Annihilation (The Seamus Chronicles Book 1) (3 page)

I managed to get lost in my work. I just started a 4-hour test on my new containment field and glanced at the clock to see it’s after 8 p.m. Dad never interrupted me for dinner—not good.

I make my way upstairs to find the screen in the kitchen on but blank and Dad sitting at the table with a glass of wine.

“No word from Mom yet,” he says without looking at me.

“Do you want me to find the news?” I have nothing better to say to him. I have no more of an idea than he does if Mom is okay or if she died quietly, alone in a hotel in California.

“There is no news. Seamus, everyone is dead. As far as I know, we are the only humans alive on Earth.” We haven’t left the house in two days. How can he possibly know that no one else survived?
It certainly feels that way, but there is no way it can be true. There
have
to be other people alive.

I stare blankly at the screen as if there might be an answer there. I feel powerless all the time, but this is different. Now I
am
powerless. I can’t go anywhere or do anything to change the situation.

Suddenly I’m nervous that Grace and Liam might be sick and in bed. “Dad, where are Grace and Liam?”

“I think they are in the family room watching a movie. We thought it might take their mind off the waiting for someone to call,”
he answers mindlessly.

I walk to the family room, listening. Expecting to hear a cough or a sniff or some other sign that my sister and brother will be the next to die. But all I hear is the movie. I hear a laugh track, but not Grace or Liam. Maybe they are already dead.

Stepping around the coffee table I slowly look back at the couch, dreading what I expect to find.

“Could you move? I can’t see the screen,” says Liam. He has mastered the annoying little brother voice and it grates on me. A second ago I thought he was dead and, whatever I might have been feeling, I felt it down to my shoes. Now I’m kind of pissed that he’s alive.

“Seamus, will you sit and watch with us?” Grace asks. I see her tear-stained face from the pile of blankets she’s erected in her own makeshift shelter from bad things. I can’t help but sit down next to her. She is too sweet to ever be in pain or fear. Grace has cried during movies before. She cries during scary movies, dramatic movies and almost always Gracie will even find a point to cry in funny movies. But I know this is different. The movie is just white noise. Everyone’s mind is elsewhere.
Well, maybe except Liam’s, I think when he laughs loudly at the next funny part of the movie.

“What was that movie we saw for your birthday?” Liam asks. We’ve been to the movies for my last seven birthdays, so he’s not really narrowing anything down for me. This is how he is.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I say, but this is our dynamic, so he is already adding useless details that he knows will jog my memory. The fact is, though, that I was able to make the connection with the way his mind works. He’s thinking about “The Hunger Games,” which we saw for my thirteenth birthday.

Now my mind is racing again. Government-controlled rations, government-controlled health stasis. Could this “killer cold” have been created by the government as a weapon? Is it being unleashed only on the states that do not support the current president? He would have plausible deniability and the states that support him would never question the truth. It seems vaguely possible. We don’t know anyone in the Midwest or middle America. Everyone we are trying to connect with is on one of the coasts. The liberal coasts. Of course, with New England and California gone, the United States is left with the “strong American heartland.” The bulk of the population is erased, and all that is left is hard-working Republican farmers.

The phone rings. It scares us all, but there is no movement. I don’t know how much wine Dad has had but I know he’ll answer. I’ll have to come back to my conspiracy theory later.

“Ryan calm down. Let me come pick you up, it’ll be okay,” Dad says into the phone as he walks into the family room.

The BANG is audible through the phone. Dad yells “NO!” but it’s a futile gesture. Uncle Ryan is dead. He was a really great uncle, but right now I’m not sad.

“Dad, was he coughing?”

“No. He was fine. Healthy like us,” he says, followed by a long silence.

“Aunt Stacie and the twins were sick yesterday. They died this morning some time. But Uncle Ryan was fine. He was just sad. He loved them so much he didn’t want to go on without them.” Dad is staring out the door, talking to himself, mostly. There was another adult close by that he knows and cares about and who survived the “killer cold”— but now he’s gone.

The “killer cold” did not affect my dad and Uncle Ryan. I share some of their DNA, so I am optimistic about my chances. I wonder if Grace and Liam think about their chances for long-term survival.

Grace was born in China to parents she never knew and has no way to trace. For all we know, they could also be alive. Or they could have died years ago in an accident, from cancer or starvation. I wonder if this has an effect on her outlook for life. She has always been able to just deal with things the way they are. It’s not ignorance or acceptance; more like understanding. But she never dwells on anything or lets what could have been affect her dreams or goals. I think that if she isn’t sick now she will survive.

