WHEN THE TWILIGHT FADED away in New Orleans, the blacked-out city was darker than Casey could have ever imagined. Standing on the balcony outside Grant’s apartment, the three of them watched as night enveloped the neighborhood, cutting them off from the world beyond the streets out front. Stars they had never noticed before in the perpetual light pollution of the city now filled the sky in the gaps between surrounding trees and houses, providing the only illumination to be seen other than a few candles and battery-powered flashlights visible through some of the nearby windows. Casey wasn’t afraid of the dark, but this complete absence of electric-powered lights was just creepy in such a dense urban environment. Adding to the closed-in feeling of near complete darkness was the unsettling quiet caused by the lack of automobile traffic and other mechanized sounds. She had not been aware until now of how pervasive the constant hum of machinery in the city had been until it was silenced, and now she heard human voices from the streets and nearby buildings that would have been drowned in the background noise before. They each stood looking and listening, lost in their private thoughts for a few moments, saying nothing until Grant suggested they go in and eat something.
Inside the apartment, Grant’s battery-powered lantern illuminated the small living room where he had begun sorting through his camping gear and organizing it into several piles according to each item’s priority. Casey was surprised at how much stuff he had, and wondered how they were supposed to carry all this on bicycles if they really had to leave the city that way. Once the compact sleeping bags and other items were unpacked from the duffel bags he kept them in, Grant’s equipment practically filled the room. Casey had only been camping a couple of times with her dad, and that had been years ago in a state park campground where they were able to set up the tent just a few feet from the car. There had been hot showers and vending machines, as well as lots of other friendly people around. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to camp along the road while riding bicycles, as Grant suggested, since 90 miles would be too far for them to travel in a day. Unlike Jessica, she could see that it was possible to ride that far, but she sure hoped they wouldn’t have to. Casey still held out hope that they would wake up in the morning and the lights would be back on—just as they had been after a tornado had ripped through the neighborhood and taken down the power lines when she was a little girl. Grant was convinced this couldn’t happen.
“This is different than any kind of conventional wind storm or lightning damage,” he said. He went on to explain that though wind can blow down power poles or trees and take out big areas of service by disrupting the transmission lines, and lightning can short out transformers and destroy other components along the lines or at the power sub-stations, the areas of damage in both cases are usually pretty limited. Katrina was an exception, to be sure, he said, because the power grid throughout most of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama was taken out in a single day by that storm. It took a staggering amount of work to get all those power lines that were pulled down by falling trees rebuilt and back online, even with utility companies from all over America pouring into the region and crews working around the clock for weeks. In some of the hardest-hit areas, it took nearly two months to get all the power restored—and that was with the resources to do it. Plenty of replacement parts were available everywhere outside the hurricane damage zone, as well as running vehicles and manpower to operate them and do the work. Grant asked them both, if this solar storm or whatever it was took out a bigger area than Katrina had, maybe even most of the United States, where were the crews and parts going to come from? “I don’t think we need to entertain false hope that this is going to be fixed any time soon,” he said.
“So you think it could be a few weeks before they can get it fixed?” Casey asked.
“No, I don’t even see that happening, more like a few months if I had to guess. But we really just don’t know the extent of it, so who knows?”
“I can’t just sit in some cabin in the woods for months,” Jessica said. “How am I supposed to let my parents know I’m okay? How am I supposed to know if they’re okay? And how is Casey’s dad going to get home? And if he does get back here, how will he find us?”
Grant was about to answer when he was interrupted by a loud banging on the door that startled all three of them. He picked up the long machete that he had shown them earlier—another souvenir from his trips to the South American jungles—and walked over to the door.
“Who is it?” he asked, before reaching for the knob.
“Is Jessica in there? She’s supposed to be at this address,” an impatient voice on the other side demanded.
“Joey!” Jessica jumped up.
After glancing in her direction and seeing it was obvious she knew his voice, Grant opened the door and introduced himself to the visitor standing on the porch. Joey looked as if he had been drinking all day, which he had. He was holding a beer in one hand and half a six-pack of cans dangling in their plastic rings in the other. He was wearing a New Orleans Saints T-shirt, flip-flops, and shorts, and looked as if he were coming to yet another in a long series of parties.
“I’ve been looking for you all afternoon!” he said to Jessica as he pushed past Grant, barely acknowledging him. “I thought you would stay home until I got back, or at least stay at Casey’s.”
“Well, I guess you can see that the lights are out, Joey. What was I supposed to do, sit there in the dark?”
“We came over here because my friend Grant has all this stuff,” Casey said, pointing out the lantern, the piles of gear, and the bags of groceries they had bought earlier that day.
Joey glanced around the room at all the gear and the three bicycles leaned against walls where they had brought them inside to keep them from getting stolen. “You must be a freakin’ Boy Scout, huh?” he said to Grant. “What the fuck are you gonna do with all this shit?”
