Rendezvous: Chapter 4

Trevor Fritz was slumped in a deck chair on the front porch of the frat house, numb to the world.  He felt trapped, the two linebackers standing guard seeming to him more like prison wardens than lookouts.  The drink in his hand, born a Scotch on the rocks but now Scotch & water, did little to console him - mainly because he had done nothing but stare at it all morning.

When it became clear that power wasn’t going to be restored any time soon, Trevor had entertained hopes of ditching the rest of the team once the crisis died down and it was safe to travel.  But after Mark had tried to leave - Jesus.  He’d have to find some other opportunity.  For now, he was biding his time.  Security couldn’t stay this tight forever.

Brett Cocker stumbled out to the porch, a beer in each hand.  He chugged one and then crushed the can on his shaven black head.  Shouting in triumph as he popped the other can, he turned to Trevor.

“Gooooooooood morning!  How are we on this fine day?”

“Wicked hangover,” he lied.  “I see you’re up at the crack o’ lunch.”

“Shit, is it noon already?”  The runningback let out a hearty laugh.  “Whatever, man.  I have broken my fast on beer, and that makes it breakfast!”  He grinned and proudly hoisted the can over his head, like a trophy.

Trevor liked Brett.  He was probably the smartest dumb jock out there.  And right now, Trevor felt like the dumbest smart jock out there, which probably put them at about the same level.  They made some small talk, discussing the dwindling ice supply in the coolers downstairs, the dwindling water supply in the crates upstairs, the dwindling alcohol supply throughout the house, the dwindling everything.  Turns out, a house full of a football team doesn’t leave much room for food to feed said football team.

At some point, Tom’s truck came down the block and pulled up on the lawn.  The guards made way, and Frank jumped out before the vehicle had stopped, a look of triumph on his face.

“We come bearing booze and bitches!”  He raised both hands in the air as he shouted, then went to the back to help Shane and Bill with their captives.

“Well, I’ll be.”  Trevor leaned forward in his chair as the women came into view.  “That’s Dee fucking Morrigan.”

“Who,” asked Brett, “The Amazon or the redhead?”

“The one in front.  The redhead is Samantha Rose.”  Dee was kicking her legs up in the air, struggling against Shane’s full nelson.  “Hey, watch close, this ought to be good.”

Right as Dee had built up a steady rhythm of kicking, Shane’s periodic pressure on the back of her neck became predictable.  At just the right moment, she dropped all her weight as Shane pushed down in anticipation of another kick, then twisted and heaved the tailback over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes.  He recovered quickly, though, and soon he, Tom, and Frank made a dog-pile on top of her.  Dee managed to wriggle out, but one of the linebackers ran up and kicked her in the gut before she could get to her feet.  He leaned down and grabbed a fistful of her long black hair, then gave her an intimate look at his Bowie knife.  Dee was sucking wind; she stopped struggling.

“Damn.”  Brett took another swig from his beer.  As the group went past, he noticed that Bill’s nose was broken and bleeding, and Frank’s neck had a large bruise forming.

“Shit, you have no idea,” Trevor said when the group had passed.  “That girl, she’s fucking crazy.  When we were juniors, Frank challenged her to a boxing match, said it was to settle an old score.  Dee asked if it could be kickboxing, and he says sure.  So they get in the ring and Dee opens up with this wide haymaker.  Frank, cocky bastard, he blocks high with his left hand and brings in his right for a straight jab to her face.  But with his arms up like that, he couldn’t see that instead of stepping in, Dee was putting a thrust kick right up under his sternum.”

“Ooh, shit.  Yeah, she looks like she knows how to tango.”

“Yeah, no kidding.  So Frank, he literally flies into the ropes, and can’t get his balance back, so he just kind of flops forward like he’s gonna fall.  But Dee’s ready, and before he even hits the ground, she drops her weight and puts this vicious uppercut right up in his chin.  Knocked him out cold.  Motherfucker got TKO’d by a girl in five seconds, and he hadn’t even thrown a punch.”

“Son of a bitch.”  Brett had stopped drinking.  “The fuck did they bring into this house?”

“I got no idea,” said Trevor.  He raised the tumbler to his mouth and drained it in one big gulp.  “But things just got a hell of a lot more interesting around here.”  He smiled for the first time that day.

Dee was on her back, each hand cuffed to a bedpost.  As she caught her breath, a memory surfaced of a story she had read where a woman was in a similar situation - trying to remember how the character got out of it, Dee realized that she’d never actually finished the book.  Stretching her fingers forward, squeezing her thumb as far into her palm as she could, she tried to slide her hands out of the cuffs.  It was no good, she couldn’t get the right angle, stretched out as she was.  Taking deep breaths, she made a mental map of what she’d seen of the house on her way upstairs - the entranceway, the living room, a glance at the kitchen, the staircase, the hallway - Sam was downstairs, presumably in a different bedroom.  If they fucking touched her - Dee had to find a way to escape.  For a good ten minutes, she struggled with her restraints, but to no avail.

Taking a fresh look at her surroundings, Dee noticed a small gap between the bedpost and the knob at its head.  If it wasn't a solid piece of wood - she reached her right hand up and twisted.  It took some effort, but she finally got it rotating.  It was slow going - the bolt was probably screwed directly into the wood itself, with no guiding threads, and Dee could only get the proper leverage across fifteen degrees of arc or so.  After a few minutes of this, she could see the threads of the bolt itself.  Then she heard raucous laughter erupt from downstairs.  Frank’s voice roared in protest.

“Oh, but that wasn’t even the end of it!”  Shane was shouting above the crowd.  She heard excited tones of voice, but the words were indistinct, and there was periodic laughter throughout.  Finally, she heard someone stomping up the stairs, and taunting shouts following.  As the stomping came closer to the door, she heard someone shout,

“Ooh, big man, Frank!  You need a knife to handle the girl when she’s tied down?”

“Shut’cher fuckin’ mouth!”  Frank threw the door open.  He had a kitchen knife in one hand, a half-empty bottle of liquor in the other.

“Give ‘er Hell, big guy!”  Frank grunted and slammed the door.  Dee’s mind was sifting through possibilities.  There was commotion outside, she didn’t know how many people, or how drunk, and she was certainly in a compromising position.  Whatever she did, she had to keep it quiet.  Frank took a swig from his bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Look at you,” he slurred.  “All tied up an’ shit.  Ever since high school, I been waitin’ for a chance to get back at you.  Never thought it’d be like this, though.”

“Shut up, Frank.  You’re drunk.”  Her tension was audible.

“No, YOU shut up, bitch!  Look at you.  You ain’t goin’ nowhere.  I got you where I want you, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do as you’re told, or you’ll get that pretty little throat of yours cut right the fuck out.”

“Dammit,” Dee said, more to herself than anything.  Her mind was made up.  It was showtime.

“I SAID, shut UP, bitch!”  Frank brandished his knife menacingly, but kept his distance.

“Frank, listen -“

“Shut your mouth, or I swear I’ll stab you!”

“No, Frank, you’re right.  I won’t fight you.  Can you just listen to me for a minute?  Please?”

“Well, since you asked nicely,” another swig, “I s’pose.”

“Look, you’re right.  You got me.  But you don’t have to be an asshole about it, OK?  I mean,” Dee hoped beyond all reason that this bluff was going to come through for her, “Us girls talk, you know, and I’ve, well - I’ve heard some things, so maybe - maybe this doesn’t have to be all bad, right?”  Frank looked suspicious.  “So why don’t you just put the knife down, and we’ll see if we can’t both have a good time, huh?”

Frank regarded her with caution.  Dee flashed the warmest smile she could manage, her heart threatening to jump right out of her chest.  For a long moment, he seemed unsure of what to do.  Finally, he lowered the knife and rolled his shoulders.

“Good to see you came to your senses.  Let’s do this.”  He took one last swig of rum, then set the bottle on the dresser next to the door.  Dee didn’t flinch as he pulled off her running shoes, then her jeans, then her panties, and finally cut away her shirt and bra.  Frank put the knife next to the bottle on the dresser, then undressed and mounted her.  He was clumsy, and Dee suspected that the alcohol was only partially to blame.  Breathing heavily, mainly to calm herself, but also to hide her intent from Frank, she wrapped her legs around his waist and started moving her hips along with him.  As Frank closed his eyes and started working into a rhythm, Dee shifted her attention back to the knob at the top of the bedpost.  For what seemed like an eternity, she worked it around until it came free.  Setting it carefully on the nightstand right next to the bed, she pulled her handcuff over the edge of the post and slowly pushed the ratchet all the way through the cheek plates.  Dee then closed her hand around the hinge, the ratchet curving like a claw from the bottom of her fist.  After taking a moment to observe Frank's rhythm, she punched with all her might across his throat, ripping his trachea.

