Scott Williams - The Pulse

“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.