“We were just making plans to evacuate the city,” Grant said calmly. “Things are not going to get better here before they get a lot worse.”
“That’s bullshit! I don’t know why everybody’s tripping out about a little blackout. They’ll have the lights back on tomorrow or the next day. Besides, how the fuck are you going to evacuate when nobody’s car will run? Mine sure won’t. They say we’re all gonna to have to get new computers in them because they’re fried. All we can do is wait ’til the lights come on and the parts stores open.”
“I don’t think they’re going to get this fixed any time soon, Joey.” Casey said. “Stop and think about it for a minute. What could we do if we stay here? What are we going to eat? The stores are already running out of everything.”
“Well, they still had beer back at the Circle K a while ago, even if it was just Coors Lite piss. But I’ve got a half a case of Abita back at my house, and plenty of sandwich stuff and chips. Come on, Jessica. Let’s go home. I can think of things we can do without lights.”
“I’m not walking all the way back to your house tonight, Joey. It’s too far in this dark. I’m staying here, and you should too. I don’t want anything to drink. I’m scared and I just want to be with friends until it’s daylight again. You need to just stay here with me; I’m not leaving tonight.”
Joey put up an argument but seeing that Jessica was not going to change her mind, he acquiesced, and opened another beer for himself when no one took him up on his offer to share the three that remained. Casey could tell that Grant would have been happy to see him go and she would have too, but since Jessica wanted him there Grant offered the two of them his room, where the only bed in the apartment was located. Then he stretched out his sleeping bag on the living room floor, giving Casey the couch, which was a bit narrow, but comfortable enough. Casey spent at least another hour awake that first night, lying in the darkness listening to Grant’s steady breathing from the floor and thinking of her dad, wondering if he and Larry had made it to land yet, and if so, if they had found the electricity still on in the islands. She also thought about how strange it was that here she was sleeping on the couch in Grant’s apartment, just a few feet away from him—a guy she barely knew but had thought about often since first meeting him. It was so strange how circumstances had brought them together in a situation where almost anything could happen. So much had happened already since she woke up this morning, she could barely comprehend it, and if this much could change in one day, she wondered what might be in store the next morning. Sleep did come at last despite her worries. When she woke and sat up on the couch it was daylight, and Grant was standing in the apartment’s tiny kitchen, pouring hot water he had boiled on his propane camp stove into a French press sitting next to it on the counter.
“Coffee will be ready in about five minutes,” he said when he looked her way and saw that she was stirring.
“That sounds great! Good thing you had that stove.”
“Yeah, I would imagine quite a few folks here in the city are going to be doing without their morning brew today.”
“Are they still asleep?” Casey asked, nodding towards the closed bedroom door.
“I guess. I haven’t heard anything from them.”
“I’m sure they were both exhausted since they didn’t get any sleep the night before.”
“I can see why you don’t like that guy,” Grant whispered as Casey stepped into the kitchen where they waited on the coffee to steep another minute or two.
“Like I told you, he’s a real jerk. I can’t believe Jessica hasn’t already dumped him.”
“There must be something about him she likes.”
“His looks, I suppose. I’m afraid he’s going try and talk her into going back home with him today.”
“That would be a dumb idea,” Grant said. “I think we need to be getting ready to leave, and maybe even head out later today.”
“Do you really think we have to leave this soon? Isn’t there some possibility help will be coming, and maybe we ought to wait just a little longer and make sure we really have to evacuate?”
“Based on how things were after Katrina, I have to say no, that’s not a good idea. Even with outside help coming in and a large portion of the population already gone, things got really bad early on and stayed bad for a long time. We simply have to go where there are not so many people crammed into one area. These people are going to get desperate, and it’s not just because they’ll be missing their morning coffee, either.”
“I just hope we can get to your cabin and it will be as safe as you say it is.”
“We’ll get there all right, assuming we get moving soon enough. I can’t guarantee it’ll be safe, but I think it’s a way better choice than staying here.”
“I’ve got to somehow let my dad know where I’m going. I know he may not be able to get here, but if he does, he’s going to be looking for me. I need to leave a note with detailed directions to the cabin. I need to leave one in my apartment and one in his car at the airport. Can we go by the airport on the way out? It’s not that far out of the way, is it?”
“It’s several miles out of the way, but doable. I don’t want to make this trip any harder on you two than it has to be. I’m actually more concerned about Jessica than you. I don’t think she realizes the danger, and I wonder if she has the stamina to make it.”
“She’ll be okay,” Casey said. “I don’t know what either one of us would do without your help, though. I guess we would just be stuck here like everyone else.”
“I’d hate to leave you two here in this mess if I can do something about it. And as I said before, if I didn’t bring you along, I’d just be making the trip alone. Speaking of which, why don’t you write that note for your dad’s car now—I’ll draw a map of the route to the cabin to go with it—and I’ll ride over to the airport alone this morning. That way I can scope out what’s going on today and see if I can hear any news of things beyond the city. Do you have a key to his car?