Frank's eyes shot open, and he tried to back away, but Dee's legs held their grip.  She grabbed his hair at the back of his head and pulled him in close, hissing in his ear between exaggerated moans.

"Look at you, bleeding like a stuck pig.  OH, GOD!  Nobody can hear you squeal, little piggy.  OH, YES!  And once you bleed out, I'm gonna go outside - OH, FRANK! - and then I'm gonna kill all your pig friends.  YES!  FUCK ME!  You stupid, gullible, pig."

Frank coughed and sputtered, but his vocal cords were torn and he couldn't make any noise except for a fading wheeze and bubble as he suffocated on his own blood.  Dee kept up her impassioned intonations, to the amusement of those outside.  When Frank stopped moving, she checked his pulse.  Nothing.

Dee rolled over, still holding Frank, not wanting to alert the spectators with a telltale thud.  She then unscrewed the other knob - this one went much faster, now that she had a better position.  Putting on her pants and shoes as quickly and quietly as she could, she heard a faint shift from the taunts outside.  Her shirt was ruined, useless.  Oh, well.  Maybe the distraction could be used to her advantage.

Silence.

"Frank?"

"Hey, man, you OK?"

"Frank?"

Dee searched Frank's pockets for the handcuff keys.  He didn't have them.  She grabbed the kitchen knife and stood with her back against the wall, an arm's length away from the door on the other side from the dresser.  Some commotion ensued outside, then the door opened a crack.  Shane's eyes opened wide at the sight of Dee, covered in blood from her chin to her waist, and the door fell away from his hand.  Not missing a beat, Dee pivoted on her forward foot and jammed the knife up under Shane's chin, plunging it in to the handle.  She felt the tip of the blade scrape against bone, then yanked it out and kicked the corpse into the two men behind it.  Dee then slammed the door shut and grabbed the wooden chair from in front of Frank's computer.

"Fucking bitch!  Guys, get the fuck up here!"  The door was flung wide open as Bill Johnson stepped through.  He got a facefull of chair, knocking him back into the wall as the seat broke off from the back.  He was dead before he hit the ground, fragments of his already fractured facial bones buried in brain tissue.  Dee slammed the door shut again, and readied herself a few feet from the dresser.

There was a few moments' pause, as the jocks were unsure how to proceed.  Open the door a little, get stabbed; open the door a lot, get your face rocked.  How the fuck were they supposed to get in?  Finally, someone kicked the door in.  But it rebounded off the dresser, barely hanging from the hinges.  As soon as Dee saw a shape appear in the gap, she took a running start and did a double-footed jump kick into the door, to the sound of shuddering wood and splintering bone.  The body fell to the floor, gasping for air, unable to scream.  Dee grabbed the seat of the wooden chair and readied herself for another attack.

"She's fucking killing us!"  Running footsteps thumped down the hall.  Dee stepped through the doorway in time to see Brett Cocker reach the top of the staircase, baseball bat in hand.  As he stepped towards her, she lobbed the chair fragment up into the air, giving it as much arc as she could without hitting the ceiling.  Before she even released it, she had started running.  Brett tried to knock the obstruction out of the way, but it had already served its purpose of blocking his vision.  Dee leaped feet first into his knee, the chair hitting the ground behind her, and she did a baseball slide past him to the other side of the staircase.  Brett fell to the ground howling in pain, his knee destroyed.  As another figure came up the stairs, Dee stepped into view when his jaw was just at drop-kick height and sent him flying back down with a broken neck.

A red mist was creeping in from the edges of Dee's vision.  Without thinking, she stalked to the bathroom to kill the runner, who was crying in the bathtub at the sight of the carnage.  He was flailing about, trying to back through the wall to get away from the vision of death that approached.  Jaw set, eyes cold, Dee flung a towel over him and just started stabbing.

When Trevor heard the first scream, he watched with amusement as the team scrambled to find weapons.  He finished off his second Scotch on the rocks, then casually stood up and headed to his room in the basement.  He grabbed his messenger bag in the dark, and with swift, sure motions, he opened his sock drawer and stowed the rifle rounds and shotgun shells he kept in the back.  Then he turned to his closet and retrieved the sawed-off double-barreled shotgun and hunting rifle he kept on the top shelf, behind boxes of sparring gear and karate trophies.  He slung the rifle across his back, and loaded the shotgun with the two shells he kept up there in case of burglary - or, in this case, an opportunity to get the fuck out of town.

Back upstairs, it was pandemonium.  Trevor grabbed a few bottles of water and stowed them in his bag with the ammo, then moved smoothly through the chaos to Tom's room, where Sam was being held.  The poor girl was wide-eyed with fright when she saw his shotgun at the ready.  He shut the door, confident that the carnage had not subsided, and went to her bedside.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you," he said with unnatural calm.  "I'm going to make sure we both get out of here alive.  Do you know who has the keys to these cuffs?"  Sam shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes.  Trevor looked around the room.  Tom's bed had a metal frame, he would need the keys or a screwdriver to get her free - and a screwdriver would take too long.  Trevor went to the door and peeked out at the living room.  Blood was everywhere.  Men were rolling on the floor, clutching shattered limbs or just trying to crawl away.  He saw Dee pounce on one such victim, lift his head by the hair, and slit his throat.  Another appeared from the bathroom with a barman's shanker.  Dee stood up and stared; he charged, and she disarmed him with one swift motion.  He backed away, then ran around the corner into the kitchen.  Dee walked after him, rolling her neck on her shoulders.

As soon as she disappeared, Tom came quietly to the door and opened it.  Trevor stepped back as he entered, and cocked an eyebrow as Tom readied a 9mm pistol.  This wasn't in the plan.

"Bitch is fuckin' crazy," Tom muttered, staring out the door.

"Yeah," Trevor said, "So what's the plan?"

"Well, I'm gonna wait for her to leave, then shoot her in the back of the head."

"I think she might come for her friend here."  Tom looked at Sam and panicked.

"Shit, you're probably right."  Tom was fidgeting.  Trevor gave him something to focus on.

"I just saw her go into the kitchen.  Keep your eye on it, when she comes out, slam the door.  As soon as she comes in, I'll hit her with my shotgun."

"Yeah, sounds good."  Tom nodded anxiously and then stuck his head back through the doorway to get a good look at the kitchen.  Trevor kicked the door shut on Tom's neck, bursting blood vessels and crushing vertebrae.  Sam screamed.

"Dumbfuck."  Trevor spat on the corpse at his feet, then hauled it into the room and shut the door.  Checking Tom's pockets, he found a set of handcuff keys.  Smiling as if he hadn't a care in the world, he turned to Sam and unlocked her cuffs.

"Why - why did you kill him?"

"Well, to be honest - I don't know if my shotgun would kill that woman."

When Dee heard Sam's scream, she froze.  She was alert, her senses keen, the haze gone from her eyes.  Looking down at her hands, she saw that she had pried a man's jaw apart.  Suppressing the urge to vomit, she rose from her knees to a crouch and moved quietly to the living room.  Seeing nothing alive, she called out to Sam.

"I'm in here!"

"Are you OK?"

"Yes, I'm fine!"

"Can you come out?"

"Yes, but - look, hold on a sec, OK?"  Dee readied her knife and took a look around, sensing a trap.  After a few seconds, Sam came out the door with handcuff keys.  She nearly dropped them at the sight of her lover.  Topless, blood-soaked, hard-eyed, Sam was having trouble matching the woman before her with the woman she loved.  "Oh, God.  Oh, fuck.  Dee, what happened?"

"I - I had - oh, God, Rosie, I thought they were gonna - how did you -?"  Dee's eyes flooded as she dropped her knife and fell to her knees, looking at the mutilated bodies all around.  She clutched her head in her hands and started heaving with sobs.  Sam crouched to hold her, trying to comfort her in some way.

"I believe I'll be going now."  Dee started at the man's voice, grabbed her knife and rolled out of Sam's embrace to get between her and the newcomer.

"Who the fuck're you?"  Dee brandished her knife at the bespectacled, goateed figure before her.

"Trevor."

"Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you where you stand."

"Um, I killed the guy with the nine who was gonna shoot you?"

"It's true," Sam added.  "Dee, let him go.  Please."  Dee lowered the knife and leaned back to sit on the floor.

"I'm just gonna go outside, get on my Harley, and leave town.  Good luck out there."  He stepped carefully over the corpses and went outside.  Moments later, a motorcycle started up, and soon faded into the distance.

Dee kept crying for a long time.

Rendezvous: Chapter 3

Kevin was unable to raise Jack on the walkie-talkie.  While Sam and Dee loaded up the station wagon with everything useful they could find, Seamus and Cameron cleared bodies from the driveway.  Since that had been the main avenue of approach, that was where the corpses were piled most densely.  Kevin kept trying to contact Jack, but there was no response.  Using Cameron’s binoculars, he could see that what police had shown up were mainly focused on containing the activity at the McDonald’s up the street, which was right next to a liquor store and a bar.  The dorms North of there appeared to be civil, just boisterous.  There was no longer any visible activity on the quad or by the apartments beyond campus.

