Annihilation (The Seamus Chronicles Book 1) (4 page)

Post-apocalyptic etiquette is still largely undefined. Dad parked in a parking space just like he would have a week ago. For a moment I feel so superior to him for realizing that he could have just pulled up on the sidewalk right in front of the door. In fact, he probably could have driven right through the doors and parked in the produce section.

I come down to Earth a little bit when I realize that this thought is only now entering my mind. When we got here and he pulled into that spot, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. I was grateful that he didn’t park far away and tell us to walk because we needed the exercise. I need to lighten up on the old man a little.

At the car, we realize that packing all this stuff and getting the four of us home is going to require a little planning. Dad folds the seats down in the back of the van and it creates plenty of room. I’m loading the guns and ammunition in first. We don’t need them right now; they weigh a ton and they can’t get crushed.

As I grab the last shotgun I am aware for the first time of the tractor-trailer trucks in the parking lot. There are always a few present based on Wal-Mart’s policy of supporting truckers and campers’ overnighting, but this seems like a lot.

I’m counting the trucks while laughing at the fact that I have no basis for how many trucks were typically there when I see the RV. It seems strangely out of place, and I can’t help but stare at it for an extra minute. While I’m staring, the door opens and a girl walks out. Maybe it’s a woman. Whatever; another human being, definitely female.

“Dad,” is all I can manage to say.

“Unh huh,” is his response, somehow making it clear to me that he sees her, too. But I’m scared, because his first reaction is to grab one of the shotguns and load it with several rounds. Why is he assuming danger? The concept of zombies or mutated humans who only want to eat survivors is ridiculous.

She’s walking towards us and it is clear that there is no danger around her. Wearing a skirt and thin blouse with sandals on her feet, there is no place for her to conceal any type of weapon. I hope Dad keeps that shotgun in the back of the van.

As she gets even closer, I can see that she is beautiful. Not supermodel or famous-actress beautiful, but simple, girl-next-door beautiful. The kind of girl who doesn’t wear makeup, because she never thought to, not because she is trying to make a statement or have a “signature style”.

My heart is fluttering and my mind is racing. Thoughts of other survivors have been men in black jump suits with submachine guns. Bad guys dominate my perception of post-apocalyptic world survivors. This is unexpected and very much welcome, except for the fact that I am thrown off balance. This almost never happens to me, even when the prettiest girl in school would sit next to me in class or at lunch, I was never fazed by it. Now, I’m mush.

As she gets close enough to speak, I’m telling myself to pull it together. I’m almost composed when she smiles. My knees go weak and I’m speechless. But not Liam, he’s right there and already being Liam.

“Hi, is that your motorhome?” Liam asks her. The first survivor we have met and Liam wants to know about the motorhome.

“Yes, it’s my parents’. Or, it was. I guess it was theirs.” She trails off.

“Cool, can we go inside?” Liam carries on. I’m not sure if he is aware that most of humanity has been wiped out or if he is consciously trying to keep things normal.

“Well, it’s pretty messy and I don’t think you want to see it like that,” she says, but she’s stopped walking. This other survivor, this beautiful girl, is standing about 6 feet away from us. Further than you would in a normal conversation, but closer than she probably should for her own safety, not knowing us and all.

“Oh, well, messy...” Liam starts in.

“Liam,” Dad silences him.

“Are you from around here?” Dad asks in a tone somewhere between grouchy cop and indifferent schoolteacher. I’m not sure why it matters. If she lives in the town over do we help her, and if she is from far away, leave her? A better question is probably about her ancestry to see if we can start to figure out a DNA combination that survived this thing. But Dad is probably still trying to figure out what to do.

The only pick-up line I have ever given credit comes into my mind. I blurt it out without even thinking. “Hi, my name is Seamus.”

The smile is back and she is walking closer to us. “My name is Sofie. I am so happy to see other people that are alive!” Then she is hugging me and crying and laughing. It feels so good to hold her. But my brain is conflicted. She should feel so good to be alive. Who cares about seeing other people? Worry about yourself.

Until now, I haven’t even thought about what it would be like to go through this alone. What if I had cared for Dad, Grace and Liam as they progressed through coughing into drowning in their own fluids and then death? Would I have carried their bodies out to the back yard and buried them? Would I have left them where they lay and gone off in search of something? How would I have handled it?