Liam is in a similar but different situation. He knew his first family in Ethiopia, his parents, his sisters and his aunt. He was young but somewhere in his brain he must remember their faces and voices. He also knows that his parents passed away years ago. Their deaths were listed as “high blood pressure” and “weak heart,” which are pretty general descriptions. His extended family tried to keep him but could not. They barely had the resources to provide food for themselves. His relatives may have survived, but how can we ever get in touch with them? There are no phones in their village, so we are left to wonder.

“Do you think there are other people out there who didn’t get sick?” Grace asks.

“Let’s go drive around and see if we can find other survivors,” suggests Liam.

“No. It’s late and dark, I don’t want to leave the house right now. We’ll go out tomorrow.” Without another word Dad is on his way to the kitchen, probably for more wine. I guess he deserves it.

Grace and Liam return their semi-focus to the movie but my mind is off again.

What if there are government agents patrolling the streets looking for survivors so they can eliminate them? Even if it is less sinister and they are looking to capture survivors to run tests and experiments on to find a cure, I’m scared. Would the scientific community sacrifice a family to find a cure for a larger portion of the population? Probably. Would they ask the family for permission? Probably not. I’m starting to think that this is not going to end well for me. Maybe catching the “killer cold” would have been preferable to what lies ahead.

Again my thoughts of conspiracy are interrupted. This time it’s the phone buzzing. Dad never hung up after the call with Uncle Ryan. But Grace is up and straightening things in the family room. It’s no surprise that she has pulled herself together. Silently she crosses to the phone and hangs it up. As if related and on cue, the screen from the kitchen chimes to indicate an incoming Skype call.

The Skype call is not answered immediately and Grace heads to the kitchen to see if Dad is still in there. After a minute the chiming stops and I hear Grace shout with joy. “Mom!”

We are all very happy to have Mom on screen and not only talking with us but also looking at us. Grace tells her that we did not go to school today. Liam shares that one of the chickens looks like she lost some feathers and I ask about her flights. Not only was she not able to reschedule, they weren’t even answering the phones at the airline. We are all aware of the extent of the death in the world, but it still hasn’t sunk in that this changes the way things work. I don’t know where he was, but Dad finally comes into the kitchen to join the conversation.

“Any luck with the flights?” he asks casually.

“No. But there is something I want to talk with you about,” Mom answers, and looks at us kids like she does not want to speak while we are present.

“Guys, could you excuse us?” Dad says to all of us, but looks directly at me.

We all say goodbye to Mom
, but none of us leave the kitchen. There is awkward silence all around. We are all practically adults; they should let us in on whatever is going on. In the new world, we need to be aware of everything. I look over at Grace and see a tear streaming down her face.

“When are we going to see you again? I don’t like you being in California; I want you here with us!” Grace is speaking louder than normal but only to fight through the tears.

Liam is crying too, but silently. “I love you, Mom,” comes out, barely audible.

“I can’t deal with all of them by myself, Mom. I need you with us so everything works right.” I’m trying to be funny but I want to burst out in tears. I don’t
want
Mom to be okay, I
need
her to be okay.

“I love you all so much.” It’s Mom’s turn to cry. “I promise that I will be all right and we will all be together soon.”

After some more tears and “
I love you
’s” we three kids turn to head back to the family room and resume the movie. Grace and Liam don’t pause in the door and head right for the couch. I wait just past the doorway, knowing from experience that you can hear the conversation from here but not be seen by either party. It’s wrong for me to listen in, but we are not planning a birthday party here.

“Paddrick, you need to get out here right away.” I hear Mom’s voice; it is on the verge of tears.

“I’m planning the drive out there now. I’m a little nervous that some parts of the country did not get the virus at the same time as us. If there are groups of survivors left, they may be violent.” Dad never says he is afraid but that’s the message he is sending.

“We have a vaccine for the virus. If you don’t get out here right away you will all die!” Mom is yelling and breaks down into tears.

“What do you mean
we
?” Dad sounds stunned and instead of focusing on the life-saving vaccine, he is wondering whether or not Mom is alone.

“I met a couple of physicists at a Starbucks when I was searching for coffee. They work at some government installation in Palo Alto and they have a vaccine. Why are you arguing with me?! Get my children out here immediately!” Mom may be experiencing a breakdown of sorts.

“Okay, Okay,” Dad pauses to think about what he has to say next. “I need some time to get things together, this won’t be an easy trip.” He waits for a long time. “We’ll leave as soon as we can.”

“Make sure that Seamus brings his reactor work. The vaccine needs to be refrigerated and we are already having rolling blackouts.” Mom looks uneasy before she continues. “Paddrick, I’m sorry I never told you. But the whole family has already received the vaccine. You need a booster soon or -”

When did we receive the vaccine? The screen went dark before Mom could finish speaking. I’ve stepped into the kitchen, no longer concerned with listening in secret. Dad is leaning on the chair in front of the screen as if the weight of the world is crushing down on his shoulders. He is not crying but he may not be breathing either. I walk over and place my hand on his back, unsure of my role in this situation.

