Desolation

Gunfire erupted behind him: not just a few rounds, but hundreds going off all at the same time, as if thousands of men were firing at him. Max instinctively ducked lower and pushed harder on the gas. The rounds continued endlessly, but none struck his Jeep, or even came close. Then, he realized what had happened; he had ignited an ammo and explosives shed. More explosions filled the air with fire and light, adding extra illumination to his path. Max was near the end of the drive when he saw the guard, his face red and yellow, lit by the explosions; it was contorted with shock and awe. The guard stood unmoving, watching the fireballs rise into the air, his mouth agape. His head turned slightly, barely acknowledging Señor Max as he drove by. Max almost felt like he should wave goodbye. He turned onto the highway, keeping his headlights off, and drove, occasionally turning to watch in amazement as the flames spread to most of El Gordo’s home, now visible, and many of his other structures. He turned again, onto the main highway, empty of cars and humanity, and floored the accelerator. He had to get back to Rocky Point.

Like a second sunset, red and orange flames danced on the horizon.

13. Giving Back

Rocky Point, Mexico

Bill and Lisa were startled awake again. This morning, the noises were fainter: the clanging of metal pans—muted by the hands that held them—and two whispering voices. Once more they found themselves standing beside their bedroom window, surreptitiously peeling open their blinds. What they saw was more shocking in a way (they agreed later) than the giant cruise ship’s beaching the previous morning. Scott and Kathy Smith, their next-door neighbors who had been made homeless by the Event, were scooping putrid liquid from the Kings’ pool into beaten pots and pans. Dead and decaying birds had made the pool’s water undrinkable before Bill could safely remove them; without a means to filter the water, it was surely poisonous now. They were kneeling on the pool decking, their clothes torn and dirty. Scott sported a scrubby beard, like most men these days. Both looked sickly and thin although, granted, in auroral light everyone looked unhealthy. The Kings had wondered what happened to the Smiths after the Event destroyed their house, having only seen them once since.

Bill and Lisa stood transfixed, so shocked they couldn’t even speak, each internally trying to make sense of what they saw: This couldn’t be possible in only eleven days. It was like watching a car crash while it was happening; they could not look away, even though they desperately wanted to. Lisa smacked her hand against the window pane to steady her faltering body and mind, disturbing the blinds as well. The Smiths’ heads shot up at once, their foreheads green and splotchy. They looked at each other, grabbed their containers of water and scrambled off, each like a neighborhood cat caught with a pet canary in its mouth.

Lisa spun around and slid to the ground, curling into a fetal position. She held her knees to her chest, rocking, and started to cry.

“Lisa honey, I know that’s heartbreaking, but what can we do?”

“Bu-bu-but, they’re our neighbors—our fr-friends. How could it come to this so qu-quickly?”

“They’re homeless. They’re worse off than most of our other neighbors.”

“That doesn’t make it right. We have two houses now, with Max gone. We need to give them ours. Let them stay here until we figure out what we’re going to do next. We certainly have enough food, now that Max isn’t here.”

He couldn’t argue with her about this, even though something in his gut told him what he was about to do was wrong.

He opened up the bedroom slider and ran in their direction. Even in the auroral light, he could see a trail of water slopped from their pails. Each spot looked like blood; he had a flashback of deer hunting years ago, when he’d tracked the blood trail of a buck he had shot. That deer ultimately had succumbed to its wound. He hoped he wouldn’t find the Smiths in similar condition. He followed the trail around to where the front of their house used to be, now the debris of a partially fallen wall. He heard them on the other side of their waist-high front wall and gate. He leaned over and said, “Don’t run, we have food for you.”

Both were on their knees, almost in a starter’s crouch, ready to take off. They looked like frightened animals. It was downright creepy how two normal adults could devolve so quickly. He thought that perhaps any one of them could end up like this.

“Please come with me to the house. Lisa and Sally are making food for both of you and we have some clean water. You don’t want to drink from that pool. You could be electrocuted, and besides, it’s probably poisonous from all the dead birds.” After a few moments of silence, he asked, “can you talk?”

“Thanks, Bill,” Scott said, in a voice more gravelly than Bill remembered.