he
remembered.
"Can we stop at our
house—?" Todd started. Any question not answered within three seconds
warranted repetition.
"I don't know," Alan
interrupted, then used that most reliable of time-honored put-offs: "We'll
see."
Heading to the grocery store took
them right past their neighborhood anyway. Part of him was curious to see if
the house was even still there. Maybe it had been vaporized, or something.
"How long will the power be
out?"
"I don't know, Todd. Maybe
for a long time. That's why I want to get some food while we can."
"But where will we put the
food if the fridge doesn't work?"
He opened his mouth to answer, and
realized his son had a point. Their fridge would be just as dead as the grocery
store's.
Shit . Who was he kidding?
He wasn't made for this. He had never been into any of that survival crap. He'd
never even been a Boy Scout, for gods' sakes.
While his mind panicked, his mouth
said: "We're going to get a generator."
"What's that? "
"It's—" How did kids
always come up with such difficult questions? "It's a thing that you plug
other things into. It has outlets, just like we have at home, but it makes the
power itself instead of getting it from the wall."
Todd chewed on this, staring out
the window as they approached the bridge. Then he breathed a long,
"Whoa."
The bridge was fine, but the
highway beneath was a nightmare. Cars were thrown sideways or upside down, some
piled against the concrete of the underpass like bodies clawing for safety. A
semi truck had jackknifed and flipped, forming a de facto dam against a
river of tangled rubber and broken steel.
Alan eased the car to a stop so
they could get out and look. A number of cars had scorched overnight;
smoldering fires still dotted the whole stretch. Looking west he saw another
column of black smoke, probably from the highway. It had to be a fire. He
wondered how long before it spread to them.
"That's just crazy ,"
Todd said.
"Yeah." Alan let out a
long breath, appreciating how lucky they'd been. "Good thing we weren't
down there."
"Yeah. Really good."
We have to get out of here, something
told him. It's not safe. All these fires. We need to get out, maybe go
north, find a farmhouse or a cabin on the north shore.
It was a romantic idea, something
he could imagine reading about in a zombie apocalypse novel, but it wasn't
right. He didn't know anything about farming or living off the land. They
needed to be near civilization, or what was left of it. They'd need the food.
Come winter, he suddenly
realized, we'll need the shelter.
So, no, it wasn't safe here. The
problem was, it probably wasn't safe anywhere.
13
They dodged dead cars as they
headed north toward the hardware store, hoping to find a generator. Most of the
vehicles had veered off the main drag before crashing, but there were plenty of
nasty pileups, too. When they came across these, Alan drove around through the
grass or a nearby parking lot.
None of this was too bad. What
scared him most were the standing fires.
"We should put those fires
out," Todd said.
"We can't put them all
out."
"Why not?"
"There's too many. We'd need
a fire truck."
The tires crunched through the
gravel as he brought the car over the shoulder, rejoining the road after a
particularly nasty tangle of vehicles. Intersections were the worst.
"But we can use the fire
truck," Todd pressed. "There's no one using it now."
"I don't know how to use a
fire truck. Do you?"
"Maybe we could figure it
out."
Hell, maybe they could. Alan had
yet to see a destroyed fire hydrant. He imagined going to the fire station,
finding the keys, and starting up a truck. Maybe they'd have a training manual
somewhere. He and Todd could go gallivanting around Brooklyn Park, putting out fires.
He snorted. "There's too many
fires, Todd. Look, most of 'em have been pretty small. They'll burn out on
their own."
This finally quieted him. Alan
just hoped it was true.
There was a little hardware store
a mile up from
remembered.
"Can we stop at our
house—?" Todd started. Any question not answered within three seconds
warranted repetition.
"I don't know," Alan
interrupted, then used that most reliable of time-honored put-offs: "We'll
see."
Heading to the grocery store took
them right past their neighborhood anyway. Part of him was curious to see if
the house was even still there. Maybe it had been vaporized, or something.
"How long will the power be
out?"
"I don't know, Todd. Maybe
for a long time. That's why I want to get some food while we can."
"But where will we put the
food if the fridge doesn't work?"
He opened his mouth to answer, and
realized his son had a point. Their fridge would be just as dead as the grocery
store's.
Shit . Who was he kidding?
He wasn't made for this. He had never been into any of that survival crap. He'd
never even been a Boy Scout, for gods' sakes.
While his mind panicked, his mouth
said: "We're going to get a generator."
"What's that? "
"It's—" How did kids
always come up with such difficult questions? "It's a thing that you plug
other things into. It has outlets, just like we have at home, but it makes the
power itself instead of getting it from the wall."
Todd chewed on this, staring out
the window as they approached the bridge. Then he breathed a long,
"Whoa."
The bridge was fine, but the
highway beneath was a nightmare. Cars were thrown sideways or upside down, some
piled against the concrete of the underpass like bodies clawing for safety. A
semi truck had jackknifed and flipped, forming a de facto dam against a
river of tangled rubber and broken steel.
Alan eased the car to a stop so
they could get out and look. A number of cars had scorched overnight;
smoldering fires still dotted the whole stretch. Looking west he saw another
column of black smoke, probably from the highway. It had to be a fire. He
wondered how long before it spread to them.
"That's just crazy ,"
Todd said.
"Yeah." Alan let out a
long breath, appreciating how lucky they'd been. "Good thing we weren't
down there."
"Yeah. Really good."
We have to get out of here, something
told him. It's not safe. All these fires. We need to get out, maybe go
north, find a farmhouse or a cabin on the north shore.
It was a romantic idea, something
he could imagine reading about in a zombie apocalypse novel, but it wasn't
right. He didn't know anything about farming or living off the land. They
needed to be near civilization, or what was left of it. They'd need the food.
Come winter, he suddenly
realized, we'll need the shelter.
So, no, it wasn't safe here. The
problem was, it probably wasn't safe anywhere.
13
They dodged dead cars as they
headed north toward the hardware store, hoping to find a generator. Most of the
vehicles had veered off the main drag before crashing, but there were plenty of
nasty pileups, too. When they came across these, Alan drove around through the
grass or a nearby parking lot.
None of this was too bad. What
scared him most were the standing fires.
"We should put those fires
out," Todd said.
"We can't put them all
out."
"Why not?"
"There's too many. We'd need
a fire truck."
The tires crunched through the
gravel as he brought the car over the shoulder, rejoining the road after a
particularly nasty tangle of vehicles. Intersections were the worst.
"But we can use the fire
truck," Todd pressed. "There's no one using it now."
"I don't know how to use a
fire truck. Do you?"
"Maybe we could figure it
out."
Hell, maybe they could. Alan had
yet to see a destroyed fire hydrant. He imagined going to the fire station,
finding the keys, and starting up a truck. Maybe they'd have a training manual
somewhere. He and Todd could go gallivanting around Brooklyn Park, putting out fires.
He snorted. "There's too many
fires, Todd. Look, most of 'em have been pretty small. They'll burn out on
their own."
This finally quieted him. Alan
just hoped it was true.
There was a little hardware store
a mile up from
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