“I hope they don’t hurt the Millers,” said Sadie. “They’re so nice.”
“Mrs. Miller gave us supplies on the way out,” said James. “She gave us a big bag of rice, and even some beef jerky.”
“Just don’t eat it all yourself, James,” said Sadie. “And she gave us water bottles, too.”
That was good, that they had more food and water. But Max’s mind was on the Millers’ imminent danger.
Miller was sure to be inside by now, his drawbridge-ladder hoisted. He’d have his gun in his hand, and so would his wife. Maybe his son, too.
But Max couldn’t think about them now.
“I can’t believe they’re staying,” said Mandy.
“They’ve made their decision,” said Georgia.
Finally, they made it to the road, emerging just past the second roadblock, which was a pile of tree stumps that Miller must have dragged over with his truck earlier in the day, before felling those trees.
The minivan moved smoothly on the pavement. Max pressed down on the accelerator, and the van started to gather speed.
“Max!” cried out someone.
In front of them, on the road, was a figure. There wasn’t enough time to register who they were.
The figure was dashing off to the road’s shoulder, a handgun raised.
A shot rang out. The sound of shattering glass.
Max acted without thinking. He swung the wheel, urging the van directly towards the figure.
21
The four of them were sitting in a dark, unfurnished basement. The only illumination came from the sunlight that crept through the cracks of the small, boarded up windows.
Bill’s two companions had introduced themselves, but John had already forgotten their names.
They’d given John a full water bottle, which he’d drained in almost a single gulp. And they’d handed him a loaf of stale sliced bread. It was cheap supermarket bread, the kind of stuff that John would have turned his nose up at just a little more than two week ago. But he ate it greedily, devouring the whole loaf in record time.
“So I don’t get it,” said John. “The whole Main Line area has been taken over by some militia?”
“Shhh, remember to whisper.”
“Sorry,” whispered John.
“If they find us, we’re screwed,” whispered Bill. “Trust me, they’re brutal. You wouldn’t believe the things they’ve done… the things I’ve seen….”
Bill had probably saved John’s life, taking him down to this basement. It was evidently a place they’d hidden out in before, since Bill had known exactly which window was unlocked. Maybe he’d left it that way himself.
Bill hadn’t mentioned his family at all, and John didn’t want to ask. He had a feeling that something horrible had happened to them, and he didn’t want to cause Bill any pain by asking about it. At least that was what he was telling himself. Really, he thought of himself nothing more than a coward for not even asking.
“To answer your question,” said one of the men, speaking in low tones. “The military and police had control of the area. From what you’re saying, it sounds like they only lasted a short while in Philly.”
“Yeah,” said John, who didn’t want to say anything more about the horrors in the city. Those screams he’d heard would be featured in his nightmares and waking thoughts for the rest of his life, which for all he knew wasn’t going to be much longer.
“They lasted about a week out here,” continued the man. In the darkness, John couldn’t tell if he was the one wearing civilian clothes or the police uniform. “But without communication, everything fell apart quickly.”
“Too quickly,” interjected Bill.
The other one grunted in acknowledgment.
“That’s the thing I don’t understand about any of this,” said John. “It was like… first there were riots. I mean, there’ve been riots before, ugly ones. And there’s almost always looting when the power is out for a couple days… But things got crazy too quickly… Too quickly…”
“We’ve talked it to death already,” said Bill. “Basically, it doesn’t make any sense unless you consider that it’s just what we are.”
“What do you mean?” said John. He was feeling better now, with the bread in his stomach, refilling his glycogen stores slowly, and his thirst quenched.
“We were all brought up believing that we’re all civilized humans,” said Bill. “We were brought up believing that all those crazy, horrible things in history were from a long, long time ago, and that we’ve progressed past that. They told us in school how the early humans fought brutal tribal wars, slaughtering each other, how they ate each other, etc. But we always considered our ancestors something completely different from ourselves. We’re the modern humans. But in reality, we’re nothing more than cavemen dressed in suits.”
John laughed, to his own surprise. “That’s what they used to say about us investment guys. Or something like that. That we’re sharks in suits, basically. Savage interior, well-dressed exterior.”
“Exactly,” said Bill. “And once the suits and modern society suddenly drop away, what’s left? Nothing but the primitive savage who’s willing to do anything for his own survival.”
“Or what he considers necessary for his own survival,” said John. “I’ve seen things that made no sense. Things that didn’t benefit anyone.”
“Part of the package,” said Bill.
“So what are you guys doing hiding out here?” said John. He couldn’t exactly put the pieces together of what was going on.
“We’re deserters, basically,” said Bill. “I didn’t like what was going.”
“To put it lightly.”
“We call the organization that’s formed the militia, but it doesn’t really have anything to do with the military. Not the military we once had. And certainly not the police force.”
“They were executing people,” said Bill. “Like some kind of demented martial law in effect. It was horrible.”
John wondered if that was how Bill had lost his wife and child. But still, he didn’t dare ask. And he hated himself for not asking.
“So I imagine they’re not so happy about that, about you deserting?” said John.
“No,” said Bill, shaking his head.
“They want total control of the area,” said the other. “And they’re vicious. They’ll do whatever it takes. Trust me, whatever.”
“It sounds chaotic,” said John.
“Sort of. It’s actually pretty organized. Considering that there’s no real means of communication. They’ve started using runners, though, to send messages through to the other leaders.”
“And what’s the goal of all this?” said John.
“Control? Power? Who knows. The people who lead the militia—maybe they were frustrated with their old lives. Maybe they were always on the bottom of the hierarchy. Now they’ve clawed their way to the top. And they want to punish the others.”
“There’s also the practical aspect of it all. Those at the top get the most food. The water, and the booze.”
“I can’t imagine that’s going to last long,” said John. “Not without any food being shipped here.”
“And don’t forget most of the farms in the US are heavily automated,” said Bill. “Don’t think that those farms out in the Midwest are going to be able to grow corn and wheat like before. Maybe eventually. But not for a long while. And still the food won’t get here.”
“Has the militia started on plans to produce here in the suburbs?” said John.
“Not from what we can tell,” said Bill. “The whole thing is bound to collapse when the food that’s available here runs out. But there’s quite a bit of it, if you consider all the stores that are packed full, and all the food in people’s houses. And it’s not like it’s being divided up equally. Far from it. Those at the top of the hierarchy get the most. They’re the only ones with full stomachs.”