Walking out I see the evacuation lineup winding away like a writhing tentacle out to the parking lot. There it bends left and starts to wrap around the outside of the mall. In the distance the individuals meld into the undulating, polychromatic appendage. All those people congealed into the singular purpose of escape.
There must be thousands of people all queued up for evacuation. From where I stand I see hundreds and hundreds more milling about the parking lot, which is crammed with vehicles. I turn and scan the expressway that runs east-west across the northern perimeter of the parking lot. It's completely gridlocked, many cars already parked askew on the shoulder by those who could not wait any longer. More people still are abandoning their cars in traffic as I watch and head toward the mall on foot. The sheer magnitude of the logistical problem of getting all these people out of here is now patently obvious. I don't think it can be done.
As much as I want to care-- as much as I would like to give a shit about the plight of all these people-- I just can't find it within myself right now. Emotionally, I am spent and that part of me has shut down because I cannot endure more of that pain and still hope to function. I need to function. I withdraw inward and try to create a hard shell around what has become an exposed, raw emotional nerve. However, shutting everything out proves to be exceptionally difficult.
I pass an elderly lady walking with a little girl. The girl appears to be no more than six years old. They are both clad in only pyjamas. The little girl has pig tails, big eyes and a forlorn plush rabbit dangles loosely from her tiny hand. Her lips are blue and her teeth are chattering. The temperature has recovered little since last night, my own breath lingers before my face as I watch them. I make eye contact with the little girl and a fresh wound opens up inside of me. I strip off my fleece and hand it to the lady.
"Keep her warm." I say and leave without another word trying to distance myself from them as fast as possible. I am desperate for some solitude, but I don't think I can find it here. I keep my head down and try my best not to brush into people on the crowded sidewalk, but it's nearly impossible. I side-step onto the unused roadway for more space.
Walking for a while, I finally reach the end of a long line of closed stores and dark facades. The crowd has thinned out and I can return to the sidewalk without worrying about people entering my fragile bubble of personal space.
I turn right and begin to hike past one of those ubiquitous, trendy book stores with the attached cafe. Although it appears closed, I can see people moving around inside. Coffee would hit the spot, maybe clear the remaining fog from my head. The extra heat would be welcome too, especially now that I've given away my last warm layer of clothing. Chances are, my lips are now blue.
Inside, it appears the book store is closed, but the cafe seems to be in full swing. At least half the people inside are in uniform, black rifles are leaning against books, rucksacks under tables. Soldiers are flipping through magazines and smoking. I spot a familiar young man behind the counter. I notice his left arm is in a sling.
"Corporal Hartt!" I say approaching the counter, a little louder than I intend due to my excitement. I'm quite overwhelmed with emotion as I realize this kid has likely saved my life more than once in the brief time I have known him. Leaping over the counter for a bear hug doesn't seem unacceptable at this point, but I settle for a warm handshake. "Changing employers?" I ask.
"Connor! Good to see you back on your feet. Last time I checked on you, you were dead to the world."
"But not entirely dead."
"Close. Can't say the same for your car."
"I suppose not. Hey, what happened to the guy in my back seat?"
"Sorry, sir. He didn't make it. I'm pretty sure he was dead when we pulled him out, but once we were able to break contact and get him back here, one of the medics made the call. Was he a friend?"
"Yeah, I guess so - well, I think he was a friend of Kate's -- my wife."
"The lady in the car?" Hartt's expression changes.
"Yes." I answer solemnly, my emotions threaten to rise again to the surface.
"How is she? She okay?"
"No, not really Hartt. She's in pretty rough shape-- intensive care, waiting for evac. Hopefully they can do more for her in Grey Harbour. Hopefully they can get her out of here before the GFA show up."
"Yeah, the evac." Hartt says his voice trailing off as he exchanges a knowing look with another soldier standing nearby.
"Evac is a giant SNAFU." The other soldier says. "No way they are getting all these people out of here in time. Whoever decided it would be a good idea to gather all these people here in an emergency should be shot."
"She was..." I say under my breath. I don't know if it was Kate's idea, but I think she was involved. I can see the reasoning. Huge parking lot, all the mall facilities, access to both the expressway and a multilane thoroughfare. I can't think of a better location, but I suppose the question at hand now is, how defensible is this position.
