Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

“I hope I don’t need it. And if the computers start working again soon, then I guess I’ll have to get myself a pool.”

The old windup alarm clock I’d set woke me from a deep sleep with its grating ring. It was two-thirty in the morning.

I was surprised I’d managed to get any sleep with all the things rumbling around in my head. I had passed out on the couch. Somehow it seemed better to be downstairs—between the front door and the twins. Was that protective or paranoid?

My eyes strained to see. There was no light from the little nightlight in the main floor washroom, no glowing lights from the printer or TV or DVD player. Our home computer was dead in the corner; the thing I’d spent so much time on was totally useless. Not even any glow coming in from the streetlight near the end of our driveway. It was complete darkness.

I got up, still dressed and wearing my shoes. I shuffled through the room, trying not to bump into anything. Why hadn’t I put the flashlight on the coffee table instead of the desk across the room? I inched my way over and felt around until I found the light. Flicking it on was reassuring and troubling all at once—it was a blazing reminder about what was happening.

The twins were upstairs, sleeping. My mother wasn’t home. Not long after Herb and I had gotten back from the pool store, she’d sent word with an officer on a bicycle that she was all right and occupied, and that I was to sit tight.

The officer she’d sent, Brett, was a rookie. Brett said she was posting officers all around her precinct. He was assigned to patrol our neighborhood.

Did Mom really think that was necessary?

Herb was also going to stand guard at the top of our street, where Powderhorn Crescent met Folkway Drive. I didn’t think that was necessary either, but still it was strangely reassuring. I’d set my alarm so I could go out and see if he was okay.

I followed the flashlight beam over to the front door. I went to turn the lock and hesitated. After a moment I reached into the umbrella stand behind the door and pulled out a baseball bat. Then I opened the door, stepped out, and locked up behind me. The twins were asleep; it wouldn’t matter if they were alone for a few minutes.

A shiver went up my spine. It was much cooler outside. I guess closing and locking all the windows last night had really kept the heat in. My footsteps against the pavement seemed loud because everything was so silent. There were no cars on the highway a few blocks away, no trains in the distance or planes in the sky. No random sounds escaped from open windows, no breeze rustled the trees. There was nothing except the sound of insects, and even they seemed quieter than usual.

I breathed deeply. There was a heavy scent of barbecue hanging in the air. Every home had barbecued for dinner. Propane or charcoal grills still worked. With freezers defrosting and people worried about spoiled meat, there had been a feast in every backyard. We barbecued, too. At least I tried. Dad was the expert griller, but I managed not to burn the thawing burger patties too badly. Didn’t stop Danny and Rachel from complaining, though.

The sky above was streaked with thousands of stars that we never usually saw at night. It was kind of strange to see them all—I was so used to streetlights. With no other light to block them, the stars were amazingly bright. Together with the half-moon on the horizon, they bathed the street with soft, gentle light. It was brighter out here than it had been inside the house. I wasn’t even sure I needed the flashlight—although it made me more visible. I didn’t want to surprise Herb and risk being shot by a paranoid old paper pusher with a gun that I thought he only pretended not to know how to use properly. I really did have to talk to my mother about this.

Then I smelled Herb’s cigar. I recognized the smell that often drifted from his backyard. Down the street, at the corner, I saw the ember of that cigar.

“Herb!” I shone my flashlight on him.

He waved and I walked over. He was in a lawn chair in the middle of the intersection. A bike, leaning on its kickstand, was beside him.

“Going to play a little baseball?”

I’d forgotten I was carrying the bat. “Yeah, wondered if you wanted to play.”

“Night games don’t work so well unless the lights do. What are you doing out here?”

“I thought you could use some company.”

“I’ve had company all night as people have limped their way into the neighborhood.”

“Have there been a lot?”

“Quite a few. Sitting here I can hear people coming from a long way off. I’ve biked out to meet them. The last few walked all the way from the city.”

“That’s thirty or forty miles. That would have taken them—”

“Most of the day and half the night,” Herb said.

“And they’ve been all right?”

“Most have been exhausted and confused, but relieved at finally getting home—and eager to see their family members. They’re all hungry and thirsty. I’ve given each one a bottle of water.” He tapped a nearly empty case of water at his feet.

“That’s nice of you.”

“Most need it, but it also calms them down so they can talk. With all the local communications down, word of mouth is the only way I can know what’s happening out there.”

“And?”

“There have been acts of kindness. Some grocery stores have been handing out bottled water and pieces of fruit. Other people have given jackets and shoes, lent their bikes.”

I got the sense he was telling only half the story. “But not everybody has been so nice, right?”

“Not everybody. There’s been some looting of stores, electronics and valuables taken, rumors of jewelry store robberies. One guy who lives on Stonemason was mugged at knifepoint—he’s pretty shaken up. I even heard about a couple of buildings that were on fire.”

“Has anything happened up at our mini-mall?” There were a few stores over by the gas station.

“It’s all safe. At this stage, one police officer making himself visible is assurance that everything will be fine.”

“This stage?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Adam, as long as people think things are going to recover quickly they won’t panic.”

“But you still don’t think things are going to get better anytime soon.”

“Here’s the problem. It’s not just that the lights are out and all our computer screens are dead. It’s also all the computer-controlled tools and equipment that are used by first responders like police and EMS and fire departments to help people recover in an emergency. Like the vehicles to transport food and medical supplies. Or the trucks and tools used by the electric company to fix power outages. None of that’s working.”

“And you think people will act differently once it doesn’t get fixed right away.”

“Everything changes when people are desperate for water, food, when they’re scared for the well-being of their children.”

“But that couldn’t happen here. We’re too… um…”

“Civilized?”

I nodded my head.

“Civilized behavior is nothing more than a thin veneer. Once that’s peeled away it can get ugly very quickly. I’ve seen it close up.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“You probably don’t believe me.”

I shook my head. “No, it isn’t that I don’t believe you. It’s just that I hope you’re wrong.”

“I do, too.” He paused. “In the morning I’ll run a line over to your house so you can have electricity from my generator.”

“That would be great. Maybe we won’t even need it by then. I can hope.”

“It’s good to have hope,” he said with a grim smile. “Right now I should go up and make sure our young police officer is doing fine. You should probably head back inside.”