Darkness After Series (Prequel): Enter the Darkness Read online

  * * *

  It took an hour and a half for Mitch and Mr. Greenfield to walk to his house near the Lakeshore. The older man wasn’t in great shape so Mitch let him set the pace for the 5-mile journey, doing his best to remain patient as he tagged along. He would make up for lost time by traveling hard through the night, and the promised food that awaited him at Mr. Greenfield’s house would make that possible. He thought the man was making a mistake by choosing to stay there in the city with his wife, but Mitch had invited him to come to the farm and that was all he could really do. He understood the instinct to stay at home in familiar surroundings in a time of crisis, but the more he thought about this situation, the more he realized an urban area like this was the wrong place to be. He didn’t know exactly what the population of New Orleans was, but it was the biggest city in the region between Atlanta and Houston. No matter the number, he knew there were a lot of people in the Big Easy and they were going to be desperate if this situation was really as serious as he now thought it was. To Mitch’s way of thinking, the only hope of avoiding trouble was to be in a place where people were few and far between, and the Henley farm fit that description perfectly.

  He’d already seen the beginnings of panic within the first few minutes of being stranded back at that intersection. The plane crashes started it, and now as they walked they saw more and more frantic people hurrying in all directions along the streets. Stalled cars and trucks were everywhere, but there were a few vehicles still running too, weaving their way among the rest blocking the lanes. Without exception, those that were running were older models; some of them work trucks and light delivery trucks, beater cars and a surprising number of motorcycles, mostly older Harley Davidsons with loud pipes that could be heard long before they were close.

  “That proves what the scientists were saying,” Mitch said, as he and Mr. Greenfield discussed this.

  “Yes, I’d say so. The only vehicles moving appear to be from the 80’s or older.”

  “It’s too bad I wasn’t in my Grandpa’s old truck. I know it wasn’t affected. It’s a 1961 Ford with a straight 6-cylinder and 3-speed on the column shift. I could drive right out of here if we’d come in that today instead of Dad’s new truck.”

  “That just goes to show you that newer isn’t always better, is it?”

  “Nope. But most people think it is. I wonder though, if trying to drive out of here wouldn’t be even risker than walking though.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, look how many other people are stuck. What if someone really desperate decided they’d rather ride than walk? People might start carjacking pretty soon.”

  “Maybe, but again, Mitch, I think you give the bad element too much credit. Sure, we have our share, but most people are going to come together and try and help each other out, rather than steal from them.”

  “I hope you’re right, Mr. Greenfield. I really do. I’m just thinking of the possible scenarios, that’s all. It’s a habit I have, probably from spending so much time alone in the woods, hunting.”

  “I’ve never hunted, but I imagine the spending time alone part is nice. That’s something I don’t get much of.”

  “I imagine not, living here. How could you?”

  “We used to have a boat a few years ago. Deborah and I would go sailing on the Pontchartrain to watch the sunset after work and sometimes we’d spend the whole day out there on Sundays. It was a nice escape to peace and quiet once in a while.”

  “Too bad you don’t still have it. I imagine a boat could be a good option for getting out of here when things get worse.”

  “Maybe. But where would we go? If the damage is really widespread, it’s going to be the same everywhere. We’ll be as well off here as anywhere else, I think.”

  Mitch disagreed, but he decided to drop the subject. He had more to worry about than trying to convince a stranger of what he should do. His thoughts wandered back to his parents, and he hoped and prayed they were safely on the ground because no matter how chaotic things might get in a city the size of Houston they would have a chance as long as their plane had landed in time. Mitch had complete faith in his father’s abilities to get the two of them home, but he also knew it would take some time. While they were gone, he was going to have to look after Lisa as well as take care of the house and the farm. He figured he would have plenty of time to do so, because he didn’t see any way that the school could continue to operate. People were going to have to take care of themselves, and out in the country where he was from, most knew how. But that didn’t mean it was going to be easy. Mitch knew what it was like living without power for a few days, but this time it was going to be much longer and the disruption of communications and transportation would make it exponentially harder.

  Eight

  APRIL SPENT MUCH OF the day pacing the floor when she was inside and walking out to the street to talk to anyone she saw passing by to see if they knew anything. No one had any real news beyond the immediate vicinity. As the day wore on, more people were moving about though, and she saw far more bicycles on the street than usual. A bicycle made a lot of sense in this situation, but April didn’t have one and neither did David. Some of the people she saw riding by on them had obviously ridden to the grocery stores, as they were carrying bags tied to their handlebars and anywhere else they could put them. She talked to one man whose bike was so heavily loaded that he was pushing it along, and his story was not encouraging.

  “People are going nuts! It’s worse than when a hurricane is coming. They’re cleaning out the stores—at least all the ones that are open. Those that are can only take cash, because they have no way to verify credit cards or checks. But even so, there are lines out the doors.”

  “I’m glad I don’t need anything today then,” April said.

