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."