Safe Room

Safe Room

Friday April 13, Evening

Something weird happened this morning. I awoke to my parents' panicked shouts of "Our TV's broken. The stove's not working." Still half-asleep, I stretched my hand towards my nightstand. Feeling for my phone, I pressed the home button, and waited for the familiar female voice to announce the time. "Seven A.M." She said. Next, I turned on my radio, nothing happened.

Very confused, and still in my pajamas, I hurried to the living room. "What's going on?" I yawned. I could hear Mom in the kitchen, messing with the stove, then opening and slamming the refrigerator door. "Joy, you're up. Tv's not working!" Dad said, sounding more perplexed than angry.

"Everything's broken! Toaster, microwave, stove, coffee maker." Mom's voice rose, as it often does when she's distressed. Dad thumped the TV, which didn't solve anything.

Back in my room, I tested everything electrical. Sure enough—everything had somehow malfunctioned. The light, and my speech-enabled computer. What was going on? I followed my parents' voices into the kitchen. "My phone works!" I announced, showing them. I explained I'd charged it the night before, "And my talking watch!" I added. "But you're right, Mom. Everything's quit."

Two knocks came, startling us. I waited, expecting Alexa to announce "Someone's at the door." But, of course, she didn't. Our neighbors, the Taylors hurried in, just as bewildered as us. "It's madness." Mrs. Taylor exclaimed, "Our electricity's shot." After confirming ours was also, Mr. Taylor used my phone to call other neighbors, with no answer. Not knowing how long my battery would last, I prayed no other calls would be made.

Not sure why I’m writing this down, but I'm doing it anyway. Braille's the one way I can write without light. My Brailler’s non-electrical, so is an advantage over everybody else. Maybe, this will all turn out to be a crazy dream one day.

Saturday April 21,

Outside, chaos reigns; looting, arson, even a killing. (Mr. Taylor has ventured out for supplies and to see who's alive, and reported this news to us.) As we shelter in our house, I wonder how long we can hold out before becoming victims ourselves?

Also, there's the daily concerns of survival. Mr. Taylor purchased a huge water jug from who-knows-where, which has become our cleaning water. For storage, we've resorted to ice chests my parents own, and which are now filled with bottled water. Eating uncooked, canned food isn't ideal, but what do you expect, without a means to cook anything?

In our basement is a room which is now stocked with essentials like batteries, blankets, and extra candles and matches. I'm to use them only in an extreme emergency.

Without Internet or TV, communication is cut off from the world. Whenever Mr. Taylor or Dad leaves our shelter, I'm filled with dread that I'll never see them again.

Sunday April 22 evening,

I overheard my parents and the Taylors arguing this morning.

"She can't come with us," Mr. Taylor was saying, "She'll slow us down."

"Joy's our child, she's coming!" Mom's voice was desperate, pleading even. "She'll die!" She sniffed loudly.

Bewildered, I leaned in, ear pressed flat against their door, listening intently. Where were they going, and why leave me behind? I can walk perfectly with my cane, what's wrong with that?

So at breakfast, I decided to come out with it. "Where are you going?" I demanded, my spoon clattering on the table. The silence was so thick, I felt sure I could choke.

I've ignored everyone; only Mom has attempted to answer my questions, not to my satisfaction. No one has filled her in, either. With so much uncertainty everywhere, I wonder if our lives will ever be considered normal again.

Monday April 23,

They've gone! This morning, I awoke to find the house strangely quiet, like a library or church. Thumping my pillow, I scrambled out of bed, then raced from room to room, definitely not a soul here. With chaos outside, where am I to go? How long can I survive sheltered in our safe room? On our living room table, I found a note brailed by Dad.

Dear Joy,

We had to leave you, we're searching for a more secure home. You're staying here, only not for the reasons Mr. Taylor suggested. It's because we feel ...

Angrily, I screwed it up, then shoved it in a drawer. They're gone, that's all that matters. I'm expected to survive alone.

Tuesday April 24,

Each day seemed to plod along more slowly than the last. I keep myself occupied by writing and keeping the house as tidy as possible. It's pointless, but it helps pass the time. And most worryingly, no word from my parents! To make matters worse, my talking watch's battery is dying; oh well, I have my spare braille one.

With dwindling supplies, I had no other option than to venture outside. Frightening as this new world undoubtedly is, I must risk my safety to find supplies, wherever they are. I thought.

Grasping my cane firmly, I took my first tentative steps away from the protection of our house. On our sidewalk, I paused, listening. Absolute silence, minus the rustling trees. I breathed in the spring wind as it blew across my face, and felt soft leaves under my feet. Besides that, not a soul anywhere. I'd been expecting to hear loud guns, people screaming, and to smell the pungent aroma of fire. Growing confident with each step, I eventually made my way to the nearest store, using a familiar route I'd traveled previously. On the way, my cane encountered discarded boards, a chair, and someone's shoe. My shoes nearly stepped in broken glass, but my cane tip found it first. So, my parents were right—people had taken the law into their own hands.