Casey said she did and went to get her key ring out of her backpack. She told Grant about her mom’s accident and how after they lost her she and her dad had been nearly inseparable throughout her teen years. Though it hadn’t been easy, Casey thought her dad had done a great job as a single parent. Hardly a day went by that they didn’t talk for at least a few minutes, and she knew her dad would be frantic with worry about her after being completely cut off from all communication. He had not liked the idea of being out of touch even for the three days he would be sailing offshore with her Uncle Larry. Though it might be impossible for him to get to New Orleans any time soon, she had to leave him as much information as she could about her plans on the off-chance he would somehow find the notes before she could return to the city.
“Just let them sleep for now,” Grant said when Casey mentioned Jessica and Joey as he was readying his bicycle for the 24-mile round-trip ride to the airport. Maybe by the time I get back they will work out what they’re going to do and he can decide if he is going with us or not. Please stay here where it’s safe, Casey, and try to keep her here as well, even if Joey tries to get her to leave. Today will be a lot worse than yesterday, and it could get dangerous out in the street. There won’t be any traffic holding me up, so I should be back in two hours or so if I don’t run into any problems. We can leave the other note at your place when we head out for good, since it’s right on our way.
With no one to worry about or hold him back, Grant Dyer zipped through the stalled cars choking every street and headed west from the university area, easily keeping his lightweight Cannondale hybrid at a cruising speed of 18 miles per hour. He could maintain this pace for hours on an unloaded bike, but as he pedaled he wondered how long it was going to take to get to the cabin on the Bogue Chitto River with two or three riders in tow who had probably never pedaled a bike more than five miles at a time? Aside from their lack of conditioning, Casey had an entry-level Trek mountain bike that was hardly suited to long-distance riding on pavement, with its fat, knobby tires, and Jessica’s bike was basically department store junk. He didn’t know if Joey had a bike at all. Grant knew that he was taking on an enormous burden, trying to get these two girls and a guy he barely knew to safety on loaded bicycles, but doing anything less was simply not an option. And what would be the point of going alone anyway? He knew if he were traveling solo, he could leave now and probably be at the cabin before night fell again, but then what? He had already spent too much time alone, of that he was certain, even in normal times when he lived surrounded by the city and spent most of his days in classrooms or the library around other students.
There was something about Casey Drager that intrigued him and made him want to get to know her better. She was attractive, for sure, and he could tell she thought he was too, but there was more to her than her looks that made him want to know more. Grant figured most guys would think that Jessica was even better looking, if appearance alone was the kind of sex appeal that could turn heads on any campus or street. She had the body, the face, the smile, and the eyes—everything—but though it was going to be nice to look at her every day, it was already obvious that she was a lot higher maintenance than Casey. She didn’t seem as grounded in reality and certainly had not accepted the seriousness of the situation they were in. Grant wondered how she would cope when the going got really tough. It was also a major hassle that she was a vegetarian. Food was going to be hard enough to obtain even for those who did not have restrictions on what they could or would eat. On top of that, there was the issue of Joey. Grant went out of his way to avoid guys like him. There was no question that Joey was only into Jessica for one thing, and other than that, his main interest was partying and having a good time. He was going to be one unhappy camper when it finally sunk in that the party was over and the cold beer was gone. Grant wished he would just go away, but that was mostly up to Jessica. If she wanted him to tag along too, Grant wouldn’t tell her he couldn’t—because if he did, she might refuse to go, and if she stayed behind, Casey might too.
No matter how many problems and obstacles the trip would entail, Grant was convinced that they would all be better off in his parent’s rural cabin than just about anyone would who chose to stay behind in New Orleans. He knew that taking these two girls anywhere in the unrest that was sure to follow the shutdown would expose them to danger, but he felt the risks of travel were preferable to the risks of staying in the midst of so many people, especially if they left soon, before everyone else got the same idea. Grant was under no delusion that he was any kind of expert who could guarantee their safety and survival, but he did feel better knowing that he had some experience living and traveling in extremely remote areas with few of the conveniences of civilization. The field work in Guyana was fresh in his memory and something he thought about almost every day. He had been surprised at how easily he’d adapted to life in the jungle, and how little of modern technology he’d actually needed. He had learned from observing the Wapishana, and those lessons might be the most valuable knowledge he possessed in the new reality they had all awoken to the day before. Leaving the narrow, live-oak-shaded streets of the Garden District and Audubon Park area behind him, Grant made his way towards Metairie and Kenner along the old road paralleling the Mississippi River. Normally, this would be a dangerous place to be on a bike, with a high likelihood of getting taken out by a speeding car. But today, cars were not a threat, and the road was faster than the bike path that ran along the top of the levee. He saw other people riding bikes, just as he had expected. Some were just moving about around the city, while others were carrying stuff in handlebar baskets, on racks or in backpacks or bags slung over their shoulders. A lot more people were in motion today than had been the first day after the event. Most were scrambling to get stuff they needed and move it back to wherever they lived or planned to stay. Many more were on foot than on bicycles, and a few were still using motorized vehicles if they were fortunate enough to have older models that would still run. Grant was passed by several still-functioning motorcycles, most of them older-model Harley Davidsons with loud exhaust pipes and simple engines of decades-old design.
