Annihilation (The Seamus Chronicles Book 1) (5 page)

Dad was
pissed
that we didn’t leave a note or some other method of telling him we had left.

We all get a stern lecture about communicating. Sofie is spared a little bit, but Dad makes it pretty clear that if she is going to stay with us she will be held to the same standard. I am a little surprised at how she handles him. She offers a simple, honest apology and an acknowledgement that there is one set of rules for everybody.

Grace tries to explain to Dad that everyone makes mistakes, including adults. But that isn’t what he wants to hear. He calls it backtalk and makes clear that this is not what he expects from his children. I see only a subtle difference between what Grace and Sofie said and I want to argue details and stick up for Grace. But I hold my tongue; the sooner this is over, the better for all of us.

It’s almost one in the afternoon. We’re all standing around the kitchen unsure how to proceed after the lecture.

“Does anyone want nachos with me?” Liam asks as he heads to the fridge.

Food. Lunch. I wonder why I never get interrupted with thoughts of eating. In the past I have gone almost 36 hours without eating. I get so wrapped up in my work that I don’t even think about food. Sleep has always won out over hunger. But suddenly I’m starving.

Liam makes his nachos, and Grace and Sofie pull some late greens from the garden. Dad is frying up some cold cuts and cheese to put on a bulky roll. My standby is cereal. Today I grab our biggest mixing bowl and fill it with three-quarters of a box of Special K. I finish the milk and head to the sink to rinse out the plastic container. As I turn the water on, I notice that Dad is staring at my bowl.

“Was that the last of the milk?” he asks without looking at me.

“I think so. I didn’t see another one in the fridge,” I say, unsure of why there is so much drama around finishing the milk.

All the motion in the kitchen has stopped and everyone is looking at my bowl. Suddenly I realize what they all seem to have processed already. This is the last milk we will have for a long time. Even if the power stays on, the milk left in the stores will expire today or tomorrow. The last time it was stocked was probably over a week ago. We don’t have a cow or even know how to care for or milk a cow.

It’s bigger than milk. Stuff is running out and the people that make and deliver that stuff are not around to replace it. Today it was milk, but soon it will be meats, fruits and vegetables. Maybe Dad’s sit-tight policy is not as successful as he thought it would be.

“You better eat every drop of that cereal, young man.” My father says in an angry voice.

Why is he mad at me? Somebody had to use the last of it. He never warned me to save milk for someone else. What was I supposed to do, let it go bad in our fridge?

“Enjoy the last milk on the planet son,” he says with a smile.

I don’t get why pretending to be mad at me is funny for him. Maybe he was mad but realized halfway through that he had no right to be. Then he tried to turn it into a joke so we couldn’t see how reactive he really is? I don’t get it, but it seems like his lame humor has snapped everyone back to their food.

“I think we should keep track of the time since most of the population died. I have been referring to Sunday as the day of the apocalypse and the days since as Post-Apocalypse Day x. That makes today Post-Apocalypse Day three, which I abbreviate to PAD-3.” I offer this, trying to take advantage of the relaxed but quiet period.

I’m very proud of my new system. It is clear and simple. You can always work your way back to the beginning and there is no ambiguity from repeating the names of days.

“You mean like change the names on the calendar?” Liam asks, a confused look on his face.

“Well, we don’t need to even keep a calendar. For example we are leaving on PAD-5. There is no confusion about when that is. It’s two days from today. I spoke to Mom on PAD-2, which was one day ago. No confusion about this Friday or next Friday, yesterday or last Tuesday. My new system is very clean.” My pride is showing in my voice.

“I get it. Kind of makes sense.” Sofie is on board. Her smile gives me a confidence and warmth I’m not familiar with.

“I’m surprised, Seamus.” Dad does not seem open to my idea. “The calendar is a measurement tool that has been in development for over two thousand years. Leap year is a little bit of a kludge and I can agree to get rid of daylight saving time, but on the whole, the current calendar is a system worth keeping.”

