Undone: A Dystopian Fiction Novel (6 page)

“We shouldn’t all go,” Tyrsa said. “We need people to stay here and guard the apartment. There might be looters hanging around and waiting for people to leave home so they can break in.”

“Good point,” I said.

“Going to the store is more dangerous than staying,” Tyrsa continued. “We could draw straws to see who leaves. Pull names out of a hat or something. That way it’s fair.”

We all nodded. Beth tore a page from her sketchpad and ripped it into five strips. We all wrote our names and put them in a plastic mixing bowl Tyrsa got from the kitchen. She closed her eyes and reached her hand in.

“Three to go,” she said, “And two to stay. I’ll draw for who stays.”

Tyrsa rustled the paper strips in her fingers for a few seconds before pulling a name out.

“Beth,” she read.

More rustling.

“And Rick.”

Rick looked disappointed that he had to stay, but he didn’t say anything. We agreed to leave in the morning and get it over with. Tyrsa still had the cash from Rick for the electric bill we no longer planned to pay. She wrote a list of what we could buy besides water and more paper plates.

“Dry shampoo,” she said immediately. “I’ve used it before when I’ve been camping, and it works.”

“Thank God,” Beth sighed.

“And we should try to find some stuff to collect water for when it rains. We can’t just keep buying water, it’s not sustainable.”

Tyrsa scribbled away at her list. My stomach groaned, hungry after all the effort exerted burying the trash. We had been cooking our dinners outside over a fire pit we built. It was just a circle we drew and surrounded by rocks, but the little plot of forest supplied enough wood, and the dry autumn leaves and twigs provided ample tinder.

We boiled water and made luxurious meals like noodles, scrambled eggs in a bag, and rice-and-beans. Tonight was more ramen. After we ate, I went straight to bed, exhausted mentally and physically. I had started retiring earlier and earlier as the week had gone by. Even then, I never slept well, and would frequently wake from stress nightmares, clammy and out of breath. Hopefully this supply run would be the last one we’d have to take. I didn’t know how much longer I could take this on-the-verge-of-disaster lifestyle.

              “Oh my god, is that a gun?”
              I stood in the doorway of Tyrsa and Beth’s bedroom, staring at the small handgun on Tyrsa’s bed. She quickly snatched it up.

              “Yeah, don’t scream, though, Jesus,” she said, exasperated.

              “Why do you have a gun?”

              “To hunt squirrels,” she replied sarcastically. “Why do you
think
I have a gun, Morgan? So I don’t get killed or raped.”

              “Okay, okay. It just surprised me.”

              Tyrsa lifted her shirt and inserted the gun into a holster she had around her hips. She pulled her T-shirt back down to conceal it.

“My brother gave it to me. I haven’t thought about carrying it until now.”

It was nine am according to the kitchen clock and we were getting ready to go to the store. Lawrence was pacing around outside, smoking one of the cigarettes from his “emergency” pack. He only smoked during “emergencies,” which meant whenever he was really anxious, like before a final exam. Rick and Beth were in the living room playing chess, both cross-legged on the floor and still wearing their sleeping clothes.

“Do you really think it’s that dangerous in town?” I asked Tyrsa, lowering my voice.

“I don’t know, Morgan. And that’s the problem. We just don’t know what it’s like or what it could turn into. That’s why I like to be prepared for the worst.”

I started to catch some of Lawrence’s anxiety thinking about what “the worst” could be. Would we walk into the middle of another riot? Would the store be cleaned out? Would we be looking at a scenario where we didn’t have any water? What if the police were really on edge and we looked at them the wrong way? It was impossible to distract myself from those fears as we started to walk into town. It was the first really cold day. Without my phone, I didn’t have any real idea of what the temperature was, but the wind made me shiver through my light sweatshirt. Lawrence puffed like a dragon on the end of his cigarette before tossing it on the ground and stomping it out.

He coughed.

“Ok, let’s do this,” he murmured. “We got this.”

The police were everywhere. There were more than before and I could tell by reading their uniform tags that many of them were from Indianapolis. They lined the streets and paced in front of stores, fingers resting on the triggers of their rifles. The tension in the air was so thick it almost made me choke. We were put in a line to enter the store while one-by-one the police frisked the crowd before we were allowed in. It felt like we were entering some kind of prison camp. Everyone had to take out their wallets and show their IDs and either credit cards or cash. If they could not produce an ID or way they planned to pay for goods, they were sent away. Most people went off without a fight, but sometimes they tried to argue or sneak past.

