Ryan Westfield - Getting Out

The door burst open. She saw the flash of a foot wearing a boot. But no one stepped through the door.

The man who had unbuckled his belt and undone his fly reached slowly for his gun on the coffee table.

Georgia was a thin woman in her late forties, raising two kids on her own without a man in the house. But she wouldn’t let anyone give her that “I’m a struggling single mother” line of crap. She didn’t take shit, but she could sure dish it out when she needed to.

Her husband had left her ten years ago, and she was glad to be rid of him. She’d been the one who’d had to fix everything around the house. She’d been the one to mow the lawn and give the mechanic hell when he was ripping them off.

She didn’t fit into the suburban culture where she lived. It didn’t drive her crazy, since she could get away on hunting trips when she needed to. She was here because the school system was the best in the state. Her kids needed a good education.

She could hold her own in a drinking contest or on the shooting range. Out hunting deer, she was almost scary—the way she always worked with precision and dedication, no matter what. One moment, she’d be telling her hunting buddies the raunchiest joke imaginable, sipping from a tall boy, and the next, she’d spotted the deer, and then suddenly she was all business. The jokes would fall to the side, and she’d get the animal in her crosshairs, controlling her breath as she pulled the trigger.

Georgia knew something wasn’t right. She drove a beat up pickup around town, and the police radio scanner had gone dead. People asked her why she carted that scanner around with her, and she’d never give a straight answer. Maybe she’d been expecting something for a while. Maybe she’d had an inkling that things hadn’t been right for some time. Everything just seemed so fragile—the whole system. Maybe she herself didn’t exactly have the answer.

The important thing was that she had it, and now it was dead.

The regular radio didn’t work either.

The traffic lights weren’t working. There weren’t any cops around. She drove slowly along the four lane road, peering into the businesses she passed. There weren’t any lights on inside either.

Georgia worked a collection of odd jobs. It suited her. She’d never liked to be in one place too long. She didn’t like the feeling of being stationary. One of her jobs was delivering food to the rich folks around these parts. She would never fit into an office setting, and the delivery business suited her in other ways too. She also did some shifts as a bartender, when the mood struck her.

She had the hotbag in the backseat, and she was already five minutes late for the delivery. She was supposed to go right to the residential house and hand over the plate of pasta, or whatever it was, and head back to the store.

But Georgia wasn’t going to do that.

She knew how to trust her instincts.

Even though no one else she could see was acting freaked out, she knew to trust herself. She knew, for instance, before picking it up, that her cell phone wouldn’t work.

She made a quick and very illegal U-turn in the middle of the road. A couple cars honked at her.

She downshifted and jammed her foot on the accelerator. If something was going on, her first priority was protecting her kids. Right now they were in school, where surely the teachers were feeding them some bullshit line about everything being fine.

Georgia drove her pickup right up to the front of the school. Both her kids were in high school and thankfully both were in the same building, so she wouldn’t have to go to two separate schools.

The doors were unlocked. Probably the computerized mechanism that controlled them had simply gone dead. Georgia didn’t pay the security notices any mind and simply walked into the building.

“May I help you?” called out the secretary.

“No,” replied Georgia, swinging her head around to address the secretary in the briefest way possible. Her long blonde ponytail swung with her.

People often gave her admiring comments about how much energy she had. The implication was that she was too old to be doing everything that she did. She had never paid her age any mind. She simply gave it no thought. That was the way she’d dealt with a lot of her life. Her motto was that it was often easier to simply go on living than to spend too much time worrying about something you couldn’t control. She knew she couldn’t control the years creeping up on her, so she didn’t worry about it.

She walked at a brisk pace to where James had his math class. Fortunately, she knew her kids’ schedules by heart. The reason was a little unfortunate. They were known for trying to cut class as much as possible. Sometimes they didn’t even go to school, and Georgia would find them hiding in their rooms by the time class had already started. Sometimes she didn’t find them until she stopped at home on her lunch break. She’d just grab them by their collars and drag them into her truck, and then drop them off at the appropriate classroom. The principal had asked to speak to her about it, but she hadn’t paid that any mind. She wasn’t big on meetings, to say the least. She wasn’t big on rules either, and she certainly hadn’t been the most diligent student in her day. Instead of going to class, she’d be out back smoking cigarettes with the bad kids. But despite her lack of regrets, she knew that there were some footsteps of hers that her kids did not need to follow in.

“James!” she called, opening the door.

Twenty teenagers stared back at her. The room was darkened. The blinds were open, to let in some of the natural light.

“Excuse me,” said the teacher. “What are you doing here? Do you have a pass?” He was a man in his early twenties, who clearly thought he was king of the world, not to mention his classroom.

James put his head down. He looked the epitome of embarrassment.

“James, come on. There’s been an emergency.”

James got up slowly from his desk. All of the other students stared back and forth between Georgia and James.

“Do you have a pass?” said the teacher.

Georgia just ignored him.

She grabbed James’s hand.

“Mom!” whispered James, in the hallway. “What are you doing? You can’t just come barging into my classroom like that.”

“Is your sister in English right now?” For some reason, Georgia was second guessing herself on her daughter’s schedule.

“Yeah,” said James. “Mom, what the hell are you doing?”

“Just come with me. You don’t like school, right? You’re always trying to skip it. Now your mother’s taking you out of school. What do you think of that?”

James shrugged, but his mood seemed to change. “She’s down here,” said James, pointing down a dark hallway.

Georgia did the same thing in Sadie’s classroom, opening the door, ignoring the teacher, and demanding that Sadie follow her.

Under the sunny sky, they all piled into the front seat of the beat up pickup.

“Smells good,” said James, eyeing the hot bag in the small back seats.

“Would someone please tell me what in the world is going on? Why did you take us out of school, Mom?”

“Something’s happening,” said Georgia. “We’re going to…”

She paused, realizing that she didn’t know what to do next.

Around her, there were no outward signs that anything was wrong. In fact, while it had been off and on again cloudy all day, the sun was now shining brightly. The trees and grass had never looked more beautiful. No one was running around like chickens with their heads cut off. No one was rioting.

But she knew. Georgia knew.