On the larger thoroughfares, people had pushed most of the cars and trucks blocking the streets out of the roadway to the curb. Many of these had been broken into already, as evidenced by smashed windows and pried-open fuel doors. Grant assumed that those who did have motorized transport that was still working would soon or already had run out of options for buying fuel and would find a ready supply in the tanks of all these abandoned vehicles. He was glad he didn’t have to worry about such things. Though a working vehicle would make it easier for him to get his friends out of the city and to the safety of the cabin, he knew such a vehicle would be a target. Those without options would soon become desperate enough to try to take what they needed by force. Even the possession of bicycles put them at risk, and Grant knew they would have to remain vigilant against potential attackers. As he made his way to the airport, he scanned the roadway ahead, looking for groups of people congregated in one place and detouring around them, even if it required going several blocks out of his way. He knew he could outrun any pedestrian attackers with his bike, but only if he had a clear escape route and they could not cut him off or surround him.
He felt he was in less danger when he reached the wide four-lane roadway of Veterans Memorial Boulevard. From there it was a straight shot west to Kenner and the New Orleans International Airport. Grant rolled into the long-term parking area when he got there and scanned the rows of vehicles until he found a silver Chevy Tahoe with Alabama plates and a “Life is Good” sticker on the rear bumper. Like Casey’s late-model Camry, the Tahoe had an electronic door opener that no longer worked, but he was able to unlock it with the key. Grant left Casey’s note in the center console where she said he would certainly find it if he made it back to his vehicle, as that was where he kept his driving sunglasses. Sitting behind the wheel of Casey’s father’s car, Grant wondered what it must be like for him to be stuck somewhere among islands so far away with no likely prospect of getting back home or even getting in touch with his daughter. Grant hoped he was up to the task of protecting her until she and her dad could be reunited. While thinking these thoughts, it occurred to him to look around the vehicle a bit for anything of her father’s that Casey might want. Opening the locked glove box with the key, he found several photos of Casey, including some obviously taken at a recent birthday celebration. There was another pair of sunglasses in a case, and the vehicle owner’s manual packet was resting atop something else.
Grant reached under the booklets and was surprised to see that the something else was a gun. Casey had not mentioned anything about her father having a gun in the vehicle. Grant took it out and examined it. It was a stainless-steel automatic pistol with dark brown, checkered wooden grips, the barrel and most of the receiver protected inside a soft nylon holster. He unsnapped the strap that secured the pistol in the holster and pulled it out. The stamp on the receiver said “RUGER 22 CAL. LONG RIFLE AUTOMATIC PISTOL.” The pistol had a solid heft to it and a long barrel fitted with adjustable sights. Grant hadn’t owned another gun since he’d lost everything in Katrina, but he was familiar with the .22 caliber because it was the same cartridge used by the well-worn Colt Woodsman pistol his father had taught him to shoot shortly after they bought the land on the Bogue Chitto. He depressed the magazine release catch at the bottom of the grip and removed the slim magazine. It was fully loaded with hollow-point ammunition. He pulled back the slide and checked the chamber to make sure it was empty. Grant knew enough about guns to know a .22 pistol was not really intended for defensive purposes, but he figured Casey’s father kept it handy, just in case, and he knew it could do the job in a pinch, at least in some circumstances. Looking deeper into the glove box, Grant found a hundred-round box of hollow-point ammunition, labeled “CCI Stinger,” the container full except for the ten rounds already loaded into the magazine.
Grant wondered again why Casey had not mentioned that her father kept a gun in his vehicle. Maybe she simply didn’t know about it, or perhaps it didn’t occur to her that a gun was something they might need. Grant knew that while Jessica seemed clueless about what they were facing, even Casey had not come to the full realization of the hardships that could lie ahead. She probably couldn’t fathom that they might actually have to defend themselves with deadly force, or kill animals for food. Though he didn’t believe in taking things that did not belong to him, there was no way Grant was going to leave something as potentially useful as the pistol in the vehicle. He knew that Casey’s father would understand, and would probably be glad that someone with her had it to protect her. Grant found a pen and quickly scribbled his explanation on the bottom of Casey’s note, adding that he would do his best to take care of the pistol until it could be returned when this was all over. Then he locked the Tahoe and remounted his bike, the Ruger and its ammunition zipped inside his handlebar bag.