The consequence for disobedience was swift and unmerciful. It seemed like the police were carrying every possible weapon they could be issued. Tasers, batons, rifles, handguns, handcuffs...a middle-aged man who had tried to plead with the police to be let into the store, to find someone else to pay for water for him, was thrown to the ground and handcuffed, his shoulders stretched much farther back than they were designed to. He let out an agonizing cry, but no one dared come to his aid. He was pulled to his feet and dragged off to a police van. Our state of emergency had become a police state.

I glanced at Tyrsa. She looked nervous, her little handgun no doubt burning a hole in her skin. Right before her turn, the man in front of her was revealed to be carrying a hunting knife, and he freaked out. He grabbed at it and was immediately tackled by three large police officers. They pushed into Tyrsa, nearly knocking her over. A female police officer rushed to her rescue and motioned for her to go inside. Tyrsa was not frisked. I watched her enter the store, relief washing over me.

So far so good.

Lawrence and I had our IDs and money examined, were thoroughly and roughly frisked, and sent inside without another look. Tyrsa was waiting for us by the carts.

“This is really messed up,” she said. “You know what this is, right? On the surface, it makes sense. You only let people into a store if you know they can pay; that way, you don’t have this group that’s almost guaranteed to try to steal stuff. But if you go deeper, it’s systematic survival of the fittest. Only an “elite” gets to have access to food and water. Everyone else is just left in the street. It criminalizes poverty.”

Lawrence and I looked at each other. It was disturbing. It also justified not helping anyone else, like that guy outside who had planned on begging for money.

“But what else can they do?” Tyrsa added, sounding hopeless. “How else do you control a crowd on the edge of panic?”

At least the store was still relatively well-stocked. That was another good thing that limiting the number of people in the store did. If things got worse, the truck services might shut down, which would mean no new supplies would come into town. It would be like an apocalypse movie where all the shelves are completely bare and the few ragtag survivors are picking through rubble. For now, we had some selection, and we needed to take advantage of it.

The first thing we needed was water. That was what was lacking in the store. We managed to snatch up two crates - which was all we could afford - and Tyrsa went looking for equipment to build some kind of rain collector in case we ran out of water before things got better.

“I didn’t think I’d ever look forward to snow,” she remarked when she came back with spigot and a packet of screws. “We can melt that and use the LifeStraws to drink it.”

Since we hadn’t been able to shower in a week and it didn’t look like we’d be getting our water turned on anytime soon, we stocked up on Wet Naps and even found some dry shampoo. We lingered in the body wash section for a few minutes, just opening the bottles and smelling them, the sweet and flowery fragrances intoxicating our senses. It felt so good to smell something besides trash and body odor.

“Okay, we should get going,” Tyrsa said, pulling us away.

“Aw,” Lawrence said, putting on a faux whine.

We found our way to the last checkout, where there was a long line of impatient, sad-eyed customers. In total, there were only three cashiers. They must have been really desperate for money to choose to work still. Or maybe they didn’t really have a choice, in the true sense. All three cashiers were middle-aged, in their late 40’s or 50’s. They worked impressively fast, scanning items one after the other, not looking up, and tapping their fingers so fast on the register, it looked like a blur.

“That’ll be forty-five dollars and fifty-eight cents,” the cashier told the man a few people in front of us.

He hesitated, his fingers in his wallet. He looked back at the line of people and then back at his wallet.

“Sir? Did you hear me?”

For a brief moment, it was like the world froze. Everyone stood staring at the man and cashier. Then like a rabid dog, he grabbed his bag with both arms and charged towards the doors. He didn’t make it far. A police officer stepped in his way, using his chest as a barrier. The man smashed into him, spilling cans everywhere, and was immediately thrown to the ground. He failed in his attempt to run, but he had caused a distraction. People who had been waiting in line started to run, too, and the police couldn’t stop them all.

“Hey! Hey!” the officers chorused.

Tasers were drawn and batons raised. People used their bags as weapons or shields, ducking behind them, hurling cans. Lawrence, Tyrsa, and I were thrust to the side in the commotion. We didn’t know what to do. We couldn’t run; we’d be caught up with the rest of the looters and tasered.

“Back here!” Lawrence cried, leaping over the cashier’s counter.

Tyrsa handed our basket over and climbed over. I followed, still grasping a pack of water bottles in my arms. I kept repeating to myself that whatever happened, I could not let that water go. Our lives might very well depend on it. Crouching, we could see over the counter and the chaos that ensued before our eyes. Police from outside had rushed in. Unfortunately, so had everyone else that had been waiting to be let in, some of whom would not have been allowed. I saw at least one person carrying a crowbar. I followed him with my eyes in horror, terrified at what he might do. He was soon lost in the swarm of bodies, all pushing and punching and shouting. In mere moments, the relatively empty store had become packed.