For all the times I yelled that I want to be alone or told people to leave me alone, I have never been alone. The few times I have had the chance to be left alone for more than a couple of hours, Grace or Liam have been there, and I didn’t want or ask them to leave. Now the thought of being alone frightens me, and I shudder a little as we break our embrace.

The sound of a shotgun loading snaps me back to reality. Dad is not as relaxed as the rest of us. He doesn’t seem concerned with Sofie but I can tell by his eyes that he thinks something is fishy with the trucks and even Sofie’s motor home.

Without looking at her, Dad asks, “Sofie, was there anyone in that motorhome besides you?” Now we’re all staring, as if looking at the motorhome will give us an answer.

“Just my parents,” she says softly. The way she says it makes me understand that they are dead and will not be walking out the door.

I wish Dad would communicate and tell us what he is looking for, what he is thinking or what he is afraid of. If he thinks he’s doing strong silent type, he’s wrong. Suddenly I wonder if he’s trying to impress Sofie. Mom is alive in California; he’s not free to date just because of the apocalypse. Or maybe Mom isn’t as okay as we thought. Maybe we’ll get a sit-down tonight and Dad will break the bad news to us. Telling us he didn’t want us to worry. There’s one eligible girl left in the world and I have to compete with my Dad and Liam for her attention. But I got the hug.

Somehow satisfied that zombies, commandos or mutant dogs aren’t going to be coming out of the tractor-trailer trucks, Dad is ready to move on.

“Grace, why don’t you and Sofie go gather her things from the motor home. Seamus, if there is anything you need for your lab or to get the power pack working sooner rather than later, go get it now. Liam will go with you. I’ll load the car. I want to leave in fifteen minutes.”

It took another 45 minutes for us to leave Wal-Mart. Dad never could stick to his own time restraints. We never really talked about Sofie coming with us or if she even wanted to. She just got in the van and road silently home with us. The count of survivors that we know about is at eight and I’m thinking about a spreadsheet to keep track of people.

Dinner was strangely silent but bland as usual. Dad offered Sofie the guest room, but she chose to stay on the trundle
bed in Grace’s room. Everyone was moving about in a daze. I couldn’t motivate myself to even go into my lab, let alone sit and work. I’m not sure why, but I kind of thought we would celebrate when we found another survivor. Instead, we all just sort of shuffled off to our rooms and went to bed.

Once again I’m wide awake at 6 a.m. I don’t want to get out of bed today. I don’t want to “sit tight” for another day. But I don’t want to fight with my Dad in front of Sofie. I don’t know how to impress her, but I’m pretty sure that acting like a spoiled teenager won’t do the trick. Every time I try and switch my brain over to the reactor, Sofie’s face shows up. The flow of electrons that is usually so clear to me is interrupted by memories of the hug. A girl preoccupies me and it feels good. But I have work to do, so it is insanely frustrating.

I must have drifted off to sleep. When I look at the clock again, it’s 7:20, so I roll out of bed.

Dad is alone in the kitchen, but not like usual. He’s not sitting with his cup of coffee and reading or making a list. There are sheets of legal paper on the island arranged neatly, each with a bold headline and a string of numbers on the left edge. While we have five iPads and three laptops in the house, Dad is using a Sharpie and legal pad for his notes. But he’s moving with a purpose, so I won’t nitpick.

“Good morning, Seamus. I’m glad you’re up.” He’s said this before. This time it’s different, though, not like,
“I love you, son.”
It is more like when he would say good morning to my uncles on holidays.

“I spoke with Mom last night and she wants to make sure you guys know she’s okay,” he starts. I guess I don’t get offered coffee this morning. Maybe I should just pour some without commenting. When we were little, he used to tell us, “When you act like a big kid I’ll treat you like a big kid.” So I decide to act like an adult from here out, and pour myself some coffee.

I sit at the island and ask, “Are there any other survivors out there?” trying my best not to be emotional and act differently, even though I know things have changed.

“No. But I want to talk about the plan before the others get up. I’m going to need your help if we are going to make it across the country alive.” He’s shuffling papers around but looking at me intently.