After Kevin had been unable to radio Jack for five minutes, the group reasoned that they were probably dealing with a crisis of their own.  Cameron looked around for more riot activity, but there was none visible to the South.  The house was relatively low, though, and buildings in the Southern part of town were three and four stories, so it was hard to tell.  They were unable to get a visual on the Dojo itself, as there was a rather massive church right in the way.  They decided that the best course of action would be to pack up and head over.  There was too much useful stuff to simply leave behind, but the dead bodies, possibility of revenge, and unknown factor of the police made the house too dangerous a property to maintain.  The worst-case scenario was that the Dojo had been overrun, in which case they would get Kevin’s car from the nearby parking garage and try to evacuate as many as possible.

The wagon loaded and the driveway clear, everyone piled in and headed out.  Kevin had kept them updated on the police, and they were still occupied at McDonald’s, where a fire had broken out.  There was no rush, which was quite fortunate; the station wagon was creaking and groaning under the weight of all the cans, jars, tools, and materials in the back.

Sam steered the station wagon carefully through side streets, trying to avoid main arteries of traffic.  The jams had mostly cleared up, with most people either out of work or out of town, but there were still tight knots around the gas stations themselves, despite the price-hike.  She pulled in behind the Dojo, in the parking lot that served the pizza joint and pair of bars below.  Cameron stayed at the car with his bat, just in case, while the others went to the roof to take a look around.

Jack was still on the roof, fiddling with the walkie-talkie.

“Holy shit,” he said, “You guys fucking made it!”

“Of course,” said Kevin, “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Well, when I didn’t hear from you for over half an hour, I assumed that the mob had just overrun you.  So I started playing around with this thing, and - well, Jesus, it’s practically a compact CB!  I was able to listen in on truckers talking as they went around town.”

“Fuckin’ A,” said Seamus.  Three highways ran together around the town.  “Sounds like we’ve got ourselves some news, then.  This ought to make for some interesting updates.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Jack continued.  “Power’s out all over the country.  Even parts of Canada and Mexico, though nobody knows how far.  Truckers have become like the new, umm, couriers or whatever.  Who used to get the news to places before -?”  Jack trailed off as he realized that tales from far off lands hadn’t been primarily carried by traveling merchants since the Renaissance.

Kevin finally spoke up.  “Look, at any rate, the house is no longer safe.  We brought all the gear that we could, but there could be more riots at any time.  We need to secure this place.”

“Yeah, uhh, that sounds good,” said Jack, shock sinking in.  He was starting to realize that he would probably never read an online news article again.

“OK,” Dee chimed in, her mind racing.  “We need to check on the upstairs neighbors and see what their situation is, then secure the entrances.  I vote we dismantle the back stairs and snap the inside latch on the front deadbolt so it can only be operated by key.  Also, we need fire extinguishers.  The exteriors of these buildings are brick, but there’s enough wood on the inside to be a concern.”

“I’ll head inside to do that stuff,” Sam said.  “I’m the only one who hasn’t got blood all over me.  Jack, is there like a secret knock or something to get in?”

“Yes, it’s two knocks, then three knocks, then two knocks again.”

“OK, thanks.”  Sam headed down to the backdoor.  Seamus looked at Jack suspiciously.

“Is there really a secret knock?”

“Fuck no.  I just made that up.”

Over the next half hour, the group hauled gear from the station wagon up to the roof and sorted out the details of how they’d fortify the Dojo.  Seamus and Kevin then kept watch outside while the rest went in to explain what was going on to the others.  This time there was full disclosure:  the riot, the deaths, the fire, the plans, everything came out.  If they were to survive, none of this Cloak & Dagger shit was gonna fly.  There were only a dozen or so who hadn’t known, and none of them were really disappointed at missing out on the riot anyway, so the news was digested rather painlessly.  Most of them were just focused on riding out the shock of the situation and wanted to be left alone to stare at the air.

Luckily, the neighbors upstairs had vacated.  Hopefully, they had also skipped town.  It would be a very bad thing if they showed up in the middle of a riot with keys to the fortress.  Their apartment was raided, but it didn’t turn up much besides a few cans of food.  They hadn’t taken the recycling out in a while, though, and it looked like they drank a lot of bottled water.  Sam and Jill set about cleaning the containers they could in order to bottle up more clean water, and thanked their lucky stars that the tap was still running clear.  They didn’t want to have to start distilling water just yet.

Jack and Kevin started a rooftop cookout with Kevin’s grill.  Nothing was really grill-worthy, but it was the only controlled source of heat they had.  Alcohol flowed freely, since apparently the college bars and liquor stores were sufficient to slake the thirsts of the town so far, leaving the bars below the Dojo completely untouched.  This was on the edge of the business district, though, and was just as likely a target as the East side once the North and central areas were thoroughly pillaged.

Cameron resumed his position as rooftop scout while Dee and Seamus got one of Kevin’s friends to help with dismantling the rear staircase.  Ethan Lawrence was an enormous football player with skin the color of baker’s chocolate, and he was almost able to haul the stairs up by himself after Dee had cut them free with her welding torch.  She and Seamus had rigged up a crude system of rope supports beforehand, though, so such a feat of strength - while still impressive - was unnecessary.

The back stairs handled, she turned her attention to the front.  Her first act was to reverse the deadbolt so it locked from the inside, then she sheared off the latch on the outside using a wide-shank screwdriver as a chisel.  She then got Seamus to help her cut a door-sized rectangle out of the dumpster behind the Dojo, which they cleaned off as thoroughly as they could with mineral spirits and steel wool.  The two of them removed the window in the middle of the door, cut a sort of porthole out of the metal rectangle, and bolted a safety glass cover over the circular opening (this was cut from the first window Seamus found which he couldn’t break, a search he rather enjoyed).  The two of them then proceeded to remove the outside handle from the door and bolted on the new metal covering.  The doorjamb was reinforced by removing all the structural wood and replacing it with pipes bolted right into the brick.  The pipe frame was then welded into one piece, bolts and all, so it couldn’t be removed without breaking the whole assembly.  Since the door opened out, it now could not be kicked in, pulled off, or unlocked from the outside.  The sun had set by this point, so Seamus and Dee went to join the others for dinner and have a couple drinks.

During the booze run, fire extinguishers had been grabbed from the various bars and other establishments in the area.  The smoke shop had had three of them.  Ten now stood at the ready in various locations around the apartment.  Cameron had a feeling they were going to need them when the fires started at about 11:30.

The sixteen-foot ladder from Dee and Sam’s house was sufficient for either getting down to the street or for getting up to the roof above the third-story apartment, which was where Cameron was when he saw houses start bursting into flames.  He called down to Dee and Seamus, who were smoking pot with Hank Andrews and Mary Hart, friends of Dee's from the philosophy department.  Dee made sure Seamus went up the ladder first, so he wouldn’t shake it when she went up.  Dee looked through Cameron’s binoculars.

“Well, shit,” she said matter-of-factly, then giggled.  “What do you make of it, Cam?”

“My guess is Molotov cocktails.  They’ve been sprouting up quickly, too fast for the fires to be spreading from one house to another.”

“Oh, yeah, fuck.  Good call.  Hey, isn’t that where all the frat-houses are?”

“Shit, I want to see some Mensa assholes starting fires,” Seamus said, chuckling.

“Yeah,” said Cameron, “LaCrosse House and I think the other sports teams are up in that area.  I mean, frat-houses in general are kind of all over, but if I were to pick a frat to pull this shit, it’d be from that area.”

Dee stuck out her tongue at Seamus and blew raspberries.

“You like that, uhh - unvoiced, err, linguolabial trill?”  Dee grinned maniacally for being able to say that in her present state of consciousness, and Seamus responded by flipping her both of his middle fingers.

“Not the time,” said Cameron.  Had he known there was weed earlier, he would have joined in, but knowing what he knew now, he was glad he hadn’t.  He didn’t begrudge them, though; things were probably only going to get worse, and those two had done more work than most anyone else, so why not have as much fun as possible while you still could?

“Well, we can’t do anything about it,” said Dee, “Except worry.  And that’s no fun.  So let’s just tell everyone to stay inside if they start coming this way, so we won’t draw attention to ourselves.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”  Still, Cameron didn’t want to get caught with his proverbial pants down.  He’d stay up in his crow’s nest until things settled down.  If they ever did, that is.  “Oh, fuck it.  Where’s that bud?”

Hank, Mary, and Sam had joined them on the roof to watch the fireworks.  Everyone else was informed of the situation, and some came to see, but then went right back down to keep drinking in a safer spot.  The fires were visible to the naked eye, but the binoculars revealed that things weren’t as bad as “assholes throwing Molotovs” sounded at first.  It had rained heavily on Friday, so the risk of spreading was fairly minimal, and there were plenty each of open spaces and brick buildings to act as buffer zones.