Dad turns and hugs me in a strong embrace. We do not speak but remain like this for several minutes. He must be nervous and confused, but he is doing an amazing job of holding it together.

Classic. For the first time in ages I don’t
have
to go to school but I’m awake at 6 a.m. But how could anyone sleep? The apocalypse has come and gone. There was no nuclear war, no asteroid impact or other singularity. They couldn’t have made a movie about this—it’s too boring.

It’s still a possibility that a government or rogue villain released a bio-weapon. If that were true, I would expect there to be someone else alive. Even megalomaniacs don’t usually want to die themselves. If someone were to have done this on purpose, they must have wanted something. Now that Mom has revealed that there is a vaccine, and that there are others alive out there, it is clear that someone was involved.

In one of the “Star Trek” movies, Spock says that when you rule out all the possibilities, the impossible must be an option. There are so many possibilities I can’t stand it. My focus has been about identifying and clarifying problems and then solving them. With this I can’t really identify the problem, so how can I possibly solve it?

I’ve learned that this “killer cold” only infected humans. In searching for signs of other survivors, I encountered more than one blog post and YouTube clip that described basically the same thing. They would start coughing within about twelve hours of contact with a carrier. Within 24 to 36 hours of contact, they would become lethargic. After giving in to the lethargy, it was relatively quick. If you sat upright, your lungs would fill with fluid and drown you in about ten hours. If you lay down it was much faster, four to six hours.

My guess is the virus began killing people some time last Tuesday and by the following Sunday 7 billion people were dead. Including the people in this house, Mom and the scientists in California, there are 7 people left on Earth. Statistically speaking, 100 percent of the human race is wiped out.

The scientific approach would be to figure out who was patient zero, the first person to be infected. But that is a pointless and impossible exercise. The right thing to do now is move on.

As of now I am considering yesterday Post-Apocalyptic Day one—PAD1. That makes today PAD2. If the post-apocalyptic world is going to be any good, I have to make today much better than yesterday. That shouldn’t be hard. The first step is to get out of bed.

When I get downstairs, Dad is sitting on the screen porch with a cup of coffee and a legal pad. I guess it’s a good sign that he’s making a list of something. This is usually his precursor to actually doing things, a list. But when I look closely, it’s a grocery list. Denial is not just a river in Egypt.

“Good morning, Seamus. There’s coffee in the carafe.” He acts like this is normal, but it’s not. He never offers me coffee. He used to say, “It’ll stunt your growth. When you’re 18, you can decide for yourself. Until then I’m in charge, and I don’t want you drinking coffee.” He knows I drink it to stay awake when I am running tests in the lab. But he never lets me get a coffee when we are on road trips and he makes a stop for him and Mom. Dictator Dad is not cool. I’m not sure what it is I want from him, but this is a good first step.

“So, Dad, do we have a plan? Do we know what we are going to do?” I say, hoping the disgust on my face is apparent. The only thing I can think of him right now is “impotent.”

“Well, we’re not going to have electricity for much longer. And we need to eat. I want today to be all about getting provisions.”

As if using the word “provisions” instead of “food” makes him something he could never be. A leader. A survivor. Someone in control of the situation. I laugh at the situation more than the answer. The only adult in my new post-apocalyptic world is working on his vocabulary instead of something that is going to help us.

“You know, Seamus, this isn’t easy on me either. There is no rulebook or FAQ on how to survive an apocalypse,” he says.

And he is suddenly in full lecture mode.

“When I was in high school, there was a player for the Bruins named Cam Neely. He was great. A forty-goal scorer, a big tough guy who could fight and grind it out in the corners. He was just an absolute all-star. But then he got hurt. And during the games the TV would show him up in the press box watching the game. The first few times he was restless -- you could tell he wanted to be on the ice. But then he started to watch the games more calmly, like he figured something out. When he came back from his injury, people were worried he wouldn’t be the same. And he wasn’t. He was better. After plenty of interviews, we all understood what he learned up in that press box. You have more time than you think. When it feels like you should be in a hurry, slow things down. Take your time and make smart, deliberate actions.”

“Well I’m not sure how a hockey stick is going to get us back with Mom. But I can tell you one thing, Dad, this is not a game and there is no press box. You need to be a man and save our family.” I’m surprised at my strength and how I challenge my father. But it feels good.

“Listen to me, Seamus. You may consider yourself unlucky that I am alive. But the fact of the matter is there are still people other than you in this world and we need to think about them, too. For some reason, our family was vaccinated and survived the apocalypse. I will not get us all killed by blindly charging off across the country.” My father is standing over me now. Somehow he makes the two-inch difference in height seem like two feet. I regret challenging him, and now it feels the opposite of good.