“Let me know what you need me to do,” I answered, out if instinct, full of confidence but clueless as to how to proceed.

“You have one day to get your power reactor functional. At some point we are going to need power that’s not on the grid and I want you to be ready when that time comes.”

“It doesn’t work like that Dad. I just had my first successful test of the containment field on Monday. I’m estimating weeks before I’m even ready to test power generation.” I hope that isn’t whiny, just factual.

“Well tomorrow we’re packing up to leave. We hit the road at daybreak on Friday.”

The expression and tone make it clear to me that this is a timeline that won’t budge. It’s not the parking lot at Wal-Mart. I’m desperately hoping he doesn’t say that he’s leaving with or without me. I don’t need an ultimatum and I can’t imagine being left alone.

“Do whatever you can to make progress and have your work as portable as possible. We won’t have a lot of space, but we’ll pack as much of your lab as we can.” Dad is making exceptions for me. I’ve never felt this kind of support for my work before.

“The shopping spree at Wal-Mart was nice, but it didn’t actually help that much. What I really need is to go to Stellos Electric and BAE to find some things that will really help,” I say, not sure if I’m sounding optimistic or just hopeful.

“Fine. When Liam wakes up, take him and the van and go get what you need. But stay together.” Dad’s made a decision and we’re moving on.
A brave new Dad,
I think to myself as I recall a literature assignment that was given but never completed.

“According to Google Maps, it’s about 50 hours from here to San Mateo, where Mom’s hotel is.” Dad is referencing his sheet of legal paper with the heading
Plan
.

“I don’t want to do too much driving at night, so I’m guessing the best we can do is 12-to 14-hour days. That puts us in there sometime Monday.”

I’m not sure if he wrote all this down or if he has a bullet point to spur his memory.

“Do we have to follow the speed limit?” Realizing I should ask a better question about halfway through my verbalization of the lame one, I try again: “I mean, I think we can make it in three days. Google Maps assumes that we’re going sixty-five or maybe even fifty-five. We can probably average 100 to 110 with no other cars on the road.”

“Good point. The sooner we get there, the better. If we get there Sunday, I’ll be happy. But we should probably factor in some time for the unexpected. Being late is a lot worse than being early for worrying your mother. Let’s communicate the plan for arriving Monday and we here can know that Sunday is doable.”

I can tell Dad hadn’t thought of this since he wasn’t looking at his paper when he said it. He’s adapting to my input on the fly and we aren’t fighting about it. I hope this dynamic can continue.

“What are Liam and Grace going to do while I am working on my reactor?” If Dad is going to let me in on the plan, I want to know as much as I can.

“I’m going to have Grace and Sofie go to the Historic Society and some of the neighbors’ houses. I want them to build a small history chest of this area. There may not be humans here again for hundreds of years. When they arrive I want them to know about the people that inhabited this space.”

It’s somber and eerie but my dad is right to leave some sort of reminder.

“Make sure you leave a note that makes it clear this wasn’t a war or anything man-made that wiped out the population. I don’t want the future to think that we were animals.” I can’t believe how emotional and sensitive this feels. It really matters to me. Only after the silence do I realize that we should also comment on the virus in case they need to find a cure for it themselves.

The silence is awkward and long. I wonder if this is how it is going to be every time we talk about the virus.

“What about Liam?” I ask, ready to move on before my father.

“Liam is going to be muscle today,” Dad says, knowing it sounds mean but comfortable with his decision.

“You know he is smarter than you give him credit for,” I say, not sure if Dad and I are at the point where I get to give the lectures.

“Well, you know better than anyone what happens between you two when he gets going and spins his energy up. Both of you spiral out of control fast, and the last thing I need right now is a fight.”

But I barely hear him say these last words.

I have an idea. It could be just what I needed to complete the reactor. If can shape the containment field into an ever-shrinking spiral, like a snail shell, this will accelerate and compress the anti-matter and have it reach the core at full potential energy. Power comes out one side of the core and waste out the other.

I need to go to the lab and draw a picture so this thought doesn’t disappear. But Liam and Grace are shuffling into the kitchen. I want to be here when Dad explains the plan. It will help me seem like a co-creator and give me some authority.

“Morning, Dad,” says Grace.

