Harmonic: Resonance Page 9

  “I’m fine. I was outside when it collapsed.”

  He held out a hand and pulled me to my feet. “I guess we should get going. There’s nothing left here,” he said.

  As he turned, I stepped in his path and put my arms around him. He hesitated for a second, and then returned the gesture, hugging me tightly. We stayed like this for what felt like forever. When I let him go, he smiled his kind smile and continued as though nothing had happened—to his home or between us.

  As we traversed the vehicle-and-debris-strewn roads on our way back to the truck, Powell stopped and called me over. We stood staring down at a collapsed wood-framed sign that read, Resettlement and registration locations …

  Powell brushed the debris from the rest of the sign and hoisted it up by the wooden stake. “I guess we know where everyone went.”

  … nearest location 400km North on Highway 10, Camp Herald.

  24 | Community

  We told the group about the sign we had found, but the radio played only the same emergency broadcast as before. Some of the group talked about leaving to find Camp Herald, but talk wouldn’t manifest into action without firsthand proof of its existence and some assurance of its benefit to us. Gary checked the radio daily for any new signal or information while the rest of the group made predictions about the future.

  Amid the chaotic chatter of speculation in the house, there grew one pocket of calm I could lose myself in—Haley and Kyle had become friends. They sat together, writing notes to each other, and ran around outside together, playing and laughing. Haley was teaching Kyle how to sign, and he was teaching her how to be a child again. The two families grew closer. Sean, Owen, and sometimes Samuel too, would work on the vehicles together while Sarah, Kate, and Abigail watched the kids play and told stories of happier times. I remained just outside the periphery of their small community—an outsider looking in through the windows, longing for warmth.

  Haley had Kyle, and their two families had become one. Other small groups formed, while our original group seemed to drift apart. Gary was absent for at least half of the time. Randall was lost to one-sided arguments with himself or his God. Powell and I were too busy with the running of the house to socialize, too busy rationing for the future to make the best of the present.

  Technology had once made the world seem smaller, but it had also played its part in spreading communities farther apart. The fact that we needed each other, relied on each other, and had little distraction, other than the need and struggles for basic survival, seemed to have brought most of us closer together.

  Water no longer flowed from the faucet, and the issue of a single washroom shared between us all became a moot point. The nearest group of trees became the nearest point for relief, and weekly trips were made to the nearest lake or river to wash and bring back water to store. The house water was kept in the old feeding troughs in the barn and boiled, filtered, and treated before use. Occasionally fish were brought back to the house, but rarely in a quantity that could be shared with anyone outside of each sub-group. Kate’s family and Sarah’s family would make their weekly wash trip together, and the kids would come back clean and smiling, discussing in sign language and secret notes the wonders they had seen on their trip. It reminded me of my childhood, of Sam, and of a time when three was a large enough number to abate any feelings of loneliness.

  25 | Resettlement and registration

  Following a house meeting regarding the latest radio broadcast, we all waited patiently, gathered around the television while Gary flicked through the channels. Several members of the group took turns peering around the back of the television, seeing it turned on for the first time and curious of its magic regardless of Gary’s attempt to demystify its workings during the meeting.

  Most of the channels displayed either snow or a test signal picture, but as promised by the voice on the radio broadcast, several national news channels had been restored under a limited capacity and with government and military cooperation.

  “Local and national governments and authorities are asking for cooperation and patience from their citizens during these troubled times. Countless families have lost their homes and even family members to fire, and entire towns and cities have been evacuated due to subsequent safety concerns. All citizens are being asked to stay away from built-up areas within large cities due to the threat of further structural failure and building collapse.

  Demolition crews are being assembled to take down any structures deemed by engineers to be unsafe, and authorities have warned that anyone caught entering closed or condemned zones will be removed and detained for their own safety.

  Authorities say that while not all zones are clearly marked, in those that are, the penalties for trespassing could be severe and potentially fatal. Work crews have been absolved of any liability for collateral damage as a result of willful ignorance of any person or persons failing to heed and adhere to safety instruction.”

  The screen flashed images of burned and dilapidated towns—blackened ruins with no discernible landmarks or recognizable features. Any one of those images could have been of our hometown. The images that followed were of crumbled cities, giant clouds of dust, mountains of debris, and stills showing cordoned-off city blocks fronted by large red signs. Warning. Hazardous work zone. Keep out. No unauthorized entry. Threat of injury or death. Trespassers will be prosecuted.

  The screen changed to the news anchor who offered his apologies to viewers for the disturbing images.

  “We would like to thank the power companies and the various government and military bodies that are working hard to restore power, and have made it possible for us to broadcast to you now, and have also made it possible for those of you receiving this broadcast to do so. Limited and temporary grids have been set up all over the country to provide power to surrounding areas while crews work to isolate, remove, and replace existing grids, although we’ve been told that in most areas the extent of the damage has been too great for any restoration of old networks.”

