“Not next to the furnace, you moron!” Sandy ignored Harold’s command and set down the five-gallon gas can. "What Harold? Do you really think the house is going to explode?" Harold fumed and stomped up the stairs out of the basement. Sally sat down on the cement floor next to the gas can. She unscrewed the lid and knocked over the gas can. Gasoline spread over the floor. Sally sighed and rose to her feet. She took a book of matches out of her pocket. She pulled out a wooden match, struck it against the box, and tossed the lit match onto the floor. Instantly the basement floor went up in flames and within moments the gas can exploded, obliterating Sandy. The furnace exploded moments later.
Harold was knocked from his feet by the blast, His ears were ringing and he was seeing double. He struggled to stand up. He stumbled through the living room in an attempt to make his way to the basement to see if Sandy was okay, but the flames from the fire were already up the basement stairs turning the living room into flames and thick black smoke. Harold turned back and made his way through the kitchen to the back door.
Once outside he gulped in the fresh air. He moved away from the house in the backyard. He felt he was a safe distance away so he looked back at the house. The first thing he noticed was that the small basement windows between the shrubbery were blown out and flames were growing up the side of the house. Harold thought, “I should have spent the extra money on the flame retardant siding.”
It was midday and none of the neighbors seemed to be home as no one was outside looking at the fire. Harold realized he couldn’t make his way around the front of the house without going through the alley. He walked through the deep backyard and opened the gate. He didn’t bother to close it; what would be the point? He walked down the alleyway, his head hung low, not really thinking about anything. He turned right to walk down the sidewalk and then right again to walk toward his house. Once he was in front of his neighbor’s house he looked up. His house was engulfed in flames. Fire was coming out of the upstairs windows now. The front porch was ablaze as well. He saw the hanging swing fall just before the roof of the porch collapsed.
“This sucks,” said Harold. He thought of Sandy, his daughter, once again. She was as stubborn as they come. She had always been that way, even as a toddler refusing to eat her peas no matter how Harold and his former wife pleaded with her, no matter how loud he yelled at her, no matter how hard her mother slapped her. Harold winced as he remembered the beatings his ex-wife, Susan, used to give her daughter. She was a vicious bitch and she had no patience for anyone or anything. It took all the courage Harold had to file for divorce. That was when Sandy was seven years old. The custody battle was fierce, but neighbors and family members, including some of Susan’s, testified that Susan had abused Sandy on many occasions.
Harold continued thinking as he watched his house go up in flames. Sandy was an adult now, 25 years old, out on her own with a steady job as a dental hygienist. She had a boyfriend, Noah, she’d been seeing for two years. Harold liked him. In Harold's opinion, he was the first decent boyfriend Sandy had ever had. She had dated dimwitted, crude, and brain-dead boys in high school and college. He could never figure out why. He’d done his best to raise her and had help from his sisters, Betsy and Luann. The neighbors were great when he needed babysitters. Sandy got good grades in school, too. But when it came to boys—Harold refused to identify any of them as men—she had the worst judgment. Harold even gave up arguing about it, knowing how stubborn Sandy was. Even that didn’t stop her from seeing what Harold called the Triple L’s, the “low-life losers.”
Harold looked around and noticed that no one was outside looking at the fire. “Someone in the neighborhood must be home. I can’t believe no one’s outside.” Harold looked back at the house which was still blazing strong, so strong in fact that Harold stepped back about ten feet, off the curb, and into the street. “No cars, either. Where the hell is the fire department, for that matter?!” Harold was angry and he thought of Sandy again. He realized she was surely dead by now if she hadn’t been killed instantly in the blast he heard. He hoped she had died instantly, that she hadn’t suffered. Tears streamed down his cheeks but Harold was still in too much shock to let his emotions out. Shock has that effect, a defense mechanism against total emotional breakdown.
Harold began to wonder, though, whether Sandy had started the fire. He had told her not to put down the gas can and even called her a moron. It was the first outburst he’d had like that in years. He had been careful around his daughter since the divorce. He didn’t want to harm her any more than she’d been and he also didn’t want to quash her strong will. Still, Sandy wasn’t this irrational was she? She wouldn’t have started the fire to spite him … right?