"So, Hartt are you serving up coffees or what?" I ask.
"Sorry, yeah, coffees, lattes, espresso - you name it."
"No shit? You never cease to amaze."
"I worked here in high school, for a while. Got fired though. That was back before I got my shit together. So what do you want?"
"Just a black coffee."
"Have you eaten? Grab a biscotti. Most of the other food is gone."
"Where are the workers?"
"We told them to get the fuck out." The other soldier says.
Hartt smirks. "We told them to get in the evac line. Then we sort of took over. A lot of the guys are hungry and tired, so I started firing up the lattes. Then we dug into the muffins, coffee cake, sandwiches - guys started hauling stuff back to command so those guys would get some too."
"Where's command?"
"Far corner of the parking lot, near the multi-plex."
I grab a biscotti, it explodes into a multitude of dry cookie fragments when I bite into it. Hartt laughs. The coffee is piping hot, the first sip scorches my mouth so I cap it and decide to take it outside to cool.
"You going to be here for a while?" I ask Hartt.
"Until command needs me. With my shoulder messed up, can't really do much other than make coffee. Oh, hey, I almost forgot." Hartt reaches into a pack sitting on the floor next to his rifle. "You had this on you when we pulled you out of the car." He slides the Sig Sauer across the counter. "Thought you might want it back."
I snatch it up, safety check it and quickly tuck it in my waistband. "Thanks Hartt, you always seem to have my back. I hope I don't need it."
"At the rate you're going, you likely will." He says with a friendly wink and a crooked smile.
It's true though, and I feel quite relieved to be armed again. I wonder what happened to that MP5?
I walk out the doors into the biting cold and wrap both hands around the coffee. Continuing in the same direction, I follow the sidewalk until I start to shiver. Soon my teeth are chattering and only the dregs are left in the cup. I spot a waste bin up ahead, it's so ridiculous that I should even care that I dispose of the cup responsibly but I do it anyway. The waste bin, I find, sits in front of a thrift shop and it's open, I head in to warm up.
I'm only meters from the door when a voice calls out, "Take whatever you need dear."
"Excuse me?" I say, turning toward the voice. A round, middle-age lady with a colourful jester hat is folding clothes and organizing a display.
"You must be cold out there honey. Grab a coat, put a hat on before you catch your death." She says smiling, her kind eyes twinkling behind what can only be described as creative eye makeup.
It's good advice, even though I'll likely catch my death in a thousand other ways. As I walk by a rack of candy bars, I grab a Snickers and hold it up.
"Go ahead." She says.
"You sure?"
"Yes dear, help yourself, you look hungry."
I am at that, starving really, but I know I look a lot worse than hungry. The biscotti did little to fill me up, I think a third of it might still be on the counter. I pocket a second Snickers and rip into the first.
"So what are you doing? I mean, with the open store and everything?" I ask, my mouth still full of peanuts and chocolate. "Shouldn't you be in the evac line?" I notice her wrist does not have a bracelet.
"My husband and I did come down here to evacuate, but we noticed so many people in line, outside in the cold with no hats, no jackets, we decided to open the store and get clothes to people who need it. He's out there right now with a shopping cart full of clothes giving it away to people in the line. Nobody wants to give up their spot to come here, so we are taking it to them."
"That's incredibly kind of you two."
"It's the least we can do. It's those soldiers out there that deserve the thanks. Now you didn't come in here to chat it up with me. Go find a coat."
"Okay, thank you very much, I'll look around."
I find a large, square bin overflowing with all manner of hats and dig through it until I come across a Boston Bruins tuque. It goes immediately on top of my head - Boston is Heath's favourite team. Historically, he watched precious little hockey, but he was adamant that Boston was the best and it was his favourite team.
Moving on to the men's section, I search through racks of coats, I try a few on. Some smell better than others, some fit better than others. I settle on a navy peacoat, despite the peculiar smell, it fits well, extends past my waist and is made of heavy wool. It's not the most technical of fabrics, but wet or dry, it will keep me warm.
