Post 1

One day, I was unpacking my clothes.  The next: the world ended.  As I knew it anyway.  I wonder if it would have been easier knowing exactly what happened to them.  I’m sure D.C. went down just like Denver did, all fire and brimstone.  Panicked citizen against panicked citizen.  Or thug.  Opportunist.  Loony. 

I was settling into my new condo, ranch style.  Just for old biddies like me.  Jennifer and the kids flew back to D.C. that morning to catch the moron she married before he left town again on business.  Business!  I can admit the man provides for them well, but for all he sees them, the kids won’t even recognize him.  Moron.

Anyway, the house was small but functional.  Had zero character, bathed in beige from floor to ceiling, and I reveled in it.  My Henry liked Scottish things, like tartans and bagpipes, as if he was celebrating his birthright.  But I talked to his mother a long time ago – MacGregor is a Scottish surname, true, but the last MacGregor in Henry’s line born in Scotland was generations ago, many times removed.

Most of the tartans were cremated with him.  I don’t miss them.

I kept one of the least bright for a dog blanket for Clem in the small backyard.  Clem is a big dog – Anatolian Shepherd – so she takes up most of the yard, but when we toured the place she curled up like a kitten in the sun as if the grass was her very own doggie bed.  The blanket keeps the grass out of her hair.  Ol’ Clem was definitely a tough sell to the owners and Charlie, the property manager.  But after they realized she was a helper dog, the good folks relented.  I’ll admit it wasn’t the first time I sold a baloney story to a couple of young, stupid kids, buying into the whole, “oooh, I’m 70 and old and helpless” bit. 

Pfaw.  I’m as helpless as Clem.  No one needs to know that, right?

It was late afternoon when the movers left.  I filled up Clem’s water bowl and nabbed a plastic cup for myself.  I sipped as I stared at the modest amount of unpacking I had to do.  With every box clearly marked and not a single item unneeded, the task of unpacking would be easy.  My eye lingered at the lone box in the corner of the living room, my emergency box.  Jennifer calls me paranoid, but you never know when you might need such things.  Like, say, the end of the world.  Paranoid, indeed.

At 7 p.m, I was finishing unpacking the last of the boxes in my bedroom when the lights went out.  Clem, who was sprawled out in the living room last time I checked, shortly padded into the room, sat down, and looked at me.  Irritated at the inconvenience, I looked outside through the blinds and confirmed that the entire neighborhood was out, streetlights and everything. 

“Good thing I have the candles ready,” I said, and we walked together back to the living room.  I lit a few tapers, poured a glass of red, pulled out my book and settled in with my pup at my feet.  After an hour or so, a knock a the door elicited a rumbling in Clem.  I set down my book and drink and we answered my door.  It was the building manager, Charlie.  He had the look of wild panic in his eyes.  Normally, my dear dog causes such a reaction in most folks.  This time was odd.  Charlie didn’t even seem to notice Clem.  Long, thin, and weak looking, young Charlie was looking over his shoulder and glancing back at me. 

“So, Charlie.  When am I getting power back?” 

He swallowed hard.  “Mrs. MacGregor.  There…there seems to…The power is out indefinitely.  You need to leave.  Or you  should.  Den…Denver,” he stuttered.  “Look.”  He pointed.  And the eastern sky was on fire.

He kept staring.  “I don’t know anything for sure,” he continued.  “But I’ve heard that it’s all because of riots.  Rumors of martial law.”

I grabbed him by the cuff of his ear.  “What else, Charlie?”  I asked, calmly.  He was now paying attention to me, and looking at Clem as his head was jerked painfully to the side and his ear in a vice lock.  “What else?”

“Mrs. MacGregor!  I don’t know!  I was watching the news when the power went out and people were reporting riots all over the world!  Confusion, lots of confusion.  Something about martial law!  OUCH!”

I released him.  I’d heard enough.

I shut the door.  He was rubbing his ear and starting to stare at the horizon again. 

“Clem.  Saddle up.”

It took me 20 minutes to load up the Harley with supplies and get Clementine into the side car. 

Set of cold weather clothes: check.
Rain gear: check.
Snickers: check.
Glock and ammo: check.
Full tank: check.

That should get me to the MacGregor homestead.

Helmets on, glasses down.
And we’re off into the night.