After half an hour or so, the fires had stopped starting anew, though the existing ones were still going strong.  Another few minutes later, a large pickup truck came roaring into view, its high beams illuminating the street for blocks ahead.  It was traveling the wrong way down the one way street leading straight from the Dojo, in all likelihood heading for the very bar beneath them.  Sam got word down for everyone to head in and shut up.  Groans of protest notwithstanding, the people complied.  They didn’t want to die in a fire, especially not while drunk.

Sure enough, the truck rode up on the curb and stopped inches from the smashed glass of the bar’s large picture window.  Three guys in football jerseys jumped out the back, while the driver remained in the cab.

“Motherfucker,” one of them said, “Looks like someone already got to the place.”

“Well, take a look inside and make sure, will ya?”

“Shut up, Bill, it was your idea to come out here.”

The biggest one spoke up.  “What’s the matter, Shane?  You ‘fraid o’ the dark?”

“Fuck you, Frank.”  Frank put Shane in a headlock and gave him a noogie.

“Shit,” said Sam, under her breath.  “Dee, you think -?”  Dee shushed her and began to hock up a loogie.  She let it dangle a good eighteen inches to aim, but the wind kicked up right after she let loose, causing her to miss her mark.  The jocks searched the inside of the bar, then split up to search the others on the block, then met back up at the truck.

“There’s fucking nothing here.”

“Fuck it, let’s burn the shit down.”

“You ‘tarded?  We ran outta cocktails before we left campus!”

“Well, fuck, whose fault is that?”

“Yours, you drunk fuck, you threw ‘em all!”

And so on, until they were in the truck and headed East, most likely to the mall and the liquor stores out that way.

The group on the roof breathed a collective sigh of relief.  Dee nodded and said, “Yeah, that was him.”

“Who was who?  Or whom, rather,” Hank asked.

“Frank Calhoun.  Starting center for the football team.  He’s a year younger than me, so probably a senior now, unless he got red-shirted and then flunked a year or some shit like that.”

Seamus asked, “What, you know that fucktard?”

“I know all of ‘em.  The others were Bill Johnson and Shane Brown.  Didn’t recognize the driver, though.”

“Dee, you slut, fucking the football team now?”

“Shut up, Cam.  I went to high school with those fuckers.”

“Oh-ho!  That ain’t half the story,” said Sam.  “Dee an’ Frank go way back.  Like, when Dee was a junior, Frank was already starting for varsity.  Well, us an’ our friends are passing by the football fields after shop, when Frank starts givin’ cat-calls from where he an’ his buddies are chillin’ after practice.  Dee shouts back, ‘You wouldn’t know what to do with me,’ and to make a long shouting match short, Frank bets Dee twenty bucks that if she puts some pads on, he can have ‘er on her back in seconds.”

“And?”  Hank was rapt with attention, his default demeanor during story-time.

“Well, of course, Dee fuckin’ accepts, so one of them gives her his sweaty pads, and she’s all like, ‘Ooh, smells like faggot in here,’ which just gets ‘em madder.  So they square off, and Frank’s just surprised that Dee knew how to put the damn pads on, but as soon as the guy they picked to call ‘go’ gives the signal, Frank reaches up under Dee’s pads and grabs her tits!”

By this point, the fear of fire having left the group, laughter erupted.  Sam’s facial expressions and wild hand gestures were making the story.

“So Dee squeals like - well, like a damn girl, and she rears back, and Frank just fuckin’ topples her, naturally enough.  But while Frank’s gloating, Dee just gets up and challenges him to a re-match, saying he couldn’t do it twice.  Frank asks if she wants to double it, forty bucks to the winner, she says yes, so he figures he’s got an easy forty bucks.  Except this time, when Frank grabs her tits again, Dee just keeps her weight low.  Then she reaches down and grabs her own wrists, brings her arms in to lock Frank’s elbows together, and lifts him off balance; then she kinda shifts up under him, pivots and hip-tosses the fucker!  Next thing Frank knows, he’s flat on his back with a chipped tooth!”

“So’d you get the money,” asked Cameron.

“Shit yeah, she did!  Frank gave her fifty just to shut her up!”

“That’s not quite how it happened,” Dee said, red-faced from being the center of attention.  “Frank actually never paid me.  That was something Bill made up just to give him shit.  He never lived it down, though.”

“Look, great story and all,” said Seamus, “But if the football team’s banded together, this could get fucked up fast.  I don’t know how drunk those guys were, or whether they noticed our reinforced door or not.  If they come back, we could be in deep shit.”

That night, Dee had a dream.  Not exactly a nightmare, she just sensed something looming on the horizon, something large and unpleasant.  It had been building up the past few days.  It would be here soon, and she had to try to stop it.  She woke up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, and realized that the high-stress environment of the week was probably diminishing the effects of her medication.  She made a mental note to check her supply in the morning - she was nearing refill time, but hadn’t kept track of how much she had left.  She might need Sam's help to determine whether to up her dosage.

Thursday morning was beautiful.  The sun was shining and the fresh air smelled good through the open windows.  Dee had slept on the floor with her jacket for a pillow.  She was a bit stiff from all of the previous day’s activity, but a few stretches made the stiffness go away.  She had no hangover, but went to get a glass of water anyway.  It came out a sick shade of yellow-orange.  Shit.  The fire trucks probably popped the hydrants to put out the fires, or maybe some of the jocks even plowed through them with their cars.  She’d have to build a distillery, and probably set up a rain cache as well.

She got out a jug of water and poured some into a coffee mug.  Then she grabbed her purse and went into the bathroom to take her pills.  Remembering the episode from last night, she observed that her supply was running low, less than a week left.  Time to raid Walgreen's.  That could also net some water bottles, various other drinkables, and snacks. She could dismantle some of the metal shelving units for parts, too.  Unless, of course, the jocks hit up the booze emporium by the steakhouse on the East side of town and torched the whole place hours ago.

A few other people were awake and reading, playing handhelds, or just fidgeting.  That was bad.  They needed something to do, but things weren’t settled down enough yet to venture safely outside.  She would deal with that later.  She gently shook Sam awake.

"Hrumph - umm, what's up?"

"Mornin', sweetheart.  Hey, I need you to help me with something, OK?"

"Yeah, sure, what is it?"

"Well, my medication's running low, I want to go see if we can re-stock at Walgreen's."

"Ooh, yeah.  This would be a bad time for unchecked depression.  Don't you know what you take, though?  I'm sure you can figure it out."

"Yeah, uhh, that's the thing."  Dee swallowed hard and took a deep breath.  "Look, we need to talk."

Sam was wide awake.  Clearly, it was time to deal with Serious Business.

Cameron, Kevin, and Jack were on the roof, listening to the radio chatter.  Cameron asked where the girls were headed.  Dee responded that they were heading out to scavenge for supplies.

"Fuckin' A!"  Cameron pumped his fist in the air as he jumped to his feet.  "I could use something to do."  Kevin stretched and stood as well.

"Erm, we actually want as much room for supplies as possible.  Sam's gonna run lookout while I raid Walgreen's, and we'll be hauling back cases of drinks and all the entertaining knick-knacks we can get our hands on."

"Oh, that's no problem," said Kevin.  "Cam can just ride with me in my car.  I could also use a break in the monotony."

"Uh, sure, I guess that works."  Dee's mind was racing - she wanted as few people to know about her medication as possible.  "OK, better plan!  Rosie an' I are gonna hit Walgreen's, why don't you two scout around town?"

"Sweet, I'll bring my binoculars."

"No," Dee said, "We want those here, in the Crow's Nest.  Walkies also stay, we'll need them between the roof and the front door."

"Good idea," said Jack.  "I'll get Seamus up and put him on the roof, I'm gonna read and run gatekeeper.  I'm sick'a listenin' to these truckers gabbing."  He paused, reflected, and then slapped his forehead.  "Dammit, I'm even talking like them."

Jack disappeared inside, and reappeared minutes later with Seamus wearing only gym shorts and his leather jacket.  They went over the plan with him and then Kevin and Cameron readied to break camp.  Jack let them out the front door and locked up behind them.  Dee and Rosie drove the men to the parking garage to retrieve Kevin's car.

"Now be careful.  There won't be any search parties, this town is too small to get lost in but too big to search with our small numbers.  Keep your fuckin' heads down and don't do anything stupid.  The main spots to hit are going to be the mall and each Wal-Mart, as well as Menards and Home Depot.  If things look clear, go ahead and take a look inside to see if you can salvage anything.  But do not, under any circumstances, go into the mall.  I don't care how safe it looks, the risk of a trap or some other bullshit is just too high, it's such a high-profile place.  We clear?"