Harold didn’t even know who he was asking, as if some latent part of his mind could answer such questions. It could have been an accident, but what were the odds? Sure, it’s unsafe to place a gas can next to a furnace, but an explosion within a minute or so afterward? Ridiculous. Harold hung his head and sighed. There were no answers. There wouldn't be until the fire department came, put out the fire, and determined its cause. But Harold didn’t even hear sirens. He was getting mad. He didn’t have a cell phone on him, he’d left it in the house in his rush to get out alive.
He walked up to the neighbor’s door and rang the bell, banging on the door and yelling as he did. No response. He thought of breaking inside to use a phone, but he realized the odds of anyone having a landline were bleak. Everyone had smart phones that they carried with them when they left the house to go somewhere. “Fucking technology is killing me!” Harold ran to other houses ringing door bells, banging on doors and windows, trying to find someone, anyone who might be home. He figured it must have been around eleven in the morning when the explosion occurred. It couldn’t even be noon yet, but there still should be someone home or at least one person heading home for an early lunch somewhere in the damn neighborhood.
Harold thought about driving his car to a convenience store that was about a mile away, but he remembered he left his keys inside, too. “Shit, everything is gone now. Everything.” Harold stood stunned in the middle of the street several houses down from what had been his own. After a few moments, he turned around in a circle. There was no movement anywhere except for the flames from his house. He noticed the fire had spread to the trees in the front yard and to his neighbor’s porch. The wind was picking up, blowing in the direction of his neighbor’s house and himself as he stood in the street several houses down.
“Where the fuck is everybody?!” Harold threw up his arms in exasperation. As he looked at how fast the fire was leaping from tree to tree and how fast it was spreading on the neighbor’s house he realized he needed to get the hell out of the neighborhood. He turned away from his house after giving it one long, last look. Just as he was about to turn the roof of his house collapsed. The cracking and thundering sound rose above the crackling roar of the fire for a few seconds.
Harold slowly walked down the street. He was numb, his thoughts were black but nonverbal. He felt a pit in his stomach, an ache in his chest. He cried as he walked, looking up to cross intersections. He realized he didn’t need to bother as there were no cars moving on the roads. He shook his head in disbelief. “Not a fucking soul. Not one.” The phenomenon was incomprehensible. “How could this happen? How could no one exist in this neighborhood?”
Harold passed through several intersections before seeing a mom-and-pop convenience store. There were cars in the parking lot and he saw that the neon beer signs in the window were lit up. He started breathing easier as he walked across the parking lot, feeling relief. There appeared to be signs of life after all. When Harold walked inside, though, he saw a man on the ground lying in a huge pool of blood. He stared at him, not even thinking that he might be in danger. He was seeing a human being finally, but a dead one, one who had apparently been killed.
There was a gurgling sound behind the counter. Harold took a few steps and cautiously looked over. A man in a red shirt, presumably the cashier, was lying on the ground, also in a large puddle of blood. He was twitching, though, and there were disturbing sounds coming from his throat. Harold hurried over to him and turned him face up very cautiously. There appeared to be two bullet wounds in the man’s chest just inches apart from one another, both on the right side of his chest. The bullets had obviously pierced his lung. Harold asked the man if he could talk, but there were only gurgles and tiny splatters of blood coming from his mouth. His eyes were bulging and yet glazed. He didn’t have long to live.
Harold saw a landline on the counter. He stepped over the dying man and picked up the receiver. He waited for a dial tone, but there was none. Harold slammed the receiver down and picked it back up. Before he even got it to his ear, though, he saw the cord had been cut. “Fucking fuck.” Harold’s mind went into gear and he realized the dying and dead man might have cell phones on them. He couldn’t find one on the dying man—no, wait, he was dead now—so he went around the other side of the counter to the dead man in front of it. He rifled through his jacket pockets and then his pants pockets. He had to turn him over to do this, turn him face up, and he saw the man had been shot in the eye. As he reached into the man’s jean pockets he found an iPhone. He quickly found the phone button and dialed 911. He put the phone to his ear and waited. And waited. The phone was ringing, but no one was picking up. Harold let the phone ring at least twenty times before hanging up and trying again. More rings without an answer.
