphasized the word “Mr.” and realized that she was not getting through to me with the oblique approach and suddenly became very direct.  “Warren, I’m a lesbian.”  And that did the trick.  How could I help but understand now.  Carol just sat quietly, watching me digest that bit of trivia until I was able to regain the use of that fat piece of pink tissue that was caught behind my lower teeth.

“Wow!  I…I didn’t know.”  Of course I didn’t know.  There I went with a stupid remark.  But my reactions to Carol, be it her divulgence or just her presence, didn't seem to bother her.  Rather, she always seemed amused by my apparent lack of brain function in her presence.  “I’m sorry.  Oh, not because you are...uh…you know what I mean, don’t you?”  She just stared harder, making the connection between my brain and mouth even more difficult, like a heavily corroded electrical circuit.  I shook my head and took a deep breath.  I changed the subject…a little.

“Do you mind if I ask you another question?” I asked with a little of my decorum back to normal.

“Well why not?   We’re into it this far.  Shoot!”

“If you are a lesbian, why did you get married in the first place?  I mean, why would you want to marry a guy when you weren’t interested in guys?”

“Actually Warren, that’s a good question,” she said and proceeded to answer.  “I didn’t know I was a lesbian at the time or maybe I was just living in denial.  I’m not sure now.   I knew what a lesbian was.  After all, I am a doctor.  I guess that during high school I was mildly attracted to some girls, but I didn’t think anything of that.  Some girls like other girls, and form strong bonds, but these never lead to a lesbian relationship.  I never had one.  I just figured that it was my juvenile body playing tricks on me.  And I didn’t want to be a lesbian.  I never bought into the politically correct alternate lifestyle jargon.  To me, it wasn’t normal.  Normal meant having a loving husband, having children, and living happily ever after. ”

“So then, one day, the bubble burst?”

“That’s one way to put it.  I got married, went on a honeymoon and felt...nothing.  Nothing that is but supreme anxiety, worrying about the next time he wanted to touch me.    He was such a nice person otherwise; some would say the perfect man.  He was good looking, tall, mannerly, neat, tidy, doting.  He would make me breakfast in bed…for the times I didn’t get up soon enough.  He put on the coffee.  He even tried to do the laundry.”  She sighed.  “If I had been heterosexual, he would have been the perfect mate for life.” 

“Wow!”

“And so the pretending began.  I let my parents think all was well.  My friends thought I had the ideal marriage.  But my partner began to pick up that something wasn’t right.  I never cheated, but he noticed the tension that I was feeling when he touched me.  He realized that I was not getting aroused, that I was faking it.  You can’t get away with that forever.”

“This is probably more than I needed to know.”

“Relax Warren.  This is what life is about…at least for some people.  I cried a lot.  I really didn’t want to hurt him.  He was so good with the kids.  He loved them so much.  But it just wasn’t going to work.  I wasn’t really that great an actress and eventually, the truth crept out.  First it was my friends, followed by my parents.  I guess they were reluctant to believe it.  I think most parents don’t want to think that their children are gay.  Maybe since I already had the kids, they didn’t take it so hard.  That’s the most likely reason I can think of that they weren’t too upset.  When someone thinks that their lives are going to end and there’s no one to carry the family on, it’s really all over for them.  You know what I mean?”

“And, I can understand that.  You still have the children.  Your husband didn’t try to take them away?”

“No.  We actually have joint custody.  He’s never remarried.  Funny, he still loves me.  And a part of me loves him, too.  But it is the wrong kind of love to make a family.  Getting erotic with a man is totally out of the range of possibility for me.”

“I am sorry.  That had to be really difficult.  You deserve to be happy.”

“Actually, I’m not unhappy. I have some good friends…like you Warren, that I can count on, friends that are not judgmental and are willing to accept me as I am, with all the baggage, good or bad.  That’s why I’m comfortable talking with you.  And I guess that’s why I’m willing to confide in you.” 

I had to admit, she was right about that.  She hadn’t let her sexual orientation get in the way of her friendships.  And I realized that although she hadn’t told me about this before, that we truly were friends and I also knew that what she had just told me would stay with me.  I would not betray her trust.

“I decided to make my life busy, helping others, and you know what?  That’s a full time job.”  Then it was Carol’s turn to change subjects.  “So, tell me.  How’s Lynne-Eve?”     