Without traffic, crossing the street was a breeze; I couldn't believe how silent my new world had become. No kids, people walking dogs, only this eerie silence.

Ouch! My head came into contact with something wooden which I knew shouldn't have been there. Instead of the store's entrance, with its automatic doors, I felt the unfamiliar makings of a hastily constructed fence. Wooden boards leaned precariously on their ends, propped up by other miscellaneous items - an old fridge, a car door, and a metal filing cabinet. Weird, but here goes. I searched for an opening, but found none. Metal poles were stuck up here and there, added support for the structure. "Stay where you are! I'll shoot!" A male voice growled. Was that Mr. Mitchell, the mailman? Cautiously, I edged along the rickety barricade in the direction of his voice. "Stop right there!" His voice commanded again, this time directly in front of me, "See, it's loaded." I heard the unmistakable metallic click of a gun being cocked. I froze, my heart in my throat. "Answer me, what the hell do you want?" I managed to stammer a reply about needing supplies. "You're a child! You're safe. Whatcha got?"

"Nothing." I answered, palms suddenly very clammy. Why hadn't anybody warned me?

"Sorry, dear. No trade. Come back with something worth trading." I tried calling back, but received no reply. Hoping I was heading the right direction, I somehow retraced my steps toward my house.

Inside, I bolted the door, then checked each window, locking them securely. Next, I frantically searched for something of value, but came up empty. It seemed they took everything, including Mom's jewelry. Now what? Defeated, and with tears stinging my eyes, I returned to the safe room. In the narrow space, I lay down, but couldn't settle. The house's silence is unsettling and I can't ignore the feeling of abandonment any longer. I seethed, hating my parents for their actions, however they were justified.

Wednesday April 25, night,

This morning, I searched the safe room, hoping anything would materialize with which to bargain. Without options, I'm thinking of just leaving, as my family has. Trouble is, I've no idea where they've gone, or how to get there. I'm trapped!

Success! This afternoon, I discovered some money under a mattress, so rushed to the barricaded store. Standing at the second pole, I announced myself, then waited. "Took you long enough! What you got?" The man spoke directly in front of me again.

His cigarette smoke nearly choked me, but I held out the money. "Here's fifteen dollars."

"Wait! I know you. You're Joy, the Miltons' kid. How'd you get left? Your parents killed or something?"

"something." I decided to spare him the details, I still wasn't convinced he was trustworthy. "Are you Mr. Mitchell? What will you give me?" I reeled off some supplies, managing to keep my voice steady. He grunted in reply, then disappeared.

"Joy? I'm Abby. Where're you staying?" The woman sounded young, but wasn't anyone I recognized. "Will contact you later. Two whistles." She whispered. What?

Hearing approaching footsteps, we go silent. "Got your stuff." Mr. Mitchell thrusted a package across the makeshift barricade. Thanking him, I rushed home before he could ask more questions.

Later

I waited anxiously for my mysterious visitor. How would she contact me? I checked my braille watch often; thinking she'd just given up, I was about to call it quits when around nine P.M. ...

Two shrill whistles, as promised. Listening at the door, I called, "Who's there?"

"Abby." came the reply, "May I come in?"

Deciding to trust her, I led her through to the darkened living room, flashlight in hand. "Still chaotic or quiet?" I asked, anxious for news.

"Yeah, you've no idea, Joy. To quote Mr. Mitchell, society's gone to hell. By the way, your house is the only habitable one, so be careful." She warned, touching my shoulder. So, that's how she found me!

She described how, shortly after the major power outage, people began looting businesses, torching vacant houses, and robbing others, forcing their occupants to leave. "Where?" I asked, hoping to shed some light on my parents' whereabouts.

"No clue, I'm afraid. You're alone, aren't you?" I replied that I was, without revealing details. Next, she told her own story. She also left her home once her neighborhood became over-run by vandals, and walked until she found her way here. She'd assumed it was vacant too, until she stumbled upon Mr. Mitchell's self-made barricade. Mistrustful of others (who could blame him) she'd had to earn it by not stealing and keeping inventory. We laughed, knowing how ridiculous that was. There was no one around to steal anything!

Thursday May 10,

Supplies such as bottled water, flashlight batteries and canned food are running low, I must venture out again. I despair of our world returning to normal.

After more visits to the "store" Mr. Mitchell has finally consented to let me enter his secret dwelling. I crawled on my stomach under some strands of wire. Once through, I recognized the store's wide entryway. How had the building remained intact?

Wandering the bare aisles, it struck me how easily a looter could steal anything he pleased. I note the absence of squeaking carts, the ringing cash register, piped through music, and rushing, chattering people, now it seemed like another world.

"You can stay with us until we figure out a plan." Mr. Mitchell said, and Abby agreed. I tried pointing out I already had a retreat, but they wouldn't hear of it. "You need looking after." Mr. Mitchell cut me off. So, I suppose this is my final entry. What happens next is anyone's guess. Perhaps, if anyone finds this room, they'll know I was here. If they have a way to read this, that is.

Bye for now,

Joy

The End