"Yes, mother," said Kevin, rolling his eyes.  Cameron laughed and gave a salute as he stepped towards the other car.

Dee mustered her concentration and started talking.  Sam was furious before they had even traveled three blocks.

"ANTIPSYCHOTICS?!  Fucking Christ, Dee, why didn't you tell me about this?!"

"I'm sorry, Sam, I just - I didn't want you to think I was a freak or anything."

"Well, I mean - shit!  Like, in the first couple weeks, I could see that.  But we've been together, what, since fucking high school?  It's not like it never came up!"

"I know.  I know that.  But I didn't know what to say.  My parents - my mother - she thought I was a fucking freak, and I didn't want - I mean, for fuck's sake, we had to change states -"

Sam was cradling her head in her hands.  "Wait, what are you talking about?  You said your dad got a job offer from a friend, and your mother just refused to leave."

"No.  My mother was scared out of her mind.  I was seven.  My dad - he got the offer, but only after telling his old boss, his college buddy, he told him what happened, and then Joe Maher - that was his name - Joe offered him a job.  She just - she fucking walked out on us, Rosie.  I started taking meds, and then we moved halfway across the country, and then everything was fine.  But I don't ever want to feel like that again."  Dee was struggling to keep back the tears.

"Dee, honey - listen to me.  I'm not leaving you.  I wouldn't have over that, and I won't over this.  But, I mean - fuck!  I love you, but you can't just - look, your mother's a bitch for doing that, and I'm sorry, I really am.  But I am not her."  Sam took a couple deep breaths.

"I know, Rosie."  Tears were streaming down Dee's face.  This was the first time Sam had seen her look weak.  Vulnerable, at times.  Crying, occasionally.  Tender, whenever they made love.  But never, ever weak.  Sam swallowed hard.

"Well, while we're on the subject, is there anything else?"

"No.  That's all.  That's the only secret I have."

"Well -"  Sam searched for words.  "I guess that's a relief, in a way.  When you said we had to talk, I thought you might have been fucking Seamus or something."

"Pfah!"  Dee looked a wreck, but her mood improved somewhat at Sam's joke.  "Look, he's cool and all, but I wouldn't - gah, just, no!"

A few moments of laughter were followed by an uncomfortable silence.  Finally, Sam spoke again.

"So - I mean, if you don't mind - what exactly, err - what happened?"

"No, it's fine, really."  Dee had stopped crying at this point.  "It's just, well, it's kind of a long story.  Now that the scary part's out there, yeah, you should know.  I mean, I want you to know.  But, I mean, be more specific."

"Oh.  Yeah.  I mean, why are you taking antipsychotics?  And which ones?"

"Well, they started me off on lorazepam as a kid, but I take clonazepam every day, and lithium.  I can still pick up a three-day supply of lorazepam at any time, though, when things get really bad."

"Christ on a bike, Dee, those are some serious drugs.  I mean, the lithium's not so bad, it's a pretty standard mood stabilizer, but - shit, why would they put a kid on fucking lorazepam?"  Sam was a psych major, and side effects (more specifically, Dee's marked lack of any side effects) were pouring through her mind.

"I was, I mean, it was pretty fucking bad when I was a kid.  I was making shit up about past lives and the end of the world, and my mother found me looking up explosive compounds in a chemistry book when we went to the library once.  I was four.  Even when I was six -"

"Wait, you could fucking read that shit at four?"

"I - yes.  I started talking as soon as I had teeth.  The doctors, they said I had, what was it, some kind of neurological hypertrophy.  My frontal lobe was especially pronounced, but I showed all kinds of signs of increased brain activity.  What they think happened was that I learned really fast, but I made shit up even faster.  And then I started memorizing the bullshit.  Like, at first, I would just tell the doctors all sorts of random shit, but then I got my stories straight and wouldn't let go of them."

"Jesus.  What kind of stuff?"

"Past life stuff.  I don't know.  The lorazepam, it - I can't -"

"Yeah, that's right, it's amnesic.  So, like, do you remember your childhood at all, then?"

"A little.  Bits and pieces mostly.  I remember we had to move around Illinois a lot because I kept starting shit at school until the drugs helped me get a stable hold on reality.  I was always really charismatic, but then I just started going back to my whacked-out bullshit and we'd have to move 'cuz everyone thought I was crazy.  Finally, in fifth grade, we settled down.  Then I met you."

"Oh, God, Dee.  I didn't know.  I mean, I thought - shit.  Everyone really did think you were a freak - I'm - I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have -"

"No, it's OK.  You couldn't have known.  I didn't let you.  It's my fault."

"But - look, I just - I understand, OK?  Really.  Are we OK?"

"Yeah."

They were pulling into the Walgreen's parking lot.  They had seen the occasional pedestrian on the way, and even fewer vehicles, but the store itself was deserted, except for a few abandoned cars out front.  The entrance was pretty smashed, but there were no other signs of destruction.

"Well," said Dee, after taking a deep breath, "Let's do this."

"Dee?"

"Yeah, Rosie?"

"I love you."

Dee's heart melted.

"I love you, too, Rosie.  I always have.  And I always will."  There was tenderness in her voice.  Vulnerability.  Strength.  They embraced, kissed, and then got out of the car.

Inside, it looked like a miniature tornado had swept through but left the walls intact.  The registers had been smashed, and all the food and drinks were gone.  Sam and Dee stepped carefully to avoid slipping on the glass strewn about the floor like gravel.  At least the shelves would be easier to take apart, Dee thought to herself.

The girls found the shipping/receiving area at the back of the store, and while it had also been picked fairly clean, there were intact pallets of goods higher up off the ground.  Dee got the forklift working, remembering her days at The Home Depot, and brought down two pallets of snack foods, three of bottled water, and one each of sports drinks and iced tea.  She then brought the car around to the shipping dock while Sam kept an eye out, then they took turns arranging things in the station wagon, alternating lookout duty.  Then they dismantled a couple aisles of shelving and strapped them to the roof of the car with bungee cords.  After fitting in all the board games and toys that would fit in the remaining space, it was finally time to check the pharmacy.

Surprisingly, there wasn't much gone.  Ritalin, Vicodin, OxyContin, all of those were cleared out.  But the women found lorazepam, clonazepam, and lithium in fairly large quantities.  They poured the pills into grocery bags and labeled them with masking tape.  The engine noise from the front of the store went entirely unnoticed; they were so used to it in their daily lives before.  They heard the doors slam after the truck had rolled up to the front, but by then it was too late:  they were behind the counter in the pharmacy corner, and there was a clear line of sight down the main aisle from the front of the store to the doors at the back.  Dee pushed Sam's head down and motioned for silence.  Sam nodded, eyes wide with fear.

"Fuck, looks like they beat us to it, Frank."  Now Dee's eyes went wide at the sound of Shane's voice.

"Told'ja we should'a come last night, 'stead a drinkin' 'til sunrise."  The driver was out.  Maybe they could sneak out and get away before the jocks could pursue - but the wagon was loaded, and that truck had a powerful engine.

"Dammit," said Frank, "Food's gone, drinks're gone, ain't shit left here but fuckin' makeup an' board games!"  The girls held their breath in hope.

"An' DRUUUGS!"  Fuck.

"Well, Hell, Tom," Bill chuckled.  "If you know what does what, you're welcome to it.  I'd just as likely poison our asses."

"Nah, my girlfriend was doing her clinicals," Tom replied.  "She was telling me how people are using prescription drugs recreationally now, on account of they're legal if a doc says so.  I think I can remember a couple of 'em."  He was right on the other side of the counter now.  "An' shit, even if I can't, we can just grab 'em all and let her sort 'em out!"

Shane hollered and ran clear across the store, then planted his hand on the counter and hopped over in one swift movement.  He turned around to address Tom, then his eyes lit up when he looked below the counter.

"Well, lookie what we - holy shit.  Dee?"

Rendezvous: Chapter 2

Dee woke up feeling refreshed. She glanced at her alarm clock. Still no power. Turning her cell phone on, she saw that it was ten AM. She always slept well after a night of drinking, for some reason. Sam rolled over in bed, her arm flopping over Dee's pillow.

Dee opened her phone and stepped out into the basement hallway. No signal. If cell towers didn’t even have power, then neither would her office, and that meant no computers and no phones - for her, that added up to no job. It looked like today was a day off.

Closing her phone, she turned it back off and made for the shower. The gas water heater still worked, and so would the gas stove. She and Sam rented the large basement room in an older split-level six blocks away from campus. Their landlord, an overweight Republican named Bob who worked in insurance, was content to have two tenants who paid the rent on time. The two other tenants were both male, a black computer programmer and an overworked health nut in his fifties.

While cooking breakfast, Dee was lost in thought. She kept reviewing the last twenty-four hours in her mind, as if thinking about it enough would cause it to suddenly make sense. This was certainly an unusual occurrence, but there were too many unknowns to make a reasonable assessment. That made today an investigation day. Dee mentally organized a route of possible information sources as she went back downstairs carrying a tray loaded with two plates of food and two glasses of orange juice.