  The screen changed to a city map with areas highlighted in red and green. The news anchor explained that the sporadic green clusters were the areas with temporary power restored, and the vast patches of red were the areas beyond restoration. The image changed to the map of another city with a different configuration of red and green, but again the map was predominantly red. We watched and waited as the screen flicked from one map to the next, and eventually to one showing our town. Our map had very few green clusters, and none anywhere near our solid red town.

  “Our town looks like a tick bite. It’s a good thing we’ve got the generator,” Gary said.

  After another few minutes of cycled images, the news anchor returned.

  “No one has yet provided an explanation for the recent phenomenon that has seemingly brought the dead back to life. This phenomenon of biblical proportions has been labeled as the cause for the global electromagnetic disturbances and the resulting power surges, blackouts, fires, and explosions. While tension is high, and many are blaming these no-longer-dead or N.L.D., as they have been termed by some, for their own losses, governments and military forces are asking all unregistered N.L.D. to find the nearest registration installation to acquire temporary status and accommodation while an assigned political body works to establish their rights, future work placement, and ‘living’ arrangements.”

  The screen showed images of large fenced-in military camps with long lines of people waiting at its gates.

  “Separate facilities for registered citizens have been set up to aid families and individuals displaced by fire or circumstance. All military and government installations designated to the resettlement program are equipped with schools and medical facilities.”

  The screen showed the inside of a makeshift classroom filled with smiling children, and then it changed to the medical stations with people being treated by medical staff.

  “Looks like an internment camp,” Gary said under his breath, which was met by disappr
oving glances from those close enough to hear.

  “Here are the location listings for all registered-persons-resettlement-program facilities. If you are an unregistered person, authorities request you report to the nearest registration facility. If you know or happen upon any unregistered persons, authorities are urging you to direct them to the nearest registration facility, the locations of which will be coming up on the screen in just a few moments.”

  Each image stayed on screen long enough for us to copy down the location listings of all within driving distance, for both registered citizens and unregistered persons. As the broadcast moved to more trivial matters, some of those who had been seated now stood and stretched. I followed suit, stood, and handed Haley’s notepad with the facility listings to Sean.

  The news reporter’s words dissolved into the background behind the rise of anxious muttering and excited chatter from the group as they dispersed. The front door slammed shut, and the collective murmur stuttered and stopped.

  I made my way to the door and was joined by Powell and Randall.

  “What’s up with him?” Powell asked.

  My expression must have shown my confusion and my need for him to elaborate.

  “Gary. He just stormed out and almost took the door off its hinges. He’s mad as Hell about something,” he added.

  ***

  With all of the vehicles still parked, the three of us searched the property and surrounding area, knowing he couldn’t have gone far enough on foot, in any direction, to be out of sight.

  More than half an hour later, there came a loud whistle. I followed the sound and joined Powell and Randall at the barn entrance. Powell pointed to the back corner of the barn and to a single boot poking out from behind a large spool of BX cable.

  I wondered why Gary would run off to sulk in the corner like a reprimanded child, but as we approached, I saw the line of empty liquor bottles against the wall.

  “What’s going on, Gary?” I asked.

  “I appreciate the concern, but I just want to be left alone for a while,” Gary replied with a mild, but audible slur.

  “If you want to be alone, that’s fine, we just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Powell said.

  “Well, I’m not okay, and I’m not handing myself over to any damned prison camp.”

  I tried but failed to maintain a sympathetic tone. “Where did that come from? They’re not prison camps, Gary. They’re temporary shelters, and who said that you have to go?”

  Gary gave a long studying look to the three of us. “If it’s not a prison, then why is the barbed wire facing in? Looks just like a prison camp to me—armed guards, high barbed wire fences, bread and water. Yeah, I know, I sound crazy. I don’t care. Those camps were made to keep people in. How long do you think it’ll take to rehouse all those people? How much food is it going to take to feed all those people? And the N.L.D., what about them? They’re going to keep them safe until they can establish rights? What they’re saying is they have no rights. We talked before about what would happen if Hitler came back; looks to me like he’ll have a head start. They’re already doing all the grunt work for him—giving them all numbers and rounding them up into camps.”

  “Don’t start talking like this in front of everyone in the house, or things are going to go south pretty damn quick. Remember what happened in the church?” Powell snapped.

  Gary took a deep breath and exhaled a muttered curse that trailed off. “That’s why I’m in here, so I can share my unpopular opinions with my old friend Johnnie Walker. Cheers.” He reached back, retrieved a half bottle of whiskey from behind the wire spool, and took a long drink.

  “That’s not going to help,” Randall said.

  “No? What the fuck do you know, Preacher?” Gary snapped.

  “Hey, what’s gotten into you? He’s just trying to help,” I said.

  “I’d say about half a bottle of Dutch courage,” Powell interjected.

  “It’s not Dutch, it’s Scotch.” He retrieved another bottle, this one unopened, from his no longer secret stash and set it and the open bottle down next to each other on the circular wooden top of the spool. As he got to his feet, he said, “I’m going for a walk before this turns into some righteous intervention.”