  “You’d better be thinking about a lot longer than today, young lady. They’re saying everything will be gone by tomorrow, if it’s not already. And a lot of people are saying there won’t be anyone coming to restock because the trucks aren’t running. Think about it! It’s like this everywhere!”

  April didn’t want to think about it. It was a nightmare too frightening to contemplate. All she wanted to think about was getting her Kimberly back in her arms. Her baby was only a little over a year old. She needed her mother and that was all there was to it.

  When the afternoon faded away into evening and finally full darkness, April found herself in a blacked-out New Orleans that was darker than she could have ever imagined a modern city could be. If the darkness itself weren’t strange enough, the quiet in the absence of machinery was surreal—especially at night when sound carried so much farther. The predominate sounds she heard now were human voices—the chatter of conversation, laughter and argument. There were screams and curses, crying children, and barking dogs, but no roar from the nearby interstate, or from trains on the tracks or airplanes overhead. And then much later, sometime after midnight by her best guess, the loudest sounds that reached her ears through the walls of the old wood frame house were gunshots. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard shots fired late at night from her apartment, but incidents like that were few and far between in her relatively safe neighborhood. She didn’t know what the shooting was about, but someone fired at least half a dozen rounds in rapid succession from what sounded like a semiautomatic rifle.

  The big difference this time and the other times she’d heard gunfire in the city was that the shots were not followed by the sounds of police sirens. Some of the people she had talked to earlier mentioned this, saying that the police were just as helpless as everyone else with their cruisers inoperable and their communication networks down. Without a dispatcher to take calls and coordinate a response, how could they effectively do anything? Thinking of this made April wish she had a gun of her own, but she didn’t and neither did David. Her father had taught her how to shoot both rifles and pistols before he’d died, and he had owned several nice weapons that he’d left to her mom, but she had sold the
m all without telling April. It had infuriated her when she found out, but then her mom had her accident and April forgot her anger. Losing both of her parents before she was even eighteen years old had been devastating, but she’d gotten through it when Kimberly came along and gave her a new reason to live.

  David knew nothing of firearms anyway and had little interest in them, and money had been tight as long as she’d been with him, so purchasing a handgun or shotgun for home defense had been pushed far down the list of priorities. April regretted that unfortunate decision now. She could easily see how things could get really out of hand if help from outside didn’t arrive soon. It had been horrible here during Hurricane Katrina, but thankfully, she’d only seen that on the news because at the time both of her parents were still alive and she was living with them in Dallas. She felt a little safer knowing she at least had the martial arts skills her father had taught her, including not only empty hand techniques but knife and stick methods as well. The big Spyderco folding knife she kept clipped in the back pocket of her jeans was a comfort, but she knew she’d feel better with a pistol to go with it.

  Even if she hadn’t heard the gunshots, April couldn’t have slept that first night after the blackout. She paced the floor and looked outside, hoping for some slim chance that she would see David pulling into the driveway with Kimberly. It didn’t happen though and daylight finally came, finding April utterly exhausted but still too upset to get any rest. She waited until there was more activity in the neighborhood, and then went back out to the street. It had been about 24 hours now, and nothing had changed, other than the fact that more people were out walking and riding places on bicycles. The cars that wouldn’t start yesterday still sat immobile today.

  “I heard the shooting too,” Jennifer said, when April crossed the street to talk to her after seeing her step outside. “I wondered what it was. I hope no one was hurt.”

  “Yeah me too, but I’m afraid people will be. I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to get to my daughter. I don’t think her father is going to be able to get back here.”

  April told Jennifer about the old Mustang and the repairs it needed. Jennifer had seen it sitting there under the carport, broken down and useless more often than not. All she could do for April was wish her luck. She didn’t have a clue about things mechanical. April left her house to walk down and see the man who had the running Volvo. She thought that maybe if he kept such an old vehicle well maintained and running, he might be able to help her, or at least offer some advice. But when she got there, she wasn’t completely surprised to see that the old sedan was gone. Evidently, the owner and his wife had decided to get out of town while they still could. She wondered where to, but it didn’t really matter. They were gone and she hoped they made it somewhere safe. And she was on her own to figure out how to do the same.

  * * *

  Mr. Greenfield’s house was an expensive-looking older home that appeared to be immaculately maintained. All the houses along his street were upscale, the front lawns shaded by grand old Live oak trees and a variety of exotic palms and subtropical plants. A shiny BMW sports car was parked in the circular brick drive in front of the house, and Mr. Greenfield breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the car.

  “I didn’t think she would be out and about before this pulse or whatever it was happened, but I was still worried. She was getting ready to go run some errands when I left for work.”

  When they went inside and Mitch was introduced to Deborah Greenfield, she told them she had gone out to try and start her car right after the power went out.

  “At least we still have one car at home in case there’s a way to get parts for it later. Mine is sitting in the middle of the road right behind this young man’s pickup truck.”