He sits back down and picks up his legal pad. I have nothing to say and I can’t seem to move. He’s wrong. We need to leave today. My next move may set the tone for the rest of my life. If I sit down and drink coffee, I will forever be a child. If I walk out and head off on my own, I’ll lose my whole family. Do I really want to be alone for the rest of my life? No matter how long or short it may be, this thought and my inability to decide has me frightened.

Finally my father gives me the out I need.

“Seamus, sit down. I need you. You are the smartest person I have ever met. We are going to have to figure out a lot of things in the next few weeks. If you can stay calm and stick with me, I will let you have complete freedom once we get to California,” he says. He’s somewhere between taking charge and just holding on. But right now, that’s enough for me.

We sit in silence until Grace comes down a while later. She pours some orange juice and then walks out into the apple orchard and grabs a few apples. Dad and I both watch her without saying a word. She feels things deeper than the rest of us but she knows how to get on with things. There is nothing to talk about right now; she wants to eat. Dad and I could argue through starvation about what and how much to eat. Grace just eats.

When she comes back inside, Dad starts laying out his plan. But sadly it doesn’t cover anything beyond today. He wants to spend the day getting supplies and collecting memories. This does nothing for humanity, but I know that in a few days we will be leaving New Hampshire forever. He can only be hoping for closure.

After Liam wakes up we all manage to pull ourselves together and take showers and eat some food. The sit-tight plan still bugs me but I am able to shelve my frustration for the time being.

“Let’s mount up. We need to go to Wal-Mart and a few other places before it gets dark.” This is how Dad talks when we don’t have the option of not going with him. Still, I protest.

“I’m going to stay home,” I say as I head towards my lab.

But Dad stops me. “No, Seamus, we are sticking together for the next couple of days.”

Grace and Liam wait intently to see what I am going to do. I can see no point in fighting Dad on this. Besides it might be interesting to drive around and see if there are any other survivors.

As soon as we are on the road, I regret coming. We are going to Grandma’s house. This reminds me that she and Papa are dead. I don’t want to think about that, but now I can’t think of anything else. I imagine them lying next to each other in bed holding hands, probably even smiling. They had fifty years together and they knew how lucky and wonderful they were. Seeing them in any way other than peaceful would ruin me.

When we get to their house, we sit in silence for a minute. Then Dad makes us all go in. He wants us each to collect a few of our favorite memories of them. At first it’s awkward and difficult, but soon we start talking and laughing. We’re gathered in the kitchen like always. There are two dead people in the next room, but we are flooded with good memories of holidays and visits here. Finally I share with Liam and Grace how I picture them in death. I’m not conscious of it, but I know Dad is nearby listening.

I’m not sure how long we spend in their house. When we leave, each of us is happy to let my vision be the reality of their final rest. We didn’t really take that much, but I realize the memories in our heads are what Dad wanted us to hold onto.

The ride to Wal-Mart is short but quiet. The experience at Grandma’s house is preventing me from processing how eerie things are with no people around. In the parking lot, Dad has us each grab a cart and tells us to follow him. We’re just moving now, no thoughts or feelings, simply motion.

“Dad, why are we going to the guns section?” Grace does not like guns. “We need to stop and get food. Mom wouldn’t want us to have guns.”

“We all need to learn to use and be safe around guns now. They will become a constant in your life so get used to it.” Dad is not usually this abrupt with Grace.

I want to ask him if these will be for hunting or protection but I don’t. The only logical answer is both. Grace does not need to be aware of the concept that “bad guys” may be out there and ready to hurt us. For me, I am aware that “bad guys” could mean government agents, a paramilitary group or even aliens. I’m not comfortable with guns but I am open to their value.

It’s a quick, efficient stop. Dad makes fast work of the necessary but unpleasant task of arming ourselves. We load up with eight weapons: four shotguns and four rifles. Dad wants a sidearm but this Wal-Mart does not seem to carry handguns. I guess there will have to be another stop. My shopping cart is full of the guns and the ammunition they use. Grace is too afraid to put them in her cart and Liam… well let’s just say we’re not comfortable with him holding a gun.

Getting food and sleeping bags is a little easier. Grace fills her cart with dried food like Ramen Noodles, rice and beans. Liam is in charge of canned goods. Dad puts things like snacks and drinks in his cart. We each have a nice new sleeping bag tucked into the bottom of our cart. With the exception of the cart full of weapons and ammo, it looks as if we are getting ready for a beach party.

“Hold on, I’ll be right back,” Liam is yelling as he runs away. Dad is not happy but we wait patiently.

“Got it,” Liam says, as he finally comes around the corner. He’s holding a can opener. We know there is one at home but we all feel like this is a brilliant thought. Liam is smiling triumphantly as we head for the exit with our loaded carts.