Harold stood up and started to throw the phone to the ground. He stopped himself, though, realizing he might still need it, that he could try again and again as he looked for people, cars, anyone or anything moving, showing signs of life. He walked around the convenience store to see if there was anyone else there, maybe someone cowering behind an aisle or in a back room, hiding from what had apparently been a gun battle between the cashier and customer.
As he thought this, though, he realized he hadn’t seen any guns on the ground, none in their hands. Harold ducked down and became more cautious as he looked around. There was no one in the main part of the store, there’d been no one in the bathroom in the back, no one in the store room and what passed for a small office. The back door was ajar and Harold slowly approached it. He peeked through the crack of the door, saw nothing, and slowly opened it. He was ready to jump back or dive to the ground if needed.
There was no one to be seen, just a dumpster and a bunch of litter surrounding it. There was a concrete wall blocking the back lot from what was presumably a house on the other side. Harold walked to the street. He looked up and down the street trying to remember which way to go to find a commercial district. He realized he was always driving when he went out. He wasn’t used to walking around the neighborhood and, frankly, this area was not really part of his neighborhood. He didn’t usually drive this way. He realized how little he knew about his own city, how few the areas were that he had explored. Hell, he never explored at all. He just drove to his job, to his friends and family, to Sandy’s schools, to the grocery store, the mall, a few bars, and, really, that was about it. Every year when Sandy was growing up he’d drive her to two areas of town that were heavily decorated with Christmas lights. Those areas were on the far eastside, though, and his neighborhood was in the northwest.
Realizing that, Harold tried to get his bearings. He realized he had been walking west. To his right was north and to his left was south. Better to turn left then and make his way toward the city center. There’d be a better likelihood of passing commercial areas heading that way. Harold walked a half mile down the street heading south from the convenience store. He didn’t see anyone and no cars passed from either direction. Occasionally, Harold walked up to a door of a house and rang the bell, pounded on the door. Nothing. Every time.
Harold came upon a major road, Vanderlinden, and looked around. Again, there were no cars moving at all. He saw the parking lots for the grocery store, Wal-Mart, Best Buy, Verizon, Michael’s, Ross, and a number of others on this road of strip malls, fast food joints, liquor stores, pawn shops, and predatory check cashing huts. There were plenty of cars, but none of them were moving. No one was going in or out of the stores, not a single person was pushing a shopping cart anywhere at all. “What the hell?”
The Wal-Mart seemed like the most likely store to have people inside. Harold walked across Vanderlinden, a wide four lane road just north of the city center. It had long been a shopping street, but it had always been a low rent shopping street. The addition of the conglomeration of Best Buy, Michael’s, Ross, and Bed, Bath, and Beyond, a set of stores that set up as “upscale” strip malls catering to a wider range across the economic strata, a set that had popped up on the edges of cities all over the West and Midwest United States, seemed like a good sign for Vanderlinden, at least in terms of cleaning up the area. Someone somewhere must have seen hope for this stretch of Vanderlinden because it otherwise didn’t make any sense for those stores to set down here.
As Harold passed through the Walmart parking lot he looked in car windows to see if anyone was in any of them. Not a one. Not a single person. It had been shocking enough in the residential neighborhoods but it was still possible to rationalize it by thinking it was due to it being a work day. But this? There was no explanation. It defied all experience and logic. Harold wasn’t deterred, though. He was single-minded about getting inside Wal-Mart.
Once inside, he looked around and saw … no one. In the checkout aisles, shopping carts stood full of items, but without any people pushing them or standing next to them. As he walked further into the store, he saw carts half-filled with merchandise scattered everywhere. Harold’s single-mindedness began to wither. It was replaced by a mixture of awe and fear. Fortunately for Harold, confusion overshadowed all other emotions for in that confusion was a curiosity about what was happening.
Curiosity kept his mind sharp. To make a judgment at this point would be unwise as it could lead to panic; curiosity kept him on his toes, observant, aware. Harold wasn’t likely to lose his marbles as long as he was trying to figure out what was happening. His mind was sharp as were his senses. In a way, Harold was more alive than he’d ever been, using more of his brain and his body in harmony for a longer period of time than he ever had before. He’d never suspended judgment for so long in his whole life and even though Harold was not focused on it, he was developing new modes of thought, opening up new avenues of thinking, creating new neural pathways.