When Grant returned to his apartment, he found Casey there alone. In the short time he’d been gone, she said, Jessica and Joey had gotten out of bed and immediately started arguing about what they should do next. Joey had insisted on going back to his house and Jessica had left with him. She told Casey she would be back in a little while, but Casey was not convinced, especially since Joey was adamant about not leaving the city.
“We can’t wait around to find out, Casey. Do you think she really wants to go with us or not?”
“I think she does, but she doesn’t know what to do about Joey. He’s not going anywhere. He said it again this morning. He thinks you’re full of it and he’s blaming you for putting stupid ideas in Jessica’s head.”
“From what I saw out there, we need to hurry, Casey. On the way back I passed a group of looters coming out of the broken windows of a CVS pharmacy with armloads of stuff. I also saw a fight with at least five people involved, and someone on the street threw a bottle at me that just barely missed my head.”
“Where are the police? Aren’t they trying to do something about all this?”
“Sure, they’re trying, but most of them are on foot too. I saw some officers on mountain bikes, and even a few on horseback down near the riverfront, but the mobs are getting bigger and getting out of control. There aren’t enough cops, Casey. After Katrina, it took the National Guard and even members of the regular army to restore order here. And they were sent in from areas that were not affected. They may not be coming this time, as far as we know, anyway.”
“So what do we do, go to Joey’s and try to talk to Jessica?”
“I’ll go. You stay here and keep the door locked. I’ve got to go tell her how it is, and she’s either going to have to come back with me or stay with him. When we get back, assuming she comes with me, we need to all get on the bikes and head for the Causeway. I want to be out of the city before dark.”
Grant left without telling Casey about the gun and rode as fast as he could to Joey’s house. Jessica had taken her bike with her, but Casey said she was pushing it, since Joey didn’t have one. Walking, they would barely have time to get to the house before Grant could catch up.
As he turned into the upscale neighborhood where Joey lived, Grant smelled smoke and heard several loud bangs that could only be gunshots. Before he reached the driveway to Joey’s house, he saw two New Orleans police officers in tactical gear running across a side street with rifles at the ready. One or more houses were burning somewhere in the direction they were headed, and from the sound of it, a gun battle had broken out between the police and whoever was responsible. He hopped off his bike and leaned it against Jessica’s, which was propped unlocked against the rail on Joey’s back porch. Grant knocked on the door. When no one answered, he began banging on it louder and calling their names.
“It’s Grant!” he heard Jessica yell from inside. “Open the door, Joey!”
“Son of a bitch! What the hell is he doing here?”
Jessica unlocked the door herself when Joey wouldn’t do it. “Grant! Am I glad to see you! I’ve been scared to death ever since we got here. Did you see what was going on in the neighborhood? We got in here and locked the door as fast as we could when the shooting started.”
“I did, Jessica. It’s starting even sooner than I thought. This area is a target for looters because it’s so upscale. I came to tell you we’ve got to go, and now.”
“Screw you, man!” Joey came to the doorway, pushing Jessica aside. “Who are you to say what she needs to do, or Casey either for that matter? You think we all wanna go ride bicycles freakin’ 90 miles to stay in some cabin in the middle of nowhere? I’m not leaving my house and letting a bunch of thugs come in here and clean it out—maybe burn it down too.”
“How are you going to stop them, Joey?” Jessica yelled. “You saw the same thing I saw. They’re shooting at the police, and you don’t even have a gun.”
“You can’t stop them,” Grant said. “No one can. There will be far too many of them. It would be crazy to stay here just to protect your property.”
“I am staying!” he yelled back at Grant, and turning to Jessica: “If you want to be with me, you’ll stay here too, where you belong. Let Casey go with this asshole if she wants to. No girl of mine is going to run off on a camping trip with some dude I don’t even know.”
“I’m not staying here, Joey. People are shooting at each other! If you loved me you wouldn’t want me to stay where I am in danger….”
“If you loved me, you wouldn’t leave me to go run off to the woods with some prick who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”
Grant stood in the open doorway, disgusted, but not wanting to step into the middle of the argument any more than he had to. He glanced around to make sure no one else was coming up the secluded, tree-lined driveway. The gunshots had stopped and he thought maybe the looters who had engaged the police in a firefight had made a run for it and were looking for places to hide anywhere they could find them.
“We need to get out of here before more of this starts, Jessica.”
At this, Joey turned away from Jessica and charged through the doorway, pushing Grant so hard that he fell over the porch railing into the hedges planted on the other side. “No, you need to get out of here, asshole, and stay the fuck out of our business!”
Grant was caught by surprise, but unhurt by the fall, and quickly scrambled to his feet, expecting to have to defend himself as Joey came outside to follow up. But before Joey could come down the steps to the lawn where he waited, Jessica slapped him in the center of the back, causing him to turn around to face her, which opened him up perfectly to catch her other open hand right across the side of his face. “I’m done with you, you bastard!” Jessica yelled. “You’re the asshole, and I’m not going to be with anyone who treats my friends like this and cares more about their stupid stuff than my safety. You can sit here with it from now on. I’m leaving!”