I’m impressed and embarrassed at the same time. He’s right, and he made his point the same way I would have made mine: Concise, accurate and with complete disregard for the other person’s feelings.

“We should mark the day, though.” Grace is trying to help me save face. “I think Seamus is right, last Sunday, October 5, 2014, should be remembered as the day of the apocalypse.”

Nods all around. No new calendar, but we have the first post-apocalyptic holiday recorded.

“Change of plans,” Dad says as he cleans up his empty lunch plate. “Seamus, I need you to look at the connection to the power grid at the gas station. I want you to understand how to connect your power pack or some other generator to get the pumps working. When the power plants eventually stop working, having access to gas will make our lives much easier.”

Is he punishing me for not telling him where I was going? If I were an adult, there would be no punishment. Maybe I should tell him that if he wants us to act like adults he has to treat us like adults even when we screw up.

“Liam, I need you and Grace to start organizing our stuff. Lay things out in the dining room in order of priority. Water, food, sleeping bags, and so on. There are five of us, and I want the food and water to last five days if it has to.” Dad is moving on. I hope that he doesn’t become irrational and leave out my lab to prove a point. That would be ridiculous.

“Sofie, I’m sorry, but I need you to hang out at the gas station with Seamus. I just don’t want any of you split up and left on your own. Maybe you can take notes for Seamus or find a paper atlas.” He’s really rolling now.

This definitely does not feel like punishment. A couple of hours alone with Sofie feels like a dream come true.

“No problem, Paddrick. I’ll help any way I can.” Sofie is not acting like an adult. She is an adult. How is it that she knows how to be an adult? What could I possibly learn in a year that will help me to behave more like an adult? This is the social aspect of life Dad is always talking to me about. I have always found these things immeasurable, un-teachable and utterly frustrating.

“Where are you going, Daddy?” Grace asks. I’ve never been able to tell why she slips into her little-girl mode. I don’t think Dad likes it but he rarely speaks a harsh word to Grace, so he would never say so.

“I’m going to get a new car.” He is smiling from ear to ear. Dad really likes cars. It’s not quite a love thing, but he has this thing about how many different cars he has driven. Some days it seems as if he likes the 8-year old mini van as much as the new Porsche Cayenne.

“What kind?” Liam asks, never hearing a conversation he couldn’t jump in the middle of.

“I’m thinking Cadillac. I want the biggest, fanciest SUV they have. We are going cross-country in style!” Dad is still smiling.

I realize that he is also looking for a tank. The Cadillac SUV is the closest thing to a luxury armored personnel carrier you can get. If we are all going to work and survive as a team, Dad has to stop keeping details from us. He thinks he and Mom are great at the parenting trick of distracting us with the bright shiny aspect of the awful truth. Fact is that Grace and Liam may still fall for it, but I don’t, and I doubt that Sofie does either.

“That’ll be one hell of a battle wagon,” Sofie says, securing her place in the adult camp by swearing and calling Dad out on his real motive.

We talk about cars as we finish our food, then Grace and Sofie clean up the kitchen while I grab my iPad and stylus.

“Seamus, you and Sofie can take the Cayenne to the gas station. Drive carefully, though; there is a lot of power in that car and you are not used to it.” Dad is trying to get things rolling. I can tell he’s worried about getting home before dark. This fear of the darkness has me concerned. I hope his mind isn’t slipping under the stress.

“No problem. We shouldn’t be there long. I’ve spent quite a bit of time studying and modifying our electric panel. I don’t see why theirs would be much different.” I am on the razor edge between confidence and arrogance. I’m 16 and I am about to get into a Porsche Cayenne with a beautiful girl, drive up the street and assess an electric panel. If this isn’t my wheelhouse, I don’t have one.

“Do. Not. Touch. Anything.” Dad has his eyes fixed on me. He articulates and emphasizes each word for effect. For a second I think there is a problem in the house, but then I realize he is referring to the gas station. I’m not really sure what he’s talking about. When it comes to electricity and power, I know what I am doing. He shouldn’t be giving me orders.