I make certain to pass by the eye shadow lady again on my way out and thank her profusely for her generosity. I also beg her to close up shop and get in the evacuation line, but she refuses. Instead she hugs me and hands me a whole box of Snickers bars, saying "They will just go bad here, maybe you will come across somebody else who is hungry. May God bless you and keep you."
I think of returning to the cafe, I could leave the food there. But Hartt said that the guys back at command were hungry too, so that's where I head. Rounding yet another corner of the sprawling complex, the command setup comes into full view. Looks like a fabric quonset and a couple other tents are setup in the far corner of the lot. A number of vehicles form a leaguer: Coyotes, G-Wagons, and six-wheeled deuce-and-a-half trucks. Numerous soldiers can been seen moving about.
I swing out into the parking lot and approach the encircled tents from the rear. A hundred meters from the nearest vehicle I'm stopped by a pair of soldiers on patrol.
"You can't come through here." One of them says. "If you are here to volunteer, you must circle around to the far tent."
Did he say volunteer? "No, I uh. Private Hartt, err... Corporal Hartt, sent me over with some food for you guys." I explain, holding the box out.
"You will still have to move around to the far side, you can't cut through here."
"Okay." I'm perfectly fine with that arrangement. "You two want a Snickers before I go? Hartt said everyone could use a snack."
"Yeah, thanks."
I swing around to the far side, making sure I give the leaguer a wide berth. Every so often I notice a machine gun is manned, whether its a G-Wagon or LAV. I try not to stare, but even from a distance I feel their nervous eyes on me. It makes me nervous too.
The far side is a bevy of human activity, not quite up to the standards of typical military precision, but maybe as organized as they can manage. There are long lines predominantly made up of men, leading to a series of folding tables. There they are met with some military folk, they appear to talk for a short stint and then are directed toward a couple of other tents.
I pass another soldier who stands as sentry at an opening in the leaguer, I still have a box of candy tucked under my arm. "What's going on with the line ups?"
He casually glances over at the tables and back at me. "Volunteers." He says.
"For what?"
"For defence of the evac site."
I don't think twice, I probably made the decision before I even knew what the lines were. The only chance I have of reuniting my family is for Kate to get evacuated back to Grey Harbour and that can only happen if the GFA doesn't make this place a smouldering ash pile. From what I have seen, there might only be two-hundred soldiers, including the officers and support personnel. It is not enough when the GFA likely has ten times that.
I look about at the battle scarred Coyotes, there are far too few and they are no match for that tank. God knows how many APCs or other armoured units also came through the tunnel. To top it off, there might not even be any ammunition for the twenty-five millimeter guns.
Handing the box of candy over I say, "This is from Corporal Hartt. He said to make sure everybody got some. Can you take care of that for me? I think I will go get in line."
"Sure, I can do that." He says taking the box. "Just head straight over there and line up."
I walk over, scuffing my heels on the pavement, staring at the tips of my boots as I go. For some reason I daydream about a camping trip we took when Heath was an infant. Maybe its because the weather is similar - cold, damp, gray - he wasn't even walking yet.
At the line I turn and follow it backwards, toward the end, passing blank, dour faces. There is little conversation, aside from mumbling. I keep my head down and proceed toward the tail end, my mind wandering back to the safety and happiness of the past.
Heath started eating solid food for the first time on that trip. As first time parents, we marvelled at every little achievement, just watching him eat that cerial; spoonful after spoonful of that warm glop had us utterly amazed.
Despite the inclement weather, our trailer was warm and cosy and not from any mechanical heat source, but because we had something better. We had each other, we had family, the essential, indivisible atomic unit of society. Simultaneously precious and intangible, unique yet commonplace - what we had then, we still have now and if it was worth living for then, it is worth dying for now.
My foot catches on a chunk of asphalt and I stumble forward with my hands stuffed in my pockets. I struggle to pull them out, but it's clear a literal faceplant seems to be scheduled in my very near future. I half-close my eyes anticipating the hard impact. A hand reaches out from the line-up and grabs me by the bicep, arresting my precipitous descent. I spin and land unceremoniously, but gently enough, on my ass and look up.
It's Jake.
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