***

“The kids are cuddled up in their sleeping bags.  Bruce seems to have taken them under his wing.  He’s a pretty smart guy you know.  He’s got them all wrapped in the silver emergency blankets.”

“He seems to be.”  I had to ask the obvious.  “Why were you coming from that direction,” I asked, pointing behind her and then realizing the answer to my own question, felt that prickly hot feeling on my face and neck again, for the second time, in just under a minute.  Man, she made me uncomfortable and I couldn’t figure out why.

Without answering my question, she plunked herself down beside where I had been sitting, and patted the ground.  With that invitation, I sunk to the ground beside her and leaned against the tree once more.   We wrapped the blankets around each other, and pressed our bodies together, doing our best to keep warm and keep each other company. 

***

I awoke with a start.  I had done the unthinkable.  I had slept on duty.  I could hear them coming.  My gun! Where was it?  It had been in my arms just moments before.  There was a strange glow overhead.  Oh no!  They’d found us.  I ran to the kids.  Their bags were empty, small softball sized globes taking their place on the sleeping mattresses.  They were coming closer.  My age was hindering my progress and I was running out of breath.  The bright light was in my eyes.  They were on me.  Someone grabbed me from behind and knocked me to the ground.  I tried to scream, but the words were caught in my dry throat.  I shielded my face with my hands and tried to kick my way free.  "Where was the doctor?"  The light was getting brighter.  Finally, my vocal cords were free.  I began to shout as my body was rocked back and forth by these monsters from who knew where, back and forth, till suddenly, I heard a voice in the distance.  It sounded like the doctor.  She was calling my name.  Now they can imitate us.

Survivors

Lise, officially the daughter of immigrants from the Congo, although I suspected that they originally came from Rwanda or Kenya, had attended school in town since the first grade.  She stood about five foot five, had large brown eyes and the expected curly black hair which she wore cut short.  She was large boned, but with a lean, muscular physique and this she used to her advantage in all sporting activities.  She was a quick learner, mastering basketball, football, floor hockey, soccer, track and field and swimming as well as or better that most boys.   She was highly competitive.  In fact, when students picked their own teams, she was always the first choice. 

She was not what you would call beautiful, but she did have a stunning smile set off by a gleaming set of white teeth.  I guess that cute would be a better description.  She had a soprano voice like none I had ever heard, capable of singing the highest notes, with ease and such beauty that it always gave me chills to hear her.  Her most prized possession however, was neither her looks, nor her musical ability, but her personality, or more precisely, her character.  If the saying were ever true about beauty being skin deep, it truly applied to Lise.  One’s truest beauty is not found in the smoothness of the skin, the shape of the nose or mouth, the stature, the color of the hair, or the bulge of one’s muscles.  On the contrary, true beauty is found on the inside, where it is often overlooked, especially by those who don’t take the time to look beyond the superficial.   Any imperfections in Lise’s appearance were soon overshadowed by her honesty, warmth, kindness, in short, her humanity.  She was all that a human being should have been.

She had for the most part been a model student.  My colleagues would attest to what I am saying for we had often spoken of her.  What was so great about her?  No, she didn’t earn straight A’s, but she was a worker, never satisfied until she had put the last touch to all her work.  She never turned in a test before the time was up, but would read and reread every question until she thoroughly understood.  Her writing assignments, though often riddled with grammatical errors, were remarkably creative and well thought out.  She was late for school twice in the eight years I knew her and she missed only five days in that time, due to illness.  I found her to be supportive of my expectations and one to speak out in my defense to other students.  There were times, though that she felt the need to speak to me privately, which I respected and appreciated.  We did not always see things through the same pair of glasses, but I could not fault her.   In short, I have to admit she became one of my favorites.  Yes, I know, teachers are not supposed to have favorites, but it is hard not to when you have someone in your classroom who wants nothing more than to learn.  I was so proud of her at her eighth grade graduation.   So were her parents.  They took many pictures that day; some were of Lise and me with our arms around one another. 

Near the end of the next school year, in late spring, I received a call to move to the nearby high school where I was to take on the position of vice principal and work with an old high school and college buddy, Mark Meloche.  It was difficult deciding to leave the school where my wife and I had worked together for so long, but knowing Mark as I did, I had to be part of his team.  Besides, I had always wanted to work with older kids, particularly the nines and tens.  I had always thought of them as a little crazy, but a good crazy.  They made me laugh and I liked it.  Due to cutbacks, I was also to teach two math classes, fortunately, my favourite subject.  The following September while standing outside my classroom visiting with a colleague, I took note of three young ladies jabbering away excitedly, before entering my room.  One of them turned around and gave me a big smile.  It was Lise.  I couldn’t help but return her smile.  So, she was going to be my student again.