Jessica grabbed her bike and pulled it away from the railing to get on it. “Let’s go, Grant.”
Grant half expected Joey to try to grab her or attack him again, but as they rode out of the driveway, all he did was vent his anger at her by yelling and kicking the wooden porch rail so hard that it broke: “Fuck you, you fuckin’ little bitch! You’ll wish you hadn’t left when all this shit is over and the lights come back on and you try to come running back to me. I’ll find someone who deserves me!”
As she pedaled away with Grant, “I hope not—for her sake!” was the last thing Jessica ever said to Joey.
Grant was nervous as they made their way out of Joey’s neighborhood at a much slower pace than he would have if he had been traveling alone. It was all Jessica could do to manage 10 miles per hour on her heavy Wal-Mart bike. Grant felt vulnerable on the mostly deserted avenue they were following. His worst fear became reality when two young men in their late teens stepped into the street from the sidewalk to intercept them before they could think about turning around or making a detour.
“Give us those bikes, man!” the first one demanded. He was lean and athletic, dressed in baggy shorts and a tank top that revealed sleeves of unintelligible gang tattoos that left little of his white skin showing. His black partner wore a Nike sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head, despite the heat. They clearly were outsiders to the neighborhood on the prowl for targets of opportunity. Grant knew that, with Jessica holding him back, any escape would be impossible. They would catch her even if he could elude them, and there was no question that they were serious about taking the bikes. Grant knew that if they gave up their only means of transportation, getting replacement bikes would be impossible, and walking out of the city to his parent’s place would take days, if not an entire week.
But fighting back was out of the question too. Grant was no fighter, even though he was aerobically fit from constant bike riding. The idea of tangling with even one of these guys, much less both of them, was not something he relished. Though they were younger, they had the look of experienced street fighters, and probably wouldn’t hesitate to pound him into the pavement or even kill him, leaving Jessica at their mercy. He had to buy a few seconds to get the gun out—it was his only chance. He locked up both brakes before he rode into the leader’s reach and quickly dismounted, pulling his bike to the side of the road. Jessica didn’t know what to do and couldn’t react quickly enough. She was still on her bike when the guy in the sweatshirt reached her handlebars and pulled her to a stop. Jessica screamed and struggled but the tattooed guy came to his buddy’s assistance and grabbed her from behind in a bear hug, pinning her arms and pulling her away from the bike. This distraction gave Grant just enough time to unholster the Ruger pistol inside his handlebar bag and draw the slide back to chamber a round. He wished now he had test-fired the gun at least once to make sure it would function properly, but he had no choice but to trust it now. The attackers had made the mistake of discounting him as a threat and probably assumed he would either run and leave his bike behind, or make a hopeless attempt to help his female companion empty-handed, giving them the opportunity to work him over. They thought they were looking at clueless college students whose bikes were easy pickings. What they didn’t expect was to face a gun. The last thing Grant wanted to do was kill someone over a couple of bikes, but he was determined not lose them.
“LET HER GO AND BACK OFF!” he yelled as he leveled the long target barrel of the .22 at the head of the one holding Jessica’s bike.
Both of them turned to look in his direction, the leader quickly pushing Jessica aside and turning to face him, with no intention of backing down. Grant raised his point of aim ever so slightly and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet whizzing right over the hooded guy’s head to strike the side of a brick-walled house across the street, where it ricocheted skyward with a high-pitched whine.
“I won’t miss next time; that was your warning! NOW BACK OFF!
The attackers didn’t argue. Grant figured that if they had been carrying weapons, it must have been only knives rather than handguns, as neither made a move to reach for anything. Seeing that Grant was willing to use his weapon gave them reason enough to move on to easier prey. They both backed away with their hands up while still facing him, and Jessica picked up her fallen bike and rolled it behind Grant to where he’d dropped his on the curb. He covered the two retreating assailants with the pistol until they reached the other side of the street and turned to walk quickly out of sight.
“Are you all right?” he asked Jessica.
She was shaking and had started to cry. “I wasn’t expecting anything like this,” she said as Grant put his free arm around her, still holding the pistol in his right hand. “Why are some people so mean?”
“It’s just human nature, I’m afraid. Something like this often brings out the worst in some people. That’s why I’ve been saying it’s better to get away from the majority of people as much as possible. No crowded city anywhere will be safe as long as the power remains off.”
“I can see that now,” Jessica said. “I can’t believe you have a gun, though. Why didn’t you say something about it? Where did you learn how to shoot guns?”
“I didn’t have it until this morning. It belongs to Casey’s dad. I got it out of his car when I rode my bike to the airport to leave her note in it.”
“I didn’t know he had guns either. Casey never said anything about her dad owning guns.”
