Halloween Entries

I look through the plastic duct taped over the windows. The world takes on a blurred look through layers and layers of plastic. I try to remember what my neighbor’s house looks like. I wonder how high the grass has grown. I could risk a look. It’s been two months now. But I know I won’t. I stare a bit longer through the window. It’s like looking through someone else’s glasses. Someone with a different prescription.

Decisions have to be made. Supplies are almost gone. Only a few cans of food left. It’s been two months since it’s happened. Two months since I last saw any other sign of life. The power has been off almost as long. Same for the phones. At first, with no one else to talk to, I talked to myself.

I don’t even do that anymore.

I hear nothing.

Two months ago…I was driving home from work, stuck in mid-afternoon traffic. The lunch crowd. Road work. I don’t remember the reason, but I was stuck, unmoving, in traffic. I slammed my hand down on the horn, cursed the other drivers, yelled at the traffic, and basically just vented. Work had been disastrous. The project I had been working on was up for review to gauge progress. The higher ups were not pleased with the progress, or lack thereof. After the presentation and review, they told me to stay behind. As project leader, I was held responsible for the horribly slow progress. Sure, the team members given to me were terrible, inept, and had the combined IQ of a brick, but I knew my bosses didn’t want to hear excuses. So I kept my mouth shut as they took turns ripping into me. They made one thing abundantly clear: in one month’s time, I could become a member of the large group of unemployed in the country.

I cursed the other drivers. I cursed my job and my coworkers. I cursed myself.

One step away from losing my job. I read stories in the newspaper all the time about the rising unemployment rate, but never imagined I could become part of that statistic. My wife worked, but with a mortgage and two daughters, one income would not be enough. I wrestled with the idea of telling my wife. Should I prepare her for the worst or just keep her in the dark for now. I didn’t want her to worry…

Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the traffic, seconds later an invisible hand shoved against the side of my car. Car alarms sounded. Glass shattered. People got out of their vehicles, looking for the cause or location of the blast. Several more explosions. The only thought I had now was for the safety of my children. I pulled out onto the shoulder and barreled down the emergency lane, knocking over road work signs and cones. The still unmoving cars and their curious passengers moved quickly from my windshield to my rearview mirror. My safety was of no importance. I lost count of the number of explosions that were going off. Some I could see, miniature mushroom clouds appearing in the distance. I pulled off the freeway, heading for my children’s school.

Now traveling on smaller roads, I cut back on my speed, but my tires still squealed as I turned into a sharp curve a few blocks from the school. Luckily, I had slowed down. Otherwise I would have plowed through the police blockade. Tires locked as my car screeched to a halt.

“Get out of here!” an officer yelled as I climbed out.

“I need to get my kids!” I shouted.

“I can’t let you through. Too dangerous.”

Dangerous? That’s when I looked past the blockade. Massive plumes of smoke poured endlessly into the sky. I had to get to my daughters before that smoke…

I froze.

The smoke…the explosions…

The school?

Impossible. I tried to push through the blockade, but the officer resisted. As my shouts, screams, and flailing became more out of control, several other officers arrived to keep me at bay. It was during this scuffle that over the sound of struggling bodies and shouts that I heard a voice crack on one of their radios that ambulances were needed at the school.

Every muscle in my body contracted and steeled.

The police officers pushed me back past the barricades, but I was busy listening intently to the radio.

“…status?” a muffled voice asked.

“It’s bad, sir,” the other voice responded. “Almost totally gone. Chance of finding anyone is low. Very low. I wanted ambulances just in case. If we find anyone, they’ll definitely be in need of medical attention.”

“I’ll see what I can do, but our resources are spread out all over town.”

“Okay. Just let me know when the—

The voice on the radio cut out.

I fell to my knees. The school. My daughters.

“Sir,” one of the officers said, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. “When we get to your kids, we will let you know. They’ll most likely go to the hospital just to be checked out. Go home. You’ll need to be there when we call. If you aren’t at home, how can we contact you? Go home and wait for the call.”

I slumped back into the car and put it in reverse, heading for home. As I took one last glance into the rearview mirror, one of the police officers fell to the ground, clutching his neck.

The last can of beans slides down my throat, lukewarm and tasteless. I wasn’t prepared. How could I have known?

I drove home with my eyes barely fixed on the road, the radio station DJ detailing the events of the last hour or two. Several explosions. Some large, some small. Roads blocked. People urged to stay at home. As I pulled into the driveway, the report changed a bit. Stay at home. Seal your house. Use duct tape and plastic sheeting to seal yourself in. Cover all entryways. Doors. Windows. Vents if possible. I had plenty of duct tape and a bit of plastic sheeting from when I was painting the house. I cut off the car and staggered to the house. I was still in a daze, but got to work sealing the house. My thoughts were of my children. Yes, I would seal the house, but when the call came in, I’d leave and go to the hospital.

If the call came in…

Time has passed since then and still no call. I doubt it will ever some. The phones are dead.

Something is out there. Waiting…

Two days pass after the last can of beans. Hunger is beginning to gnaw at me. I pass the time replaying scenes from my past. The lamp is playing the role of my wife. It’s our first date, ten years ago.

“So did you?” I ask.

“Why did I what?” the lamp replies.

“Say yes. Why’d you agree to come here with me?”

The living room transforms into an Italian restaurant.

“Well,” the lamp says with a hint of a smile in its voice, “how could I resist Italian food? It’s my favorite.”

I smile. “So it’s the food. Not me? Wow. That makes me feel wanted.” Sarcasm. You smile back.

We eat slowly, small talk sprinkled throughout. The getting-to-know-you talk. The no-one-else-on-Earth-matters-but-us conversations. Darkness falls.