Harold could feel his belly crying out for food. It was late afternoon. He walked to the grocery section, grabbed a packet of ham, a packet of Swiss cheese, and then walked to the bread aisle. He grabbed a loaf of the best bread he could find and then went to the produce section to grab a tomato. He put the food into a cart and made his way to the kitchen section of the store. He found a set of knives and threw them in the cart. He picked out the nicest microwave he could find and put that in the cart as well. He pushed the cart to the outdoor patio section which was located against a wall of the store. He searched the wall for an electric outlet, finally found one, and went back to the cart. He opened the packet of knives, used one to cut open the microwave box, and he pulled it out. He set up the rotating tray and pulled out all the plastic and warranty instructions. He set up the microwave on a table he pulled next to the wall and plugged it in. The lights of the digital clock were blinking so he knew it was working. He went back to the cart, pushed it over to the table, and proceeded to make a ham and cheese sandwich. He realized he’d forgotten to grab plates so he went back to the kitchen section and found a set. He ripped the package open and took a single plate with him back to the table. He placed the sandwich on the plate, put the plate in the microwave, figured out all the buttons, and set it to cook for about a minute.
He stopped the microwave at 45 seconds. He could smell the ham and cheese so he opened the microwave and, as it was cooling, he cut the tomato on the table. He’d forgotten to grab a cutting board but he said to himself “fuck it.” He put a couple slices on the sandwich and ate two slices just as they were, not giving a shit about the juices dripping down his long-sleeved shirt. He had already decided to get a change of clothes in the store and a heavy coat. It had been a chilly walk and it would just get colder come nightfall.
For now, though, Harold took the plate with his sandwich to another table, sat down in a comfy lawn chair, and ate. He let his mind go blank as he rested after eating. There was no rush to do anything; hell, there were no people anywhere. Harold put those thoughts out of his mind as soon as they made their presence felt. He just wanted to relax for a little while, forget that what was happening was happening. He saw a lounge chair and decided to lie down. As he lay thinking of nothing he slowly dozed off.
His sleep was pleasant and much needed. The stress and rushes of adrenaline had exhausted him. When he woke he was disoriented. He didn’t know what time it was, where he was, or why he was in a big department store. He had a brief wondering about his daughter, where she was. They were going to organize the basement together, but—then he remembered. A sob burst out of him and he covered his mouth with his hands. Tears seemed to squirt out of his eyes. He cried, his emotions overwhelming him. He stayed in the lounge chair and cried himself to sleep.
He woke again much later. He was less disoriented but he had no idea what time it was. He wondered if it even mattered, but part of him knew that it was important just for him to keep his bearings about him. While his curiosity had served him well throughout the day, having a few anchors like artificial time as told by clocks would keep him centered. There were so many unknowns that basic orientations such as time of day became more important than they typically were. “What time is it?” had always been an orientation question when it wasn’t serving a functional purpose. As of now, “what time is it?” had no functional purpose at all; it was merely a comforting reminder that gave Harold a sense that he was in relation to something that had always existed in his life, a connection to a past that was ordered and familiar even if constricting.
Harold had not forgotten about his daughter, the house fire, the absence of people anywhere in the city, or the endless ringing of the 911 calls. He decided to try the phone again, but the result was the same. He put the phone back in his pocket and stood up. He remembered the clothing so he walked to that section of the store. He took off all his clothes and threw them in a garbage can. He walked to the area with socks and underwear, but as he did he started smiling. “I’m walking naked through Wal-Mart.” At first it was just a thought, but then he said it aloud. He laughed at the sound of his voice in the empty store. He decided to yell it as loud as he could, “I’m walking naked through Wal-Mart!”
He was amused with himself. He began prancing and dancing and twirling down one of the main aisles of the store. “I feel pretty, oh so pretty, and witty, and giddy, and gaaaaay!” Harold was pretty sure that wasn’t how the song went, but who was here to notice? He laughed to himself and said aloud, “It’s a fine how do you do when the knock you hear is you. Heeee.” He saw some cozy slipper-socks and put them on. He started to run a bit and then just slid down the aisle. He wound up next to the women’s underwear and lingerie section. He looked at the lacy and dainty things and shrugged his shoulders. “Why not?” He tried several items of clothing until he found one his size. It was lacy pink lingerie, crotchless, with a push bra built into it. He looked at himself in the mirror. He smiled and said, “Even I wouldn’t fuck me. Dear Lord!” Harold laughed.