***

Tammy, Tamara on her birth certificate, was a caring type, the kind you would love to have as a neighbor, but seemingly short on certain mental resources.  Always ready with an answer, but often for a topic from another era.  The politically incorrect term to describe her might have been “air head.”  With hard work and lots of practice, she was able to get by.  And fortunately, she had parents who understood her academic shortcomings and encouraged and worked with her at home.  Although short on academics, what she did know were the ways of the world.  She was smart with money, with clothes and was hard to fool.  If there had been an IQ test for street smarts, I’m sure she would have scored well above the average.  Among her skills, she was an accomplished seamstress, something she learned, not at school, but from her equally talented mother.

Tammy was a pretty girl, too.  Her parents kept her dressed in smart looking clothes, up-to-date with the fashion of the day, some actually created by her mom.  But she was not one to stick up her nose at anyone, and was quite willingly friends with all.  My only worry with Tammy was that some idiot fellow would talk her into a date that ended with her plumping up over a nine month period.  I figured that for some girls, beauty was a curse, the honey that drew flies.  Having said this, if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that it isn’t safe to make assumptions about people, especially in unknown circumstances.

***

Snap!  My mouth hung open, breath suspended, as I strained to listen.  My heart beat so hard I could feel the pounding at the back of my throat.  Snap!  Whatever, whoever it was, was nearly upon me.  I pressed my back hard against the tree, slipped the safety off the shotgun and forced myself to a standing position, ready to turn and fire, if necessary.  My reverie was over.

“Warren?”  At the mention of my name I began to relax, cool, refreshing oxygen again reaching my interior, while my heart rate returned to normal.  Only the doctor would call me by my first name.

"Yes, my friend, I’m here," I said, as I revealed myself from behind the tree.  “It’s a cool night,” I said.  Of course it was a cool night, it was late in September.  Why must I always say the obvious to the doctor?

Camping 101: Get Your Supplies

***

We were a sorry looking lot dressed in our new robes.  We looked like a bizarre group of poor aliens completely decked out in the silver cloth who couldn’t afford a proper tailor.  But better to look weird, than be dead.  “We’re not safe yet.  Let’s get out of here,” I ordered, and without any hesitation, our troop headed for the doors.  Having squeezed through the inner glass panels, we approached the outer ones.  It was dark now, well past sundown.  We scanned the parking lot for signs of the invaders using our newly acquired night vision goggles.  The area nearby was clear, but the sky was filled with unusual lights darting this way and that, almost like a meteor shower.  We were reasonably sure that the store was completely deserted, but remaining there forever was not a logical option and the thoughts of a possible cannibalistic, alien species lurking in the grass or behind every piece of trashed sheet metal was cause for concern.  We voted to move out.  There was only one word of caution.  If spotted, we would remain still, just like the surviving vans and hope for the best.  If necessary, Bruce and I would empty our shotguns into whatever was out there before they had a chance to fire at any of us.

Like wild rats, we edged our way along the periphery of the building, checked the side and then moved along the edge of the parking lot until we were lined up across from our transportation.  We took one, last, careful scan and darted for the vehicle.  When we slid the door open, we found a terrified Dr. Manning ready to bean us with a tire iron she had dug out of a pouch in the back. 

She'd been afraid to move, having been able to see a little of what was going on.   She'd been resting with the front passenger seat back when she was startled awake by a huge explosion.  Her first thought had been to get out of there, but she noticed that I had the keys.  Checking all directions carefully, she quickly realized that on foot, she wouldn’t have made ten yards.  The swarm of creatures had been attacking all the parked vehicles.  As they approached our van, she'd slid into the back and retrieved the tire iron, for self defense.  Little did she know that it wouldn’t have helped.  As she heard their steps come closer, she slunk down lower into the carpet, trying to hide as best she could.  Then they seemed to move away.  She hadn’t moved a muscle until it began to get dark and heard us unlocking the doors.