“Maybe she didn’t even know herself. Anyway, it’s just a target pistol, and only a .22 at that, but still, it may save our lives—and maybe it already has. I don’t think he’ll mind that I borrowed it. I’m going to tell Casey about it when we get back to my place.”
“But won’t it get us in trouble with the police if they find out we have it?”
“It could, but I’d rather take my chances than not have a weapon. Where were the police just now? They obviously have their hands full, and they can’t be everywhere all the time. After Katrina, they confiscated all the guns they could find in New Orleans from citizens who had them, but this is so much bigger than a hurricane, I think they have a lot more to worry about than going around door to door collecting guns. And when we get north of the city, there will be even fewer police. I’ll keep it hidden unless we need it.” Grant put the pistol back in his handlebar bag before they remounted the bikes, but this time he kept the zipper partly open for quick access and left the weapon ready to fire, with a round still chambered in the barrel and the safety on.
The ride back to Grant’s apartment seemed to him to take forever, nervous as he was about the possibility of another attack at any point along the way. They passed through areas where lots of pedestrians were crowding the streets, but no one else threatened them, and when they reached the apartment, they found Casey locked inside and waiting.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she said, hugging each of them in turn. “It’s been scary being here alone. I heard something that sounded like gunshots a couple of times, and lots of cursing and screaming. I couldn’t tell what was going on out there and didn’t want to go find out.”
“Some people are starting to go nuts already,” Grant said. Then Jessica filled her roommate in on what had happened at Joey’s and on the street on the way back.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think about it,” Casey said when Grant showed her the pistol. “Of course I remember it. It’s probably older than I am. He took me to a shooting range a couple of times when I was probably 10 or 11. I forgot that he kept it in his car.”
“I just thought we might need it more than he will, especially since he’s unlikely be able to get back to the airport until all this mess is straightened out anyway.”
“It’s okay. You’re right; he would want us to take it. I’m glad you had it today.”
“We would still be walking on the way back here if I didn’t,” Grant said, “if they had left us in any shape to walk at all. I’m going to feel a lot better armed on our trip to the Bogue Chitto. Besides that, this kind of pistol is accurate enough that we may be able to use it to supplement our food supply if this goes on long enough that we need to.”
Jessica look puzzled. “How can we get food with a gun? You’re not thinking about robbing a grocery store or something, are you?”
Casey laughed. “I think he’s talking about hunting with it, Jessica.”
A look of disgust crossed Jessica’s face. The idea of having to hunt and kill for food had not even crossed her mind. “I’m not eating any animals, no matter what happens!” she said.
Grant said nothing. He knew that both of the girls were overwhelmed by the events unfolding around them and he figured that both, even Jessica, would adapt to the changing circumstances as necessary. All they could handle right now was one challenge at a time, and for now, they had enough food to travel on if there were no unexpected delays in the journey to the cabin.
He set to work immediately, completing their preparations to leave. As his bike was the only one set up to carry luggage, there was no way to carry all the gear and equipment he owned, so he had to leave behind many items that would have been nice to have but were not essential. This included the French press, his expensive North Face tent (which was too small to accommodate all three of them), and the battery-powered lanterns. He did pack the propane stove and one extra bottle of fuel, along with a single cook pot that would serve for everything from making coffee, to cooking rice, to purifying questionable water. In place of the tent, he packed a lightweight nylon tarp that could be rigged as a lean-to or an A-frame shelter, and he carried his two sleeping bags for the girls and a lightweight wool blanket for himself. Other essentials included his machete, a couple of flashlights, matches and butane lighters for starting the stove and making fires, a pocketknife and multi-tool, his bike pump and tool kit for roadside repairs, and their clothing. With the food and water bottles they would also have to carry, there was no room for anything else. The cabin contained most of what they needed anyway, and they would be roughing it only during the journey there. By keeping their loads as light as possible, that journey could be shortened and, he hoped, not be too unpleasant.
Even with their luggage pared down to the minimum, their loads were awkward. Grant lashed the heaviest items on the rear rack of his bike. All three of them wore the backpacks that had been used as book bags in their previous lives as college students. In addition, Grant had lashed the stuffed sleeping bags and rolled-up items of clothing to the handlebars and seat posts of Casey’s and Jessica’s bikes. In the end he was carrying at least twice as much as either of them, but that was only fair, he thought, as he was in better shape for riding, and his bike had a stronger frame and wheelset that could stand up to the load. A brief stop by Casey’s apartment gave her a minute to leave her second note for her father in her bedroom nightstand, where he would find it on the slim chance he made it back to the city and happened to come there first instead of to his car.