"Wakey, wakey," she said as she rubbed Sam's shoulder.

"Hrmm... eggs an' bakey?"

"You know it, Rosie. Pancakes, too." Dee was the only one who called Sam by "Rosie." It was a pet name she'd given her in high school, after her surname of Rose. Working high school tech theater, Dee said she looked like a diminutive Rosie the Riveter in her overalls and bandana, brandishing a drill.

"Power?" Sam yawned as she spoke, rubbing her eyes after sitting up in bed. Dee handed her the tray after putting her own plate and cup on her desk.

"Nope. Got the day off. Gonna head out in a few and see what people know." Sam mumbled contentedly as she munched on a strip of bacon. Dee was wolfing her food down, barely taking time to chew before swallowing. Sam waited for Dee to spill something so she could give her shit about not being able to take her anywhere - something she'd always wanted to say in her own home - but no such luck. Sam liked to watch her eat, there was a sort of ruthless efficiency to it that was part of Dee's eccentric charm, but it made Sam wonder why she liked cooking so much if she didn't even take time to enjoy it. Dee remarked once that she didn't mess around with her food, but still, Sam thought it was strange that Dee ate every meal like it was her first in days.

Dee washed and put away the dishes while Sam showered, then took her daily pills and rode her bicycle three blocks to the nearest gas station. She was glad she'd done so, as there was a line of cars down the block and a line of people out the door. Two attendants were at each register, writing stuff down and speaking on walkie-talkies. Several more were out at the pumps, operating them manually and exchanging slips of paper with the customers. Dee got in line after locking her bike to the propane cage. After thirty minutes, she was at the register.

"Howdy," said the high-schooler at the register. "Can I see your slip?"

"I, err, don't have one," Dee replied. "I was actually wondering if I could just buy a couple gas cans and fill them?"

"Sure thing, only we're out of gas cans. But if you got your own, you can fill 'em up here."

"Well, I'd have to go back home, if you don't have any cans here. But I just live three blocks away. Could I buy some gas now and then come back with the cans?"

"Sure, that's no problem. You'll have to wait in line with the cars when you come back, though. I'd hurry, too," he added. "At this rate, we'll be dry in a few hours, and the trucks are all held up in local traffic, even though the highways are pretty clear."

"Of course. You guys writing credit card numbers down?"

"Yes, but only with ID. ATMs aren't working, so we do what we can."

"Great." Dee bought ten gallons of gas and a roadmap of the state on impulse, and heard the attendant radio the people outside with her story. She retrieved Sam's five-gallon can from her trunk and Bob's five-gallon can from the garage before heading back to the forty-five minute wait at the gas station. Everything went smoothly, if slow. Dee hung the cans from her bike's handlebars and walked her bike home.

Sam was doing laundry when Dee returned, reasoning that clean water might not last too long if the water processing plant was down. Dee filled her in on the scene at the gas station and then rode over to the police station closer to campus.

The police were almost entirely unhelpful. They repeated to her the statement that had been issued to the press, which amounted to "stay indoors and don't panic," informed her that no state of emergency had been declared, and generally left her feeling that there was something she wasn't being told.

Barely past noon, no noisy frat parties had started yet, and the only activity she'd seen aside from occasional local traffic and gas station congestion had been college kids drinking on porches and playing bags on front lawns. Aside from a general lack of activity, things seemed pretty normal, just quiet. Dee even saw a bus running.

University officials - those that bothered to come in, at any rate - referred her to the press statement issued by the police, let her know that classes were canceled for the day, and that they would resume when power was restored. Dee then rode for another ninety minutes or so around town, making mental notes of which establishments weren't packed to the gills. She headed West, then North, then to her office on the far West side of town. Sure enough, no power, and a note on the door advising employees to return when they got power back in their homes.

Finally, she stopped back at the Dojo (the official nickname of Seamus, Jack, and Kevin's apartment) on the South side of town to see how things were and compare notes. Seamus was still asleep in his room, Jack was reading, and Kevin was washing dishes. After filling them in on her adventures so far, Kevin informed her that he had stepped out to the roof to look for any signs of unrest. Other than the ominously dark thunderheads gathering in the Southeast sky, it looked to be clear sailing. After making plans to meet up later in the evening, Dee headed out.

Dee stopped by Cameron's apartment before heading home. He lived closer to campus, so she had to retrace some of her steps, but this way she could fill him in on the information she'd gathered. Cameron was also asleep, but his roommates were awake. She told Steve and Aaron what she'd found out, then left a message for Cam to meet up at the Dojo as she'd planned with Kevin and Jack, and let them know that they were also welcome. Her business concluded, she headed back home.

Sam was laying on a lawn chair in the backyard, reading a book. While Dee had been gone, Sam had emptied the milk jugs in the fridge and salvaged every container she could from the recycling, cleaned them out thoroughly and filled them with water she'd put through their filter. Dee complimented her on her foresight, checked the tap water and poured herself a glass, then joined Sam in the backyard to fill her in on what she'd found out. Then Dee went to her room and tried to figure out how to contact her parents in rural Wisconsin. Aside from smoke signals, she couldn’t think of any way to communicate without actually driving two hundred miles and speaking face to face. She considered her parents and how they would probably react to the situation.

Tom Morrigan was an easygoing man, tall and confident, with an air of competence that his friends found comforting and his second wife, Linda, found vexing. She, on the other hand, was a woman of action whose foresight and preparation were invaluable in crisis management, but just as often left her in a state of near-panic for Tom's sake as he seemed to tap-dance nonchalantly through what to her mind was a warzone. They were a perfect match. Tom had been the director of the media department at UIC, until the whole department got axed the year Dee graduated from high school. While Linda managed the finances and prepared for worst-case scenarios, Tom had simply gone into business for himself as an independent contractor, using job skills he learned while putting himself through college. And thus the two of them made ends meet until they found an acceptable residence to which they could relocate. In fact, with Tom’s experience working on houses, and Linda’s experience in gardening, added to the fact that they were also surrounded by farmland, they were probably in better shape than Dee and her friends.

Dee decided to write them a letter and take her chances with the post office, then went out to the garage. Bob wasn't going to be in town until Thursday, so Dee wanted to see if she could get the generator working by herself. The manual was right on top, and after figuring out what all the parts did and re-reading the manual two or three times, a bit of trial and error saw Dee with a functional generator. She siphoned the gas out of the lawn mower to top off the generator's tank, and then started it up. She plugged her phone in to test if it was registering a charge, then took inventory in the garage for half an hour before shutting down the generator. She checked the fuel level to get an estimate of how long it would last, then made a shopping list and went out back to see Sam before heading out again.

"What was all that racket?" Sam looked up from her book as Dee came out the back door.

"Oh, I was just seeing how the generator worked."

"And?"

"Works just fine."

"Sweet. Where'd you learn how to do that?"

"Just now. Read the manual."

"Oh. Cool."

"Yeah. Say, Rosie, I'm gonna take your car to go get a few supplies."

"Sure thing. Keys are in my purse. So I'll see you, what, tomorrow?"

"Nah, I'm going to Home Depot. No crowds there."

"Ahh, cool. See you when you get back, then."

"Yep. Later!"

Dee was glad she'd done some scouting earlier in the day. The Menards store on the edge of town was absolutely jammed, but hardly anyone knew about the Home Depot which had opened about eighteen months previously. It was a quarter-mile North, past the highway that wrapped around the town. It had customers, sure, but they were contractors with big orders rather than the do-it-yourself-ers flocking to Menards. Dee picked up the few hand tools the garage lacked, as well as a few sheets of plywood, some two-by-fours, all manner of welding materials, and various lengths of pipe and miscellaneous fittings. She had some trouble at the register with the size of her order, on account of the fact that she had neither a Home Depot credit card nor a business credit card. In truth, Dee herself doubted that she had the money to pay for everything, but not by a whole lot (her paycheck, due that Friday, would cover it for sure). But after calling the manager over and massaging the facts regarding her income, she got them to take a check.

Dee folded the seats down in Sam's station wagon and loaded everything in, then drove home and hauled it into the garage. The whole trip took about an hour and a half. She was careful to leave room for the car, then backed it into the garage, headed inside and mixed herself a drink. Sam had made dinner, an improvised kluge of all the perishable things she didn't want to go to waste. Dee had a habit of buying canned goods and other non-perishables, the explanation being that she was terrible with expiration dates, so there wasn't much more than enough for two people. For all its randomness, though, it had every appeal of a four-course meal. After dinner, the two of them washed and put away the dishes, then locked up and walked over to the Dojo.