“Oh, yeah. Morning, Dad,” says Liam, like he forgot it was morning or that this is what we say to each other every morning of every day.

“Can I get you two some breakfast?” The old Dad is back. I didn’t notice him clearing the counter, but his papers are gone. I guess being on the adult team means I have to get my own breakfast. Or maybe this is his subtle payback for all those mornings I didn’t acknowledge him and went straight to my lab. I don’t really feel like eating anyway.

“I have something I need to try in the lab. Liam, can you come get me in an hour? And don’t let me say no. We have to go get a few things and I really need your help.” That wasn’t very hard. My parents have been trying to get me to communicate little things like this for years. It doesn’t take any brain cycles, but I still don’t really see the point. I guess it makes the other people feel good about what I am doing? I wish they wouldn’t care what I was doing though. But that’s the old world, this is PAD-3 and I am on the adult team.

The hour goes by too fast. I want to tell Liam to go away and give me a little more time. Why is he so annoying? I’ve reconfigured the containment controller to create a circular shape. I just need another twenty minutes or so to add the logic for spiraling near concentric circles. But I remember telling him not to take no for an answer. I’m on the adult team and I have to avoid confrontation, so I save my work and head upstairs.

In my brain, the reactor is done and functional. I can see the anti-matter reaction and the flow of electrons, neutrons and protons. I know this is going to work as soon as I can finish the task of physically implementing my design. The problem I am trying to solve now is making the power output usable in today’s world.

Current power plants have multiple output channels. Each of these channels, in turn, goes to a power substation where it is run through meters, inductors and transformers. Then it heads out on the wire to its final destination
.
My reactor doesn’t have multiple channels out, just one. That one channel has the power equivalent of 1,000 power plants.
I had always assumed that after I released my design there would be people lining up to help me solve this last problem. Now I have to solve it if we are going to survive.

Thinking about controlling power is helping me with Liam right now.

“We have to go to Stellos Electric and BAE. Do you want to drive?” I already know the answer is yes. Liam has moved from “muscle” to driver. In his mind, it’s probably assistant or even co-inventor for my reactor, but I don’t care.

“Can we take the Cayenne?” Liam says before he turns to walk towards the keys.

“No. Besides making Dad angry, it doesn’t have the cargo capacity of the van.” I’ve just realized the point about cargo, but it makes it seem like Dad and I discussed this and we had a plan.

Before we walk out the door, Grace and Sofie come into the kitchen. They are both dressed in yoga pants and sports bras. I absentmindedly sit down at the table. I have seen Grace in her workout clothes a thousand times. From the dozens of guys that ask me about her, I know she is cute. But she is my sister so I don’t really see it. Sofie, on the other hand, is stunning.

Smooth is not in my repertoire. I know this because Liam is talking with Sofie and they are all looking at me now. Someone must have asked a question. Not only do I not have the answer, I can’t even guess at the question. And I’m probably staring.

“Do you guys want a ride?” Maybe having power over the car will give me some coolness.

“No. Seamus, I asked if you knew where Dad is,” Grace is looking at me with her amused
you need to pull it together
face.

I’m still sitting down and realize that I look foolish, but I’m regaining my faculties.

“I don’t know where Dad is, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t have exercise in the plan.” Now I’m getting my swagger.

“Seamus, Dad told me the plan. Sofie and I are going to walk to the Historic Society. If we are going to be cooped up in a car for four days, I want to get some exercise and fresh air now.” Grace does not acknowledge any swagger. “I wanted to tell him we were leaving so he would know where we are. Will you tell him we left?” she says over her shoulder as she and Sofie head out the door. They have known each other for less than 24 hours but have been talking like they were friends for life. I don’t understand how they can have so much to say.

“Come on, Seamus.” Liam is out the door and wants to drive.

I get up from the chair and follow after him. I’m not really sure where we are going or what materials I wanted to source. I hate struggling with things that are not scientific. When there are no facts, there is usually no point, as far as I’m concerned. But my feelings for Sofie have no facts. I can’t rationalize them with a formula. For some reason I just want to catch up to them and walk beside her and listen to what she and Grace talk about. But that would be pointless.

In a fog, I climb into the van and tell Liam we’re good to go.