“What are we going to do?” Tyrsa cried, having to raise her voice above the din.

“I have no goddamn idea!” Lawrence shouted back.

He suddenly ducked down, covering his head like one would if there was a hurricane warning.

“Oh shit, somebody’s got a gun.”

Just as he said that, a gun went off. We all slid down as far as we could, hunched over our supplies, trying to make ourselves disappear. The gun went off a few more times - a loud popping sound - and the shouts became more frantic. Part of me wanted to look over the counter and see what was happening, while the other part - the part that just wanted to survive - refused to move. There were no more gunshots after the third pop, but things didn’t calm down either. From where we lay, we could still see people running past us, carrying as much as their arms would hold, eyes darting around. Someone backed up against the counter. We could tell by his uniform that it was a police officer. He seemed to be focused on something in front of him. My curiosity won over my terror, and I got on my knees just high enough to peek over the counter. The police officer was backed up against the other side, right by my head. I could smell his cologne, strong, and mingled with sweat. He had his gun raised. From the angle I was at, I could see exactly what was in his sights: a man with a crowbar facing him, his eyes bloodshot. He looked like he was either on drugs or hadn’t slept in days. Possibly both. He looked unsure, but like he might become sure in a split second and unleash hell.

“Put the crowbar down!” the police officer said in a firm, loud voice.

The crowbar man’s hands began to shake. I held my breath, eyes locked on his face. He looked so alone, like a starving wolf separated from his pack. He had nothing. He had nothing to lose. Letting out a terrifying wail, the crowbar man lifted his arm and charged towards the police officer, who immediately pulled the trigger. The blast was deafening. I had never been close to a real gun when it went off; before all this chaos I had only heard what it sounded like in the movies. The movies didn’t really talk about the ringing and how the sound rattled around in your head like a bowling ball in the gutter. The bullet had exploded through the man’s chest, sending him back about a foot, and out of my line of vision. I crouched back down behind the counter, my breath caught in my throat.

“Shit shit shit shit,” Lawrence kept repeating, curled up into the tightest ball his body could manage.

Tyrsa’s hand was on her gun. She was rigid, her eyes glassy. The police officer still stood there, his back to us. It was almost like he was guarding us. I bent my head down so it almost touched the top of Tyrsa’s head, and closed my eyes. If we could just wait it out. It couldn’t go on forever.

“Hey, stop!”

It was the police officer’s voice. I opened my eyes just in time to see him get shot back, a bullet flying through his neck. His body slumped over the counter right on top of us. Blood sprayed out like water from a hose. It got in my mouth, in my hair, in my eyes. The police officer gurgled, his eyes still blinking, shocked. I automatically put my hands over the wound, though (and I hate to admit this) it was more to stop the blood from getting in my face than to help him. The policeman tried to say something to me, his lips moving, but no words came out. Tyrsa had taken her gun out, holding it in both hands, ready to shoot. She nudged Lawrence and cocked her head towards the basket. He grabbed it, his hands shaking so hard the cans rattled together.

“We gotta go!” Tyrsa cried.

I looked down at the policeman, my hands still around his throat, but his eyes were shallow and distant. He had bled out so fast. It was like the blood had gone right through my hands, like they were made of tissue and the blood just soaked through. I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. I just grabbed the case of water and ran after Tyrsa and Lawrence. We joined a huge crowd of people running from the store, dodging police officers. Even with the reinforcements, the police were dramatically outnumbered. We didn’t have a problem getting past them. There were people attacking them, some with crowbars like the dead man inside, and others just throwing themselves at them, completely unhinged with rage. We heard more gunshots and ran faster, our feet pounding on the pavement, water bottles sloshing. We didn’t stop running until we couldn’t possibly run anymore. Our lungs burned from the cold air. I wasn’t even sure where we were for a few seconds. There were still people running around us, some policemen yelling into handheld radios and pushing people up against car hoods. We ducked into an alley, coughing, and took a moment to catch our breath.

We were all soaked in blood. I didn’t have a clean place on my clothes to rub my hands, which were slick with it. I shook and shivered like a leaf; I knew I must be in shock. My throat on fire, I coughed so hard that I vomited, barely moving in time to a spot a bit away from Tyrsa and Lawrence. Seeing me get sick caused Lawrence to double over as well. Only Tyrsa was able to hold it together, though she turned white and turned away.