  I turned to follow him out, but Powell took a hold of my arm. “Let him go. He’ll be back when he calms down.”

  “Or when he runs out of booze,” Randall said. He stood transfixed and seemingly searching for answers inside the empty bottles against the wall.

  “What is it, Randall?” I asked.

  “Gary was right about the barbed wire. It was facing in.”

  26 | Let the chips fall ...

  As everyone readied themselves to leave, I kept my otherwise idle hands busy making up the travel bags for each group, trying to keep my mind occupied and trying to ignore the warnings first slurred by Gary back in the barn. Those warnings now replayed with sober clarity in my mind at every given opportunity. I tried to reason away the idea that we were sending these people, some of whom had become our friends, to be rounded up and imprisoned like cattle. The slur of Gary’s words hadn’t dulled the edge to his warning, and the devil’s advocate in my mind worked only to hone its point.

  Each bag contained rationed food, water, limited first-aid supplies, siphon kit, and a loaded firearm. The firearm was added as a precaution, one we all hoped would prove unnecessary. Each gun was to be discarded or hidden when in safe range of the camp as a further precaution against retroactive criminal charges for possession of unregistered firearms, if or when the world returned to order and its laws.

  After the news broadcast about the camps, I assumed our number would diminish gradually over several weeks. Instead, a day was set when all would travel as a single-file caravan, relying on the safety in numbers principle.

  Over the week leading up to the day of exodus, Sean, Owen, and Randall had scoured the town and surrounding area for working vehicles. Each day, the three of them left in a single vehicle and returned with an additional vehicle or two, along with any acquired provisions.

  During our last house meeting, I made it clear that all were welcome to stay for as long as they wanted. I made specific eye contact with those of the group I had grown close to as I reaffirmed I didn’t want anyone to feel as though they had to go—there was enough food, water, and fuel to sustain us all for a time. Perhaps this was a selfish and futile attempt at quieting my conscience, or perhaps it was a desperate last effort to delay or avoid testing the validity of Gary’s warning.

  ***

  I stood in the doorway, watching as the children played their make-believe games, while Sean and Owen worked on the vehicles, refueling and refilling fluids, checking and inflating the tires using my father’s compressor, and getting each vehicle ready for the long journey ahead.

  I wondered how Haley would take the news she would be staying with us in the house while her parents and Kyle and his family made the journey without her. With all the predicted detours around unforeseen obstructions and road closures, travel time was inestimable, but would undoubtedly exceed anyone’s best guess based solely on distance.

  Beyond what could be several treacherous days on the road, they would all have to wait to be processed and registered, and from the images shown on the television of the sheer volume of people waiting to get into the various camps, the last mile before the gates would be the longest part of the journey.

  It was decided it would be better for Haley to remain with us, not only for her safety, but for ours too. During the registration process, the unpredictability of a child’s answers to seemingly harmless or leading questions would pose an unnecessary risk to us all. Another concern was the journey back to the house, which would be made without the safety of the caravan and would be easier without the added stress of such precious cargo.

  Kate had thanked us for sharing our food and thanked me for letting her family stay in my house, but regretfully she declined my pleas for them to stay.
She had talked it over with Owen and with her parents, and they had agreed they would leave with the others. The sooner they signed up for resettlement, the sooner their lives could return to normal.

  Sean was crouched by the front wheel of the blue van, holding up a lug nut to Haley. He threaded it onto the pin, secured the tire iron, and spun it, while she retrieved another nut from a can on the ground. With all the nuts in place, he took her hand and led her up to balance with both of her feet on one arm of the tire iron, motioning for her to bounce. When the job was done, he swung her back to the ground and sat her down on the old, flat tire. While Sean spoke, Haley shook her head, pulled out her notepad, and frantically scribbled in response. The exchange grew more animated as it progressed, and in reply to the slow shake of her father’s head, Haley stood and ran toward the barn in tears.

  ***

  A disheveled version of Gary sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, turning a coin between his fingers, mumbling to himself, and drinking from a large bottle of Scotch during the brief pauses between his poisonous commentary. He had been left to drink and wallow alone, as he pleased, but this was the first time he had brought one of his old friends inside to meet the family.

  “My oldest friend, Johnnie Walker. My best friend and my worst enemy,” Gary slurred.

  Randall nodded to the coin in Gary’s hands. “It’s a sobriety chip.”

  Gary’s bloodshot eyes found and locked on to Randall. “You’re just going to talk about me like I’m not even here? Yeah, it’s a sobriety chip, so what? Eight years clean, and for what?”

  “You’re just going to throw it all away?” Randall asked.

  A coarse laugh escaped from between Gary’s lips and the mouth of the bottle, and in a low, hollow tone, the bottle seemed to question who? “Listen to you, all high and fucking mighty. You were a preacher for what—twenty years? And you turned in your badge.”