The sun was setting when Dee and Sam showed up. The Dojo was a flurry of activity: everyone Dee had made friends with during the past year was there, as well as a few people she didn’t recognize. Dee managed to single out Seamus and drag him up to the roof. Sam stayed inside to catch up with Jill, Cameron’s ex-girlfriend-but-still-good-friend.

“Did Kevin tell you about the clouds,” Dee asked as she walked up the stairs while lighting a cigarette.

“Nope.” Seamus also lit up and pulled two hard ciders from his jacket pocket, handing one to Dee.

“Well, Kevin said he saw some really dark clouds to the Southeast. I just realized that the power station’s out that way, and they might be smoke clouds which he mistook for thunderheads.”

“I see.” As the two of them cleared the roof, the Southeast sky came into view. Ragged black plumes of smoke were ascending and dissipating into the atmosphere.

“Holy shit.” Dee stared, literally slack-jawed, her lit cigarette dangling precariously from her lower lip. Something had been burning for a very long time.

“How the fuck - why did that idiot think those were thunderheads?”

“Hey, this was hours ago. Like, this morning. If that’s the aftermath of an explosion, then what happened was, at impact there was a big boom but then all the surrounding air rushed back in after being pushed out of the area. This could have kept the smoke rising together for a while, so it looked like a cloud.”

“Or, you don’t know what you’re talking about, and Kevin’s an idiot.”

“Who’d I what now?” Seamus and Dee turned to see Kevin vaulting over the railing onto the roof.

“I said you like bread,” Seamus said, flicking ash from his cigarette.

“Oh. Yeah, I like bread.”

“See?”

“Shut up, Seamus. Kevin, does that still look like clouds to you?”

“Umm, no. That looks like smoke. It looked different this morning.”

“See?”

“Whatever,” Seamus responded. Just then, Cameron came bounding up the stairs and leaping over the railing.

“Dee! Seamus! Kevin! You guys gotta hear this!” The three of them followed Cameron back to the door, where Jill and Sam were standing on the landing. Jill was tapping her cane around the landing, finding the first step and all the railings. She got settled just as Dee and the boys arrived. Cameron said, “OK, Jill, tell ‘em what you told me.”

“Well, last night, I was getting water from the kitchen while my parents were watching the news. Then that Breaking News thing interrupted the broadcast, it went all static just like Sam & Cam said, and then I heard the Emergency Broadcast System kick in for a few seconds. Then there was a huge boom that shook the ground, and all the windows in the house shattered, and I felt some heat. There’s broken glass everywhere, I had to use a broom instead of my cane to get around. My dad fell a few times in the dark ‘cuz he couldn’t see and slipped on the glass a few times. My mom took him to the hospital, and I had to stay home until my brother got back to tell him what happened.”

Jill lived on the Southeast side of town, less than half a mile from the power station. Everyone was silent, their fears of an attack all but confirmed. But the big questions - who, and how - were still unanswered. Finally, Kevin spoke up.

“I think we should go take a look at the power station.”

“Are you joking?” Seamus was incredulous. “It’s probably crawling with emergency crews, we won’t be able to get near the place!”

“It’s probably dangerous, too,” added Sam. “We don’t know what the Hell happened over there.”

“I’m grabbing my binoculars,” said Cameron, and he went back inside. Dee and Seamus went back to the roof.

A few moments later, Cameron came back out with Jack, who was fiddling with some manner of gadget. As they went up to the roof, Dee and Seamus were regarding each other coolly, an indication that they’d reached impasse in an argument. Cameron raised the binoculars to his eyes and looked out at the horizon with the fading sunlight to his back.

“Yeah, it’s no good,” said Jack. “It just keeps saying, ‘Acquiring satellite data.’ Fuck it.”

“Shit, you think they got the satellites, too?” Cameron had turned to look at Jack’s GPS.

“No, there’s no way,” said Kevin. “The thing probably triangulates with radio towers, the way cell phones do.”

“Well, it fuckin’ says ‘Acquiring satellite data.’ I don’t know what else to make of that.”

“Yes, by way of radio towers,” Seamus said, his voice raised. “There’s no way that thing’s got enough juice to reach a satellite. That thing’s a stripped-down cell phone with something like Google Maps built into it.”

“Err, hrmm,” Cameron stammered, “You’re probably right.” He went back to his binoculars.

“Look, at any rate,” Jack said, “It doesn’t work. Doesn’t matter why. This sucks. Anyone got a map?”

“I do.” Dee fished the road map out of her purse. “It doesn’t show local streets, but I think if we found a nearby town, we might be able to make our way through by saying we were trying to get to family over there and wanted to avoid the highway.”

Seamus scoffed. “They’d probably just tell you to take the highway, anyway.”

“Depends on how tight things are by the power station,” said Jack. “Cameron, what do you see?”

“Well, these binoculars suck. That’s what I see. I can’t make out any details at the site itself, it’s too far off, but there are definitely cop cars and fire trucks in the area.”

“Shit,” said Dee. “So what do we do?”

“Well, I think we should stick together,” began Kevin. “There’s no telling how long it’s going to be before things get back to normal. Why don’t we have everyone spend the night here? This could be like our HQ or something.”

“Fine by me,” said Seamus. “I’ve got a spare mattress, there are a couple couches and plenty of blankets, but some people will have to sleep on the floor. Food and bathing might be an issue, though. Our stove and water heater are both electric.”

“Ours run on gas,” Dee said. “We can work something out tomorrow, if needed.”

“Yeah, sure,” Seamus responded. “That sounds good.”

The whole group headed back inside. There was a bit of a fuss when the power situation was announced, but things settled down in minutes and everyone was soon playing board games and handhelds by candlelight.

Dee woke up about nine on Wednesday morning with a stiff neck. Rather than have one or two people sleep on the mattress with a bunch of others on the floor, half a dozen had crowded around and used it as a pillow. Dee had fleeting thoughts of an upscale refugee camp. She walked to the bathroom and took a few prescription bottles out of her purse, swallowing her daily pills without water. She did a few neck-rolls to work out the kinks and then straightened her hair before rousing Sam, Cameron, and Seamus. Jack and Kevin were already awake and reading. Cameron’s room was the cleanest, so they all gathered in there to talk.

“So what’s the plan,” Cameron asked.

“First things first,” began Dee, “I want to get some food cooking.” There were murmurs of agreement. “Let’s gather up all the perishable stuff and bring it to my place. Rosie and Seamus can start cooking, Cam and Kevin can work out a shower rotation. I can get the generator going so we can plug in or charge up whatever needs it. I don’t think there’s anything useful that would work, like cell phones or computers, so we may as well just top off our phones and Jack’s GPS, then plug in whatever handhelds we’ve got. Entertainment is going to be at a premium.

“After we get everyone fed and cleaned, let’s check out the traffic situation. I think today’s good for stockpiling, we should head out to the shops on the West side of town because they may have been ignored up to this point.”

“They could also be ransacked for proximity to the highway,” said Seamus.

“Good point,” Dee responded. “But I can’t see as how that makes them any worse off than the main stores which have been ransacked for proximity to everything else. We’ll just need to keep our eyes open. Besides, the West side wasn’t too busy yesterday when I checked it out.”

“Fair enough.” Seamus shrugged his shoulders.

“OK, after that, we’re all going to want to hole up somewhere. Dean and Norman, the guys who live upstairs from us, I don’t know what they’re up to. With luck, they’ll have taken off and we can have two groups going - our place will be the bathing and cooking spot, yours can be the lookout and fallback point. Then - well, after that, I guess we can only wait.”

“Let’s do it,” said Jack. “I want a shower.”

“All right,” continued Dee, “Let’s all pile the food into Seamus’ car, since it’s the biggest. Kevin, you and Cameron stay and wake people up, fill ‘em in on the plan. While I get the electric hooked up, Rosie’s gonna start staging stuff for the cook-fest with Seamus, and Jack can ferry people over in Rosie’s wagon.”

The plan went off smoothly, with a minimum of fuss. Everyone understood that short showers were key because it was unknown how long the clean water would last, and nobody was opposed to drawing straws to determine who went first. There was plenty of food for everyone, and Dee had arranged a whole mess of power strips and extension cords for whatever people wanted to plug in. Dean and Norman had in fact vacated to visit their families, leaving most of their stuff behind. It wasn’t much, and even less was useful, but people left it alone for the most part. Dee put some gas in Seamus' car; the fuel trucks had arrived, but prices had doubled.

About one o’clock, Dee and Seamus heard noise from the North while smoking outside. Dee helped Cameron to a ladder from the garage, and he went up with his binoculars to take a look. He came down, rather than shout out the news.

“Riot on the quad,” he said under his breath. “Fuck. Now what?”

“Rock some faces,” said Seamus. “If those assholes start shit, I think we got enough people to scare ‘em off.”

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” said Dee. “The quad’s toward the South side of campus, so with any luck, they’ll just head North. If not -“

“Then we rock faces,” Seamus insisted.