“I sure hope it won’t be too long before we can come back home,” Casey said as she locked the deadbolt on the door and walked back down the steps to the street. Grant led the way as the three of them pedaled north, making their way past the university campus and towards the elevated expressway of Interstate 10. He wanted to avoid the narrow streets and crowded residential areas along the river, and figured there would be little foot traffic on the expressway. This route would take them directly west to Causeway Boulevard. From there, it was just a couple of miles of wide four-lane to the start of the 24-mile-long bridge spanning Lake Pontchartrain. Before nightfall Grant hoped to get well onto the bridge, where he felt the three would be far removed from the gangs of looters in the city and would likely be sharing the route only with others who were wise enough to try to get out while they could.
He set an easy pace, spinning in one of his lowest gears to stay beside Casey and Jessica, who were having a hard time controlling their bikes with the unaccustomed weight of gear tied on the handlebars as well as in their backpacks. Jessica’s bike, with its cheap components, wouldn’t stay in the gear she selected and made grinding noises as she pedaled, adding to the work she had to do to keep the pedals spinning. Grant knew her rear derailleur wouldn’t last long, but could only hope the bike would hold together long enough to get them to their destination. It was just something else to worry about along with the vulnerability he felt at such a slow pace and the fear that they wouldn’t be able to travel far enough before dark. These thoughts fed his urge to occasionally reach inside his handlebar bag as he pedaled, simply to feel the cold polished steel of the Ruger for reassurance that it was still there. It had proved its worth already, but he still felt suspicious of just about every pedestrian they passed, especially any groups of more than two males, and he imagined them sizing him up and feasting their eyes on his pretty companions and the three laden bicycles that, although slow, would be enticing prizes to many who had no better option than to walk.
When they reached I-10, Jessica and Casey had to get off their bikes and push them up the steep entrance ramp to reach the elevated freeway. At the top of the ramp they remounted and wound their way among the cars, SUVs, pickups, and tractor-trailer rigs frozen in place in the lanes or parked against the retaining walls, where their drivers had coasted them to a stop when the pulse hit and killed all the engines. All of them were abandoned now, with no one in sight on this shadeless concrete bridge two stories above the offices and stores where people had worked until the power went off. It was obvious that everyone stranded on the expressway the morning before had long since given up on getting their vehicles started and had walked to the nearest exit to get relief from the heat and find food and water. Depending on where they were along the way when their vehicles stopped, getting off the elevated sections could involve a bit of a hike.
As Grant and his companions pedaled along one of these long stretches between exits, several large black birds hopped to the top of the retaining wall while others took flight at their approach. There was no mistaking what they were—vultures—and they had been crowded around something lying along the shoulder of the right lane, which took shape as they drew nearer.
“Oh my God!” Jessica said, turning her eyes away as soon as she saw the figure clearly. It was the body of a very obese man, with graying hair, sprawled belly down on the hot pavement. He was dressed in business clothes, a tie around his neck, but his jacket was missing, probably discarded somewhere along the way as he walked in the sweltering heat. His sweat-stained Oxford shirt was untucked at the waist; one leather shoe was lying a few feet behind him, the other still on his right foot. His head was turned so that his missing eyes were unavoidable as they passed, as were the flies that swarmed around his open mouth. Grant felt a wave of nausea and dizziness sweep over him, and he got off the bike to push it to the far side of the left-hand lane and past the horrid sight. Casey and Jessica did the same; then Jessica turned pale, bent over, and puked. Seeing this, Casey couldn’t hold it back either. Three of the vultures still sat on the low concrete wall just a few feet from the body, watching them with beady black eyes, reluctant to fly away from their newfound meal unless seriously threatened.
“What do you think happened to him?” Casey asked Grant as she spit and coughed, trying to get the awful taste of vomit out of her mouth.
“Probably a heart attack or stroke,” Grant said. “It looks like he was trying to get to the exit like everyone else, but he was in no shape for that kind of exertion in this heat.”
“His eyes…did the…?”
“Yes, the vultures,” Grant finished for her. “They fight over them, from what I’ve seen of dead cows and such.”
Casey pushed her bike faster. She just wanted to get away from the scene as quickly as possible.
“Why did they just leave him to lie here like that?” Jessica asked.
“Who would have moved him? It’s not like anyone could call for an ambulance. The other people stuck here on this bridge would have been concerned with their own safety. He might have died before he even hit the ground. He’s too heavy for anyone to carry or drag very far, so where he fell is where he stayed.”
“That poor man,” Casey said, trying to visualize him as a living, breathing human being rather than the gruesome thing that she knew would be an image forever burned in her memory. “He probably has a family somewhere in the city, wondering when he’s coming home.”
“I’m afraid we’re going to see more of this,” Grant said. “The Causeway will probably be worse. There’ll likely be a lot of live people still stranded there too. Some of them will be too old, too young, too out of shape, or too disabled in some way to walk the long distance back to either end, especially if they were unlucky enough to be caught in the middle when the pulse hit. Others will probably already be dead. I wish we didn’t have to see that, but be ready for it. Just try to remember, we have to focus on our own survival. We probably can’t help them, and there’s probably not anyone who can really help us either.”