***

We determined that our best course of immediate action was to get clear of the city, but before we did, we needed to get some food supplies.  This we decided to gather at a club type store that was just up the street from where we were parked.  But first, we decided to check out the other van in the parking lot.  There was no one there, leading us to assume that probably the owner was inside the building and if there, he would not be needing this van.  We could use the vehicle however, only if we could find a key.  Bruce decided to check the clothing scattered in piles around the asphalt for keys.  He came back with three sets, one of which fit the van.  Carol and Bruce would drive this second acquisition. 

As a precaution, we smashed out the lights.  These vehicles had automatic headlights and we didn’t want to broadcast our presence to anyone.  We waited for the sky to clear of traffic and made our way slowly to our next stop.  The lot looked about the same as the tire store, junked cars and trucks, some piled on top of one another in random heaps, twisted metal, clothes scattered on the pavement.  The building was badly damaged, but there were no alien ships parked anywhere nearby, so we assumed that they probably were done with this place as well.  However, we didn’t just rush inside.  It was pretty dark outside, so we used the night vision glasses to make our way around.  We took turns moving ahead, stopping, listening, moving some more, until we were certain that it was safe.  At the door, we had to make a decision whether to use the night vision glasses or flashlights confiscated from the tire store.  Seeing no one, we entered the building.  If anyone had survived, they would've been crushed by the weight of the shelving and the goods packed on them.  Having shopped in this store regularly, I'd seen fork lift Jitneys removing heavy burdens from the third storey shelves.  I'd also heard horror stories about kids climbing on this type of shelving in other stores, in spite of constant instruction from the management for parents to keep their eyes on their children.  Just in case, we checked under every crack and crevice for signs of other human beings.

We grabbed some carts and began our shopping.  Going was difficult, as most of the aisles were closed off due to the damage.  Breads, particularly the kind that lasted, rather than the healthy types that contained no preservatives, were the grains of choice.  We didn’t know how long this situation was going to last.  Fresh fruit would be a treat, but again, we couldn’t take too much because this would soon spoil. This was of particular interest to Tammy who seemed to love every kind of fruit imaginable.  She would just have to satisfy herself with dried ones.  There were so many meats to choose from, but we knew that unless we were willing to eat it raw, that it too, would spoil.  We weren’t about to build a fire and draw attention to ourselves.  We were forced to make the most of precooked, canned, dried and salted foods.  These we found in abundance.  One type of meat that would keep, besides Montreal style corned beef, canned ham and fish, was salt beef.  This we found in small plastic containers.  We planned to hold on to it, not knowing if or when we could eat it, but we also knew that it would keep.   

I'd purchased a container of this many years before, thinking that I would impress my young wife, with my culinary skills.  The Newfoundlanders called it Jigs dinner and I am sure that many a housewife from that neck of the woods did a very fine job of preparing it, but my first experience trying to cook it was my last.  After boiling it for two or three hours and still finding it as tough as a shoe, I traded the pot for a pressure cooker.  That trick finally broke down the fibrous materials, (an understatement), that held the meat together.  But by this time, the meat was tasteless.  Fortunately, the vegetables that had been cooking with it in the original pot were soft and delicious.

Cheese too, was chosen as something to eat with the bread.  Pickled eggs and UHT milk finished off the dairy wants.  There were other liquid requirements though.  We picked up bottles of juice for one camper, but I preferred water, as did most of the others.  The store had a lot of it and so we stocked up.

One thing I noticed was that although much of the store was turned upside-down, this was not true of the refrigerated section.  It appeared to be mostly intact.  Inside the cooler there were many cases of eggs, butter, and deli meats such as hotdogs and sliced beef, ham and turkey.  We took some of this, but knew that unless we could find a working fridge that we would never be eating it all.  It would do for a day or two.  We had no idea how long our visitors were planning to hang around.

I wasn’t looking forward to what we were going to forced to dine on.  I was used to a diet rich in vegetables, with a small amount of meat for dessert.  Probably my favorite food, aside from mushrooms, was greens, greens of all kinds.  It was a preference that irked my wife who hated anything that tasted like spinach, but I managed to have them at least once a week, albeit, I mostly ate them alone.  But then I thought that perhaps this wasn’t going to be a permanent situation.  As soon as these whatever-they-were disappeared, we could get our lives back to normal.  I mean, a lot of people were killed judging by the monstrous amount of clothing we saw scattered everywhere, but surely there were others, survivors.  There had to be.  Our loved ones were waiting for us somewhere safe.  We knew that.  But we couldn’t go home yet.  It was too risky.  These were the lies I kept telling myself, what my heart wanted to hear, but my realistic grey matter never succumbed to this wishful thinking.

