With the criminal so close, pulling his gun from the holster wasn’t an option. Even breathing was hard to do without him detecting it.
Something on a nearby shelf caught the guy’s attention, so he turned, lifted a bag of mini donuts up, and brought it to his teeth. But the stubborn package wouldn’t open, so he tucked the gun under his arm, reached for the bag, giving Hatfield just the moment he needed…
He raised from his crouch, pulling the gun and bringing it to the criminal’s head. “Get your hands up now!” he yelled.
The criminal let the bag drop from his teeth, his face now slack with disappointment.
Hatfield watched his hands slowly rise, then added, “Why don’t you put that thing on the floor first?”
He smirked, annoyed but not afraid. “It’s not even loaded, I swear.”
“Doesn’t matter. Do as I say.”
The criminal moved in slow motion, seeming to mock him. The sneer on his face told him he didn’t believe Hatfield would pull the trigger. A wordless standoff took place. After a sigh, he put the shotgun on the ground.
“Sit down nice and slow. Do not drop it.”
He nodded and did as he was told.
“Now step away from it and keep those hands up while you do it.”
The criminal backpedaled away, rolling his eyes.
Hatfield stepped on the shotgun and slid it to his rear. “Mr. Crane, you’ve got something for protection.” After a few awkward seconds of hearing nothing, he heard his friend scoop the shotgun into his arms. But he didn’t turn to see any of this, afraid to break his gaze with the criminal. “Now, get out of here.”
“Whatever,” the guy groaned, strutting out and shoving open the door with as much attitude as he sported when he held the shotgun.
The three of them watched him stroll outside, then sprint down some dark alley, filling the air with a mischievous chortle. Taking his first deep breath out in a while, he put his gun back into his holster and turned.
Jess’s face was frozen in horror, her lips trembling as if the event hadn’t yet passed. He tugged her into a hug, but she barely had the strength to hug him back.
“You don’t think he’s on his way back, do you?” Mr. Crane asked.
“If he’s back in the next thirty minutes, it won’t matter. You’ll be gone by then. You’re headed to the country like I said.”
“I don’t follow you. Are you saying I’ll have an internet connection and everything out there?”
“No, but you’ll be safe from the chaos. Right now, being safe trumps everything else. Including money.”
“If I don’t have any money, I can’t eat. Unless you want me to hunt out there.”
“You’ll have plenty to eat,” Hatfield said, gesturing toward the food in the store. “Take all the essential food, shut down the store, and get out of the city before that guy or somebody like him needs something to snack on. You got that?”
“Yeah, I do.” Mr. Crane started packing up the food while Hatfield crouched by the front door, gun poised.
At the door, he could see and hear occasional reminders of the insanity the world was spiraling into. Explosions, sparks in the sky suggesting gunfire. He asked his friend, “What’s the quickest, safest way we can get to Roosevelt?”
“That alley right outside the back door will take you straight there. It should be quieter than taking the street. Can’t promise it’ll be safe. But the odds of you getting there alive should be better.”
Hatfield said, “Sounds good. You have a place in mind to go in the country?”
“Not really. We have a cabin there—my wife and me—out near the Takahoma River. How the hell do we get there?”
“You still drive that ’71 Toyota Corolla?”
“Well, yeah, but it’s in storage right now.”
“Where?”
“Few blocks from here.”
“Good. Get to the garage the safest way you can. The car’s old enough that it should be fine, and the storage may have protected it from damage. Where’s your wife… Marie, was it?”
“Yeah. She’s at work, the government building.”
“You’re going to want to get there as soon as you can. Make sure she’s still…” He paused, careful to phrase his words delicately. “Safe.”
“All right. And you’re saying I’ll be fine if I do all that?”
“I’m saying you have a chance. All things being equal, the best thing to do would be to not have to go to the country but to already be there. Preparation is the best defense.” A tiny snicker leaked out, but nobody else shared in on the joke. Because they didn’t know his dad, had never heard the hundreds of times he’d used that phrase, and the hundreds of times his son ignored it.
7
After waiting for the alley to be clear, Hatfield and his wife sprinted down it, with Jess keeping pace remarkably well—until they heard screams.
She stopped and shuddered, turning her terrified eyes to him. “Those sound like kids!”
The closer they got to the school, the louder the screams. It sounded like a chorus of desperate cries. As Jess clutched his arm, Hatfield hoped at first that neither of the screams belonged to Justin or Tami. But as he thought things out, he figured if his kids were screaming, at least it meant it wasn’t too late.
As they got closer, they saw that the explosion at the school was just a part of another fire that was ripping through downtown. At the school’s front gates, a crowd gathered, mostly gawkers, hoping to steal a glimpse of something morbid or crazy.
But Hatfield saw a few familiar faces in the crowd, including a couple that elbowed their way over to him and Jess. “What have you guys heard?” the man asked.
He turned, trying to read the face of this man whose name he couldn’t recall. “We haven’t heard anything. We just came to get Justin and Tami. You guys headed out of the city?”
The man wrinkled his brow. “Out of the city? No, we’re just making sure little Erica is okay. We figured something must have happened to the buses. This power outage was bad enough we’ve got this to deal with,” he said, indicating the fire blazing from the school’s windows.”
“Look, you can take this as seriously as you want you, but I mean it. This is no power outage. That explosion was not something that happens in a power outage. It’s only a matter of time before the whole grid gets disabled—if it hasn’t happened already—and all of the basic functions and society—”
The guy sent Hatfield a slack stare. Once again, it was that look. The one he never wanted to see again. He wondered for a second if he should even bother warning people, but it would tear into his conscience to know he’d had a chance to help people make it through but didn’t because he feared being labeled a lunatic. So he kept on. “It’s very important you get out of the city. That’s all I’m going to say. Relying on power coming back soon—or ever—would be a big mistake.”
The man gave Hatfield a warm pat on the shoulder and a smile like the one you give a four-year-old when he struggles to tie his shoe. “I hope everything works out for you and your family.”
The crowd had grown larger, and a murmur fell over them. Jess’s grip on his arms nearly cut off his circulation, and her eyes were alert. Hatfield struggled to make out the snippets of gossip floating through. All he could catch was the word “terrorist.”
The murmur faded as all eyes aimed at the school’s front door, fixed on a silhouette standing at the top of the steps. “Please don’t panic. The National Guard will be here soon to help those trapped.”
The words “National Guard” and “trapped” incited gasps and shrieks. Jess buried her head under her husband’s chin, sobbing a chain of words he couldn’t make out. She was praying, wailing, crying in horror at the same time. He stroked her hair gently, scanning the building for a way in or a way out. Relying on government help didn’t seem like a great idea.