The lingerie was itchy so Harold ripped it off. He felt like the Hulk in the damn thing. “Me Hulk, me wear pink and go smash!” Harold stood and looked around, catching his breath. “What the fuck am I going to do?” He walked back to the men’s clothing section, ripped open a package of thick wool socks and put a pair on his feet. He found a pair of underwear, too, and then blue jeans. He found a t-shirt and pulled a heavy sweatshirt over it. He grabbed a nearby cart, put a heavy parka in it as well as a hoody, more socks and underwear, and a light jacket. He went to the shoes section and found a pair of cross-trainers that fit. He tried on several pairs of rugged waterproof boots and when he found one that fit he tossed the pair into the cart.
As he was doing all of this, Harold daydreamed about apocalyptic movies and TV shows he had seen. He loved The Walking Dead but he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to see any zombies. He thought of the movies that had viruses and biological agents that killed everyone or made them crazy, but he ruled that plot out as there were no damn people anywhere. The one movie that got his attention, though, was the Omega Man with Charlton Heston. The Morlocks. Yep, the Morlocks came out at night and Charlton Heston was loaded with guns and ammo ready to blast them all to hell. Heston was the last man on earth, the only survivor. Heston, always in those post-apocalyptic movies of the 1970s. Planet of the Apes came to mind, too.
Even though Harold thought all of those ideas were ridiculous, he figured it might not be a bad idea to visit the sporting goods section and look at the guns. He saw several stun guns and after trying one out he threw three of them in his cart. He saw a Maverick shotgun, loaded it, put on some headgear to block out the noise, and fired. A rack of basketballs went kablooey. He set the shotgun in the cart and a dozen boxes of ammo. Other items grabbed included a 9mm handgun, appropriate ammunition and magazines, as well as a holster. He saw that there was a clock on the wall. It was two in the morning.
Seeing the clock gave him less peace than he thought it would. He had a brief panic that everything might return to normal tomorrow and that his activities were being captured on video cameras throughout the store. The panic subsided when Harold realized it would be a small price to pay for the world returning so he went back to work doing his thing. He loaded a large backpack into the cart. He saw the bicycles toward the back wall. A bike might be a good way to get around. "How would it work with all this other stuff, though?"
Harold decided to say fuck it for the night and pushed the cart to the camping area. He found foam pads, a sleeping bag, and a pillow. He undressed down to his underwear and curled up in the sleeping bag. He was tired but not quite sleepy. The day rolled by him, a picture show in the mind. There were no judgments, no heavy emotional reactions. They were just events that occurred. The picture show went on and on until Harold fell asleep.
When Harold woke he was starving. He dressed and pushed his cart to the kitchen section. He tossed a bowl, a plate, and a set of silverware in it. He walked with his cart to the grocery section. He drank a small bottle of Naked juice and then found cereal, milk, and orange juice. He set up at a table in the deli section and ate. Once he finished, he decided to look for a clock to see what time it was. It was nearly eight in the morning. He left his cart near the front doors and went to the customer service area to look for a set of car keys. After nearly ten minutes of searching he found a set. There was a car alarm button which is exactly what he needed. He went back to the cart, holstered his loaded 9mm, and grabbed the stun gun.
As he walked into the parking lot he noticed how cold it was even with the sun shining. He wished he’d put on his jacket because even the sweatshirt he wore was too lightweight for this cold. Sunglasses would have been a good idea, too. For now, though, the objective was to find that car. Harold walked up and down aisles pushing the car alarm button. He’d covered half the parking lot before an alarm started bleating. “Thank God. Finally some good news.”
Harold could see the lights and blinkers flashing a couple rows away. Annoyed by the sound, he clicked the car alarm off. As he approached the driver side door to unlock it he stopped in his tracks. His heart leapt in his chest and he screamed out, “Oh fucking Christ! This can’t be happening!”
…
Don’t you hate cliffhangers? Until next time…
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