On the way out, we stopped by the food court and help ourselves to cold pizza and hotdogs, items that were always on sale at the store.  We had tried to get a soda, but realized that without power, all we might get from the machine might be some soda water as that was under pressure.  We plastered the hotdogs with whatever condiments that were still sitting in the metal pans or dispensers set out for the customers.  As everyone was chowing down, I realized an important necessity that no one had thought of.  “Kids, tooth brushes and paste, and don’t forget the soap and deodorant.  And it’s right over there,” I said, pointing to where I knew the supplies could be found.  Get some for me too, if you don't mind.  As we left the building, we were just as cautious as when we entered.  There was always the possibility of a welcoming committee with guns drawn, waiting for us on the outside.   We had probably been inside for about an hour, so we were surprised to see that there were even fewer lights in the sky.  Maybe it would soon be over.

The van hatches were opened, the seats flipped forward and the backs of each vehicle were stuffed with food.  We wouldn’t starve, at least not for a few days, anyway.  Maybe in that time, the enemy would be long gone and we could go back to our families.  That became the plan.

We were no more than a mile or two from town, hiding out in the woods, the only thing between us and the enemy aliens, a thin piece of silvery cloth turned into ponchos.  So, here I found myself, seated beneath a tree several days later.

Hopeful Discovery

As Bruce had observed, the store was completely trashed.  Nearly every one of the shelves were twisted and contorted, as if exposed to a gigantic torch or an auto crusher.  Our metal cave appeared to be one of the few places in the building that was left untouched. With no obstacles higher than our waists, it was clear as we scanned the premises, that there was no one in the building but ourselves.  

I began to ponder our stroke of luck.  “Why us?”  It seemed like an important question, particularly when I thought how I had apparently been spotted.  Something had saved our lives and the fact that we were here and able to think or talk about it was a miracle.  Was it because we'd stayed in the shelf?  Had others been caught there, too?  We'd have to have a good look around for survivors, but by the look of things, if there were any, they would be few.

Without warning, that urge came back.  “Bruce, do you know where the facilities are located in this building?  If not, follow me, but keep quiet.”  I had considered having the girls hide in a corner behind a counter that was still intact and I wanted to return to this particular spot, but they were as anxious as we fellows were to find immediate relief. 

Returning from our visit to the great indoors, we searched all the possible areas where people could be trapped under still intact shelving.  We saw no one, human or otherwise, in the building, and began to relax somewhat, but I continued to encourage caution.  It was then that I had them sit down wherever they could find a place and explained to them what I had seen.  Their fear was evident.  Tears fell freely.  We all wondered aloud about our families.   

“Well, that explains all the clothes lying around everywhere,” added Bruce.  “So we’re really in deep shit here, right?” he continued.

“I guess you could put it that way,” I agreed, surprised by his choice of words.  “But we’re not going down without a fight.  Follow me.”  I led our party back to an area with which I was quite familiar. This corner of the store held some interesting, useful items that hadn't been on our original shopping list.  I searched for and located some night vision goggles and three pair of small, but high power, military type binoculars.   I doubted that there was anyone alive who would object to my borrowing them.  I searched for and found four scopes.  Next, I found a crowbar and pried the lock from a cabinet. No need for a firearms acquisition permit now.   I handed each girl a rifle, took a shotgun for myself, tossed another to Bruce and grabbed and passed out several boxes of ammunition.  “Stay here,” I said, and headed to what was left of the hardware department.  I returned with two hacksaws and some files.  Bruce and I shortened the barrels and altered the stocks, so they'd be more invisible and easier to carry.  Rather than be burdened down with all the ammo, we packed as much as possible into our pockets, stowed the rest away, and then proceeded with caution to the exit. 

The sliding doors weren't working, but we were able to force them apart sufficiently to squeeze through into the foyer between the inner and outer doors.  We took a quick look outside.  Cars, vans and trucks lay in twisted heaps as if hit by a tornado.  Yet, there were two vehicles untouched.  Another stroke of luck!  Ours was one. 

“Do you think Dr. Manning's all right?” asked Shari, hopefully, seeing we still had wheels. 

“Let’s go out and see,” answered Bruce, impetuously.