“Okay Dad.” Oops, that was too dismissive. I hold my breath waiting for the lecture to begin, but it doesn’t. He’s looking at me but says nothing. Maybe he can see in my face that I know I was wrong. This is how he should have been punishing me for years. Lectures are easily forgotten; this feeling of stewing in my wrongness will last.

There is a flurry of action and Dad is out the door. Grace and Liam have an iPad and are making an inventory of essentials. I hope they have it in a spreadsheet so it can be easily reordered if they make a mistake. I’m ready to explain to them the right way to go about their assignment when Sofie puts her arm around me.

“Come on, genius. Let’s go to the gas station.”

Driving has never held much allure for me. But behind the wheel of the Porsche I can see what it is Dad loves about cars. The balance, the power, the control. It is a piece of engineering marvel. If only it didn’t use the antiquated internal combustion engine. Sofie really should take this for a spin. This thought makes me realize how little we know about her. Her family could have been rich or poor. She may have brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles. I’ve never spoken to her about these things. Is this what she and Grace have been talking about since they met?

I’m ready to ask her about her family, but we just arrived at the gas station. The fifteen-minute walk is about a four-minute drive. This shouldn’t take long, but maybe I’ll drag it out so I have more time with Sofie.

I guess the front door is the best place to start. For some reason, it surprises me that it is unlocked. I can feel Sofie’s tension as we go through the door and into the small office. Did she sense the fear in me or is there something else that has her on high alert? Suddenly I want to make quick work of this assignment. I have three days in a car to get to know Sofie.

“Where to?” Sofie whispers.

I have no idea where the power comes into the gas station. The quiet engulfs us and there is an uneasiness that permeates the room. I feel exposed and vulnerable. I was hoping to be seen as brave but self-deprecating will have to do.

“Back outside. I don’t even know where the power comes into the building,” I say, a little too loud and with a broad smile.

I spin around and head out the door. I feel Sofie’s hands on my back and a light push.

“You dork! I was so scared. Don’t ever do that to me again,” she says, but she’s laughing a little. She knows I didn’t do anything.

I follow the power lines into the building. Power to the pumps must run underground from the building, because I don’t see any visible connection.

Back inside, I find the breaker panel easily in one of the garage bays. Sofie is rooting around the office. There was a rack for paper maps in plain sight, but it was empty. The idea of a physical atlas feels antiquated, like something circa Christopher Columbus.

The panel has a pair of fifty-amp fuses labeled “Pump Sub.” I realize this may take more time than I thought. Hopefully the pump sub is in the office?

In the office, Sofie is bent over the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. I have to squeeze by her to get to what looks like the panel for the pumps. Touching her sends a shiver up my spine. I know that it’s hormones and adrenaline rushing through my veins, but the warmth feels good, and confusing. I have to pause and collect my thoughts.

Does she have any idea how she makes me feel? Maybe this is how every guy she has ever met acts so it seems totally normal. Or maybe I’m weird and I frighten her.

I open the little door and find keys on hangers. Some are labeled with numbers, others with letters. Nothing useful. And I’m still distracted with feelings and self-made drugs. So I slam the door and growl.

“Can I ask you something?” Sofie is looking up at me with a puzzled look. “Why is anger your first reaction to everything?”

It’s not, though. My first reaction to this question is embarrassment. Anger is not an emotion I have ever associated with myself. Frustrated and annoyed sure, but never angered. Is this how other people have always seen me? The angry nerd?

“Back home, I worked in a coffee shop.” Sofie is staring at nothing, remembering a past that she shares only with herself. “The smartest man in our town, maybe even the whole world, used to sit in a booth for hours on end. People from all over would come in and see him. There were never introductions, they just sat down across from him and he would ask, ‘How are you? What’s going on?’ Some people were short and to the point; others told long stories that just ended with no real question being asked.”