“Cameron, stay up on the roof and keep us updated if they start moving. Seamus, take a couple carloads back to the Dojo. If worse comes to worst, I don’t want us all caught in the middle of this.”

Seamus let loose an exaggerated sigh of discontent. “But I want to rock faces!”

“Then come back, if you want. Also, make sure someone at the Dojo has one of my walkie-talkies. They have a five-mile radius, and I just charged them up.”

Cameron went back to the roof and hauled the ladder up with him. Dee and Sheamis went back inside and told everyone that they were splitting up between the two residences so people had more elbow room. Jack decided to hold down the fort at the Dojo, after Dee filled him in on the real story in private. He didn’t want to be anywhere near a riot, so he took a walkie-talkie and would drive Seamus’ car. Kevin and Cameron had studied martial arts with Dee when they were freshman at the University - that was how they’d all met - so she wanted them with her. Even though Kevin had stopped going to classes when Dee took two years off to re-evaluate her major, he wasn’t quite out of practice as he and Cameron occasionally sparred on weekends. Seamus lacked formal hand-to-hand training, but had taken fencing and played football in high school, so he was a good brawler. Sam and Dee had done tech theater, so Dee wanted her there so she could help barricade the house. Sam was showing Seamus where the tools were in the garage as Kevin joined Cameron on the roof with a pipe and a baseball bat. Kevin was in and out of the back door, going up and down the ladder on the side of the garage so as to stay out of view of people. For now, the riot was slowly spreading North, and it would soon reach the apartments in that direction, where it would probably break up - or turn around.

As Jack took off with the third and final carload, Kevin came down again and informed them that the riot had in fact turned around. Apparently, people in the apartment buildings started throwing things at the rioters to drive them off, so they shifted a couple blocks to the West and then turned South on University Street - the street that Dee and Sam lived on.

When Jack got back to the Dojo, he went up to the roof with the walkie-talkie, having left his friends Lane and Cole in charge on the inside. Dee gave the walkie-talkie to Kevin so she could concentrate on fortifying the house with Seamus and Sam. With two power drills, hammers, sheets of plywood, a circular saw, and a few two-by-fours, every glass point of entry had been boarded up and reinforced. It wouldn’t withstand sustained assault, but it was the best they could do in the time available. Kevin kept coming down with news from Jack and Cameron. Apparently, large chunks of the mob had broken off at the dorms and at the McDonald’s along the way, but a lot of people were still heading down the remaining four blocks to the house. Still, they were now facing hundreds rather than the thousands amassed on the quad.

Dee padlocked the garage door to the cement floor, deadbolted the door to the garage, and then deadbolted the front door on her way out with Seamus and Sam. Pulling up the ladder behind them, they all hunkered down on the side of the roof tilted away from the street, peering over its peak. Seamus and Kevin each had a three-foot length of pipe, Cam had a baseball bat, Dee and Sam were each armed with four-foot long dowel rods an inch and a half thick.

The mob grew louder as it came down the street.

The five of them winced and shared concerned looks as they heard glass breaking, wild hoots of laughter, and finally - was that -? Yes. Cars were being overturned. Sam was relieved that her station wagon was in the garage. The first wave of rioters came into view over the edge of the roof, mostly jocks with bent golf clubs, bats, two-by-fours, and big sticks, swinging at anything they could find. Apparently, they were leading the way. What followed was a frightening scene to behold: masses of people, crowded from one house all the way to the house across the street, pushing and jostling each other forward, sometimes pushing someone down. Those unlucky few who fell would never get back up. Every tree they came across had a small crowd at its base, with people being pushed up and half the time falling back down into the crowd. Cars would be swarmed, jumped on, and then overturned. No pane of glass remained intact. Street signs were rocked back and forth and then ripped out of the ground. Frat-tards were hoisted to rooftops where they proclaimed their kingship over the world.

Jack could no longer hear Kevin over the roar of the mob, so Kevin shouted that he’d touch base later and switched off his walkie-talkie. Some guy on a roof a few doors over had spotted them and was shouting the news down to the rioters below. Pretty soon, everyone was crowding around their house, clamoring for them to come down and join the party. Cameron cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted that they were staying on their roof, they would defend their property, and the mob had better just move along. The rioters didn’t take too kindly to this, and soon people were rushing the house, rattling the garage door and trying to knock out the boards from the windows and beat down the door. The first wave, the jocks with weapons, had gone straight for the garage. The front door was on the other side of the house’s front, and thankfully, those people weren’t too strong or just weren’t that motivated. But now, people with golf clubs and other implements were being lifted up to the garage roof. Cameron shouted that this was their last warning, that they’d be sorry, but to no avail.

Seamus rushed the first guy who raised his head over the gutter. Swinging his pipe like a golf club, he smashed the would-be invader right in the mouth. There was a wet, crunchy thud as teeth were shattered and the jock’s face caved in. He fell straight down onto the driveway, dead before he hit the ground.

Instead of discouraging the mob, this seemed to make them angrier. Their top priority was now to occupy the roof, but at least they’d stopped beating on the house. The men were swinging and kicking at whoever got a handhold on the shingles, the women holding their dowels like oars, jamming the ends into faces and throats. For twenty minutes, they were locked in this standstill: the rioters below unable to make progress to the high ground, the defenders above unable to do anything but hold them off.

At some point, out of view of the rooftop defenders, the rioters were constructing human pyramids as a sort of staircase of limbs leading up to the far end of the roof, which was raised a few feet above the section the defenders were holding. The first of these new attackers let loose a foolhardy yell before he leaped from the main part of the roof onto the garage. Dee spun instantly around, knowing what had happened - she had feared this moment since they started climbing to the garage roof. Wielding her dowel like a pike, she caught him right in the solarplexus and used his momentum to throw him clear from the roof into the next yard. She called out to Cameron and made for the main part of the roof.

The rioters were coming up two and three at a time, but they were wild and unfocused. Dee and Cameron, on the other hand, were trained martial artists with rather extensive stick-fighting experience. Without a word, Dee took the left side of the roof and Cameron took the right (him being left-handed), and they both dropped into a low, stable stance to deal with the onrushing attackers. Their moves were simple, efficient, clean: a controlled swing, a well-placed jab, a stable block followed by a smooth throw. The attackers were relying exclusively on their numbers, but the roof was steep and narrow. They could not surround the duo, and their numbers proved to be a liability as they found themselves crashing into each other in the attempt and tumbling to the ground below.

Meanwhile, Seamus and Kevin had been working double-time, as Sam appeared to be tiring out, lacking the upper-body strength possessed by the two men. She was still able to kick the occasional face or smash a hand, but her motions were tired and choppy, and she nearly lost her footing a few times. Kevin was swinging his pipe as a golf club or baseball bat, in alternating fashion; he was non-lethally incapacitating people, but they would probably wish they had died. Seamus had started using the sledgehammer approach, and was crushing skulls rather than rocking faces. Kevin’s victims screamed; Seamus’ didn’t have the chance.

Sam was losing it, thinking she must be in shock. She tried to shut out the sickening damage that Seamus and Kevin were inflicting upon their fellow human beings, but the urge to vomit was difficult to suppress. Here she was on a rooftop with a pair of mass-murderers, defending against a teeming swarm that seemed intent on killing them all. But at last, when the corpses were piled three and four deep around the house, and the screams of the wounded drowned out the shouts of the mob, the rioters withdrew. It had finally become apparent that the odds were not with them, and they seemed to come to their senses. As they did, the horror surrounding them began to sink in - there was Jason, from chemistry class - that was my neighbor Amy’s boyfriend - that’s Heather’s shirt, but what the fuck happened to her face? Screams of rage and anger had given way to wails of agony and mourning, the teeming masses reduced to a sobbing, retching group of a few dozen.

A few stragglers retained their righteous indignation and swore revenge upon the rooftop defenders. Cameron stepped on his bloody baseball bat and raised his hands to his mouth to shout, “Do not return for revenge! You attacked us, and we simply defended our property! Return to your homes!” He bent to pick up his bat, but then cupped his hands again, and added, “And think about what you have done!” He and Dee dropped down onto the garage roof to join the others.

“Well,” Seamus remarked, “Fun as that was, let’s never fucking do it again.”

“Agreed,” said Dee, lighting up a clove cigarette at the same time he did.

“What the fuck, Dee,” muttered Sam. “People are dying down there, and you’re just gonna have a smoke?” Seamus shot her an icy look.

“Yes, Samantha,” Dee responded with impossible calm, “We’ve just defended our house from a mob of hundreds. I think I’m fucking entitled.” She then took a drag while staring right into Sam’s eyes, and flashed a crooked grin to show that there were no hard feelings. Dee really did understand what Sam was freaking out about, she just didn’t share the sentiment. The grin did something to calm Sam’s nerves, but the wild look in Dee’s eyes chilled her to the bone.