“Not so fast.  Don’t forget, we don’t know who or what's out there.  It’s getting dark, too.  We can wait.             Besides, if the van is all right, then she probably is, too.  Unless...”  I left my thoughts unspoken, but worried that she had tried to make an unsuccessful run for her life.  Something had been eating at me ever since we’d crawled out from under the shelf.  Finally it dawned on my slow brain.  “We need to go back.”

“Sir, we need to get out of here and get to our families.  We need to get them to safety.”  I had to admire Bruce’s sense of family loyalty.  The others were nodding their heads in agreement.

“No kids.  This is not the time to check with family.”  I wasn’t sure how to break it to them, other than being direct.  This was going to hurt.  “If what I suspect is true, and what we are seeing outside leads me to believe it is, then we have no families to return to.”

“Come on sir, we can’t just leave them.  We have to go and help them.”  I could see that my students were in complete agreement on this.

“Aren’t you listening?  If any of you manage to find your way back to your homes tonight, I can assure you that you won’t have to worry about your family any more.  You won’t be alive to worry about anything.   Our survival depends on sticking together and being extremely careful about our movements.  Also, something’s been gnawing at me since we crawled out from under that shelf.  There are answers here, and we need those answers before we step outside these doors.  And we need to do it before it gets so dark that we can’t see anything in here.”  This was not a welcome directive, but my student friends begrudgingly followed me back to what had been our hiding place.  With Herculean effort, we were able to upright the shelf.  “Pile everything back on the shelf.  Look carefully.  Something here may have kept us alive.  We need to know what it was.”

Sleeping bags had lined almost the entire length of the two shelves immediately above us.  That was just cloth.  Could that have been what we were looking for?  Look as we might, nothing else jumped out at us so to speak that could possibly have led to our safety.  We were looking at the wrong shelf and the wrong side.  It was Shari who noticed it first.

 “What’s in these boxes?” she asked, drawing our attention to the bottom shelf in the adjacent aisle.  Bruce arrived first, and began to rip the first box apart.  He pulled out a little bag containing a very light weight, cloth.  It was an emergency blanket.

“Teach, this would have been right on top of you when the shelves were lying down.  And there are three of ‘em in a row.   What do you think?” he added.

Bruce opened the blanket full length, holding it up for all to see.  “Interesting,” I said.  "My God, could it be that simple?" I thought as I realized a connection between the vans and these blankets.  Then addressing the kids I asked, “What did you notice in the parking lot?” 

“Huh,” was the only reply.

Always the teacher, I asked again, “What do you remember from the parking lot?  What did you see out there as you looked around?”  There were a variety of answers mostly that had to do with the new junk yard that had developed in the former parking area.  Otherwise, the students just looked at me, for the longest time, when suddenly I saw that spark of light in Lise’s eyes that told me she had figured it out. 

“The only two vehicles in the lot that were still in one piece were ours and someone else’s.  And,” she said with a smile, “they were both silver gray.  Just like the silver color of that blanket,” she finished.  “Do you really think that’s what saved us?”  

“Sir, but there are only three boxes.  What about the rest of us at the far end of the shelving?  How would we have been protected?” queried Bruce. 

“Good question,” I responded.   I moved Bruce into the position where I remembered the alien to be standing.  “But just think about the angle that the alien was looking from and how close the boxes were.  Assuming the emergency blanket had something to do with our good luck, I think they couldn’t see any of us.”

“What about the one that looked at you?” asked Tammy.

“Glad to hear that you are still with us, Tammy,” I said.  “I have no clue about that alien.  Maybe it was just my imagination.”  And then the realization that living lay before us in the form of these thin, pieces of silver cloth, I assigned each student to create a large cape big enough to cover the entire body, from our shoes to our heads. These were emergency blankets and this indeed qualified as an emergency.  We had to work fast as it was getting difficult to see inside the building.

“Sir.  I understand the connection between the blankets and the van’s paint job.  But are we saying that normally, these things can see through metal?  We were buried under metal shelving,” Bruce waited for an explanation.

“All I can say, Bruce, is that I don’t know.  Usually, this would require some rather sophisticated equipment.  Look around you.  The other shelves have been twisted and ours is still intact.  I really don’t understand that part, but nevertheless, they didn’t see us and the most likely reason is these blankets, so let’s get at it and hope that the blankets will work.   “Girls, grab some sleeping bags out from under the shelf.  I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”