I miss you.

Plastic sheets. Duct tape holding them in place. My only protection. The hunger is back, but more than that…the emptiness. The not knowing. It’s worse than anything else. Where are my daughters? My wife? The smoke rising from the direction of my daughters’ school taunts me. But they can’t be dead.

They can’t be.

That’s too final.

They can’t be.

And my wife. She would have been at work. She would have known what to do, how to seal the office. She was always so calm during a crisis. When the girls would fall, I would be panicking, running around aimlessly. But Jen. She was always so calm.

I sit in a chair, a few feet from the front door, waiting for it to open, for my wife and children to walk in and hug me.

I cling to this image.

Darkness falls.

The door doesn’t open.

“So what are you going to do about it?” the lamp asks.

“Nothing,” I reply.

“Nothing? You should. You are working too hard and they aren’t pulling their weight. If this project fails or falls behind schedule, you will be the one they blame. You need to say something.”

“What? I’m in charge. They’ll just say that maybe I shouldn’t be project manager. If I can’t manage my own team, how could I manage a multi-million dollar project? That’s what they’ll say. If I just keep working hard, I’ll get promoted and then I won’t have to worry about this anymore.”

“At this rate, you’ll work yourself to death. The girls miss you. They barely ever get to see you anymore. I rarely see you.”

“Jen…not now. I can’t worry about this now. I have to go.”

“We are your family. Remember that.”

“We’ll talk about this later.”

But there was no later. Now I’m alone, talking to a lamp. When the sun rises, I’ll do what I should have done already.

I’ll look for you.

Hands grip and tear. The tape gives way and the plastic flutters and falls. I breathe in fresh air. I see clearly and unblurred for what feels like the first time.

It’s quiet. Oddly quiet, but I can’t put my finger on it.

I walk down the steps, down the driveway and into the street. I see no one. No cars. Nothing. I begin walking and that’s when it hits me.

Silence. No dogs barking. No birds singing.

Nothing. Just silence.

I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going. My feet are moving, moving me away from home and towards downtown. I pass houses, trees, cars, all the normal objects one expects to find in a neighborhood. Then bodies. Dogs. Birds. Cats. Squirrels. People. I see them all, but I don’t. I see them, but I’m still moving.

Then I’m in the city. Buildings tower over me like prison guards as my feet crunch against the street. Debris is everywhere. Glass. Chunks of concrete. Twisted pieces of steel. Paper. They cover the asphalt. This is all too much. I feel lightheaded and I think it’s because of all this carnage I see.

But deep down…I know its not.

I try to stop my feet, but they aren’t responding to my commands. My feet move me closer to one of the buildings. My hand jerks forward, smashing through a window. Shock. Blood pours from the cuts in my hand. I try to scream, to call for help. But no one is around and my mouth won’t open. It finally opens, but my hand reaches down and grabs shards of glass, stuffing them in my mouth. Blood leaks from my gums and trickles down the corners of my mouth. The glass is ground up as I chew. Then I swallow. My throat is shredded as it travels downward.

My mind races in a thousand different directions, searching for an answer.

The explosions…

My feet are moving again, faster now, full speed, faster than I’ve ever run before, which would be exhilarating if I had any control over it.

The explosions. The duct tape.

Faster. Faster than the wind or a thought. A wall is coming up, closer and closer but my feet won’t stop. My body leans forward, still running, and moments later, my entire body shudders as I hit the wall, full force, headfirst with a sickening smack. More blood now. Rushing down my head like waterfalls. Across my neck like rivers. Winding down my forehead. Into my eyes. Raining down on the pavement. Forming puddles.

The explosions. The duct tape. The plastic sheets. The doors and windows.

It comes to me. The explosions came first. Something was released into the air.

Use the duct tape. Tape the plastic sheets. Seal yourself in.

From what was in the air.

That’s why I haven’t seen anyone. Those still outside when the explosions started going off are dead, victims of some invisible poison.

The officer clutching at his throat as I drove away. Me, losing control of my body.

The poison is racing through my body like a wildfire, burning what was there and taking control and I know wants going to happen. All of those dead bodies I saw while walking. I’ll be one of them.

My hands reach up and find the wound from my collision with the wall. My skull is cracked and through the fissure I think I can feel my brain. My skin is gashed and open. My fingers dig into the wound and grip, pulling my skin, ripping and pulling, blood gushing, coating my fingers, making them slippery but I’m still pulling. Then ripping. Then darkness.

I try looking through the blood that has pooled in my eyes. Wiping them with the back of my hand, I see my face. Not a reflection, but my face, in my hands, loose skin that was once wrapped around my skull, now limp in my hands.

I’m inside a building now, taking the stairs two at a time until I’m dizzy, probably due to the massive amounts of blood I’ve left behind.

The sun and air and wind, the kind of wind that only exists when you are high up. My feet are perched on the edge of the building, my body leaning forward, the world below me, cards the size of post-it notes, roads like ribbons, my body leaning forward now, falling, and I pray that if my wife and daughters are dead, that they didn’t die like this, falling, flipping, weightless and hopeless as I pass the floors, one by one, some with shattered windows, some still intact, the ground coming closer, cars the size of notebooks, streets like rivers, body rocking back in forth in the drafts and wind and its not so bad after all, I probably wont feel a thing, and this is probably it, seconds from it all being over and I hold onto the memory of Jen, of my daughters, holding onto that memory as if this wind would rip it from me and I want them to be the last vision I have, my lasting memory, and the cars are the size of kitchen tables, streets like caskets, Jen I love you, girls you were my world, I hold onto their faces tighter now, as if God himself is trying to pull us apart, I hold onto them and look and its closer but all I feel is----