  Mr. Greenfield explained to his wife what Mitch intended to do, and she readily agreed that they would help him prepare and load him down with all the food he could carry.

  “I told him we’d feed him well before he left too. I’m going to go out back and clean off the grill. We can have those steaks you bought yesterday and maybe wrap up some potatoes and onions in foil to go with them.”

  Mr. Greenfield made good on his promise and Mitch stuffed himself until he was full. After eating he stretched out in a comfortable hammock beside the swimming pool and soon dozed off into a deep sleep. When he awoke he knew from the angle of the sun that it was already late afternoon, and his watch confirmed that it was after 4:30. He hadn’t expected to sleep so long, but then again, he had gotten up hours earlier than usual so that he and his parents could leave the Henley farm before 4 a.m. The long nap and the filling meal would do him good, and he was ready to get moving on his journey. But when he walked back to the patio in the courtyard between the house and pool, he found that the Greenfields had prepared even more food and were insistent that he eat again before leaving.

  “We had plenty of shrimp in the freezer that needs to be eaten,” Mr. Greenfield explained as he lifted the lid off a huge pot of creole gumbo he had boiling over a propane cooker. Mitch noticed the lights on inside the house as well, and the low hum of a diesel generator running somewhere nearby. “I told you we were set up to deal with hurricanes. We’ll be quite comfortable and well-fed here for at least a couple of weeks.”

  The gumbo was irresistible and Mitch knew it wouldn’t matter if he waited another hour to get started. He ate two bowlfuls and washed it down with sweet iced tea, finishing just about the time the sun was going down. Deborah Greenfield had laid out a huge assortment of snack foods, including energy bars and several MREs and six packs of bottled water for Mitch’s journey. It was far more than he could carry, but he stuffed two of the MREs, a few high protein energy bars and a half dozen of the water bottles into his small backpack. There was just enough room in it after he removed the hunting coveralls and lashed them to the outside. He would put them on as soon as he was out of the city.

  Mr. Greenfield dug up a state map of Louisiana for Mitch before he left, and the two of them studied it until Mitch had a pretty good idea of the best route to take and the approximate distances involved. The options for leaving the city were rather limited because of Lake Pontchartrain, but the most direct route was the same one he had driven in on—the Interstate 10 Twin Span Bridge. This bridge was much shorter than the 25-mile-long Causeway and would take him to Slidell on the North Shore. Once across, he would have to make his way through that smaller city either along the interstate, which turned into Interstate 59 going northeast, or the older parallel route of Highway 11. There was little choice for crossing the Pearl River and the surrounding expanse of Honey Island Swamp other than the I-59 Bridge, but after that he’d be over the state line and into Mississippi. Once there, Mitch knew he could leave the interstate again and follow secondary roads to his destination. It appeared to be about 40 miles to the state line where he would feel home free. He was going to have to pace himself because he would still have more than 60 miles to go after that to reach the Henley farm and home. That meant he’d have to find a place to bivouac tomorrow while he was still in Louisiana. It would be hard push, but he hoped to at least get to the North Shore before doing so.

  Nine

  AFTER HEARING MR. SMITH’S theory as to what had happened that morning, Lisa and Stacy decided they’d better find Jason and tell him. There was no use hanging around the school because classes were going to be postponed indefinitely if what the science teacher said was true.

  “She sometimes has to stay over at the end of her shift if there’s a lot going on,” Stacy said, as they wondered about her mother. “I hope that’s the reason she was late.”

  “I hope so too. At least if she’s stuck at the hospital where she works she’ll be safe.”

  “Yeah, but if what Mr. Smith said was true, then how will she get home at all? He said it wouldn’t be easy to get everybody’s car fixed because so many of them are going to need new parts. That would be bad enough, but I can’t even call her to see if she’s okay
or to tell her we are. This is pretty crazy, Lisa. I know your mom and dad are probably stuck somewhere and they’re going to be worried too.”

  “They are, and I’m worried about them and Mitch too. But I don’t know what I can do. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  When they found Jason he was with a group of high school boys that were crowded around Rusty Sinclair’s 1971 Chevy Nova. Lisa heard the engine rumbling as they walked up. The hood was up and Lisa knew Rusty was showing off the big V-8 engine that was his pride and joy. Rusty had restored the old car with the help of his father, and the way he drove it everyone at the school was expecting him to total it out sooner or later. Now he was gloating over the fact that it was still running perfectly, when all of the newer cars and pickups the other students drove were not.

  “Mr. Smith said this was caused by a solar flare,” Stacy said to Jason when he told them that for some reason, it seemed that older vehicles weren’t affected.

  “He said it created some kind of pulse that fried sensitive electronics, like cell phones and the computers that control the power grid and even car engines,” Lisa added. “He was talking to the principal when we asked him. They are going to be closing down the school and the teachers are going to tell everyone to go home until further notice.”