The Living Dark

The Living Dark, Chapter 3: An Ounce of Prevention

   Anne stands perched in the doorway. Perplexed and fidgeting as her husband strips off his t-shirt. Her conflicted emotions span the gap between confusion and concern. Intently watching her, Ben, as he breaks into a jog. She steps from behind the screen door calling his name "Ben honey. What's wrong?" They meet on the ornate white front porch, "Honey, you're scaring me." Ben softly envelopes Anne in his thick arms. Attempting to reassure and relay to his wife the gravity of the situation. Her face is a contorted mask of emotions. Equal parts "I want to ask a question." And "I don't want the answer to that question." "Right now, nothing, honey," he tells her. He feels her trembling as they embrace, "I woke up, and you were gone, babe. I panicked. Then went around checking the house for you." She stammers, "The .. kids are awake and worried too, and I ....." Ben interrupts. "The kids are awake?" he exclaims. "Good ... good excellent." He moves for the door, but his wife holds tight, anchoring him in place. "Ben, what's going on?" Anne demands. Looking down at his wife. Ben James watches the men in the street disband. Each man going their separate way. Headed for their homes on the cul de sac.

    "Ok, baby ..." Ben begrudgingly concedes. "The short version of the story is this. The power is out, globally. To hell with EdCon at this point." His burly chest spreads as he draws in a deep breath. He is buying himself time to diplomatically tell his wife the news. "Massive solar flares have left most of the world in the dark." He continues, "and there's no ETA as to when things will be back up. The military is mustering up to step in, but good luck with that. You remember Jamal .... Mohammed's son?" Ben doesn't wait for acknowledgment as he babbles on. "Well, he called home last night. To tell his parents that riots have broken out all over Los Angeles. All around UCLA, its complete anarchy. There is no law, and the entire state of California has fallen into chaos. I invited our neighbors to pool their resources with us. And hunker down together so far I got no takers. Which is for the better anyway. Baby, by the time the sunsets, I want to have this house secured. With us sleeping in the shelter downstairs." Anne is stands immobilized by Benjamin's manic diatribe. Her mouth hangs open comically. She nuzzles in closer to her mate, feeling the warmth of his broad arms. he'd always made her feel safe, and it was useless for her to pretend otherwise. "Anne, I'm not taking any chances..." he told his wife, "you with me, babe?" She's transfixed by his brown eyes. As they stare at one another. "Yes," she croaks just above a whisper.

   The couple burst through the door. Coming into the sparsely lit house in a rush. The sudden appearance of both of their parents. Immediately stops, the rambunctious from bickering. These kids are much like the young of any other species in nature. They know when their parents mean business. "Babies, daddy needs you to pay attention!" Ben calls his family over to him. He pauses unexpectedly. All but consumed with the fear of losing them. From within his gut surges a geyser of pride. He knows his family is the reason why he's paranoid. They are why he fears the unknown. Because he couldn't live without them.

    Standing closest to her father is Belinda, a lean stringy nine-year or with sandy brown curls tucked delicately behind her ears. She stares at "her daddy" in wonderment. As she does most days. Anne had told Ben he needed to be firmer with her and learn to say "no" to her. He knew then, and as he knows now. That was legally impossible for him to do. Brandon leans on Ben Junior's wheelchair. His dusty locks of hair wildly frazzled by a headlock at the hands of his big brother. Ben speaks, "We have work to do guys, and we are up against the clock. By the time the sunsets, we need to be locked up tight downstairs. I have talked to your mother. She definitely agrees with me. There is no time to talk. I'm going to be moving with a purpose, guys, and so will you. Once we're done tonight. We can talk about what's going on, but for now. Everybody has an assignment." Ben draws in a breath before continuing. He notices Belinda's hand raised in the air as if she has a question. He smiles; there's no hiding his affections for "his baby girl." Pointing to the bubbly little girl, he acknowledges her dancing about. "Yes, Belinda." Placing her hands at her side. She asks in a melodic tone that is just short of singing, "even me, daddy? Do I have a job too?" Ben had always imagined if a hummingbird could talk, it would sound like Belinda. "Yes, my love even you have a job," he told her, watching a smile spread across her face.

    Turning to his wife, Ben's plan starts to unfold. "Honey, I need you and Belinda to grab all the perishables you can find and cook them up or preserve them. I will turn on the generator in the basement. Today because we'll need the power. We have to work quickly to conserve power and hide the fact that we have electricity. Brandon, I need you to get all the camping gear. Our clothes and supplies then take it all down into the storm shelter. Then I want you to find anything we can use as a weapon baseball bat, axes, sledgehammers, and I mean anything." Ben counts off on his fingers, "Chip, you need to go to our room ...." Ben cast a guilty glance at his wife. "Uh .....Scratch that son you, me in the basement we are going to seal off the windows and doors in the house." Chip nods curtly to his father. Before he sets his wheelchair in motion. Gliding past the dining room table. Ben Junior snatches up a lantern as he passes by. The boy moves quickly through the house, letting the chair roll. As he too removes his shirt, revealing a sculpted torso. That would make any teenage boy envious. He powers on the beacon sitting in his lap at the top of the stairs to the basement. Then Chip deftly pops the front of his chair into a "wheelie." Cautiously in the dark, he takes the stairs one at a time. His well-toned arms straining from exertion. Until finally, he reaches what his father calls his "Shop."

   Benjamin James had a knack for purchasing things in bulk. With no warehouse to store his tools and raw materials. He left them at home, taking the tools and building materials. He needed for the day or for the job. The boy rolls over to a tiny red LED hanging in the darkness. Clumsily his hand finds the switch and with a "pop." The generator his father had installed rumbles to life. A set of professionally strung auxiliary lights power up. Junior starts readying his dad's tools on his bench. Chip hears his dad come pounding down the stairs "I turned off all the lights that can be seen from outside." He says breathlessly. "They're off and running upstairs, son..." The two meet at the expansive workbench. Which covers almost half the basement wall. "Me and you, we have the toughest job, Junior." Chip agrees with his father's assessment. "We are going to board up and reinforce every door then board all the windows. Here's the trick though from the outside....." Benjamin pauses, tapping his chin. "..From the outside, the house has to look as normal as possible." "Got it!" Ben Jr. says, pivoting his chair to a stack of fresh lumber at one end of "The Depot." Ben watches his son as he goes then turns his attention to the task at hand. The James Family moves about the house the rest of the daylight hours like worker ants about their nest. The faint sounds of the James men working can barely be heard on the dead-end street. It rouses no attention as the house is slowly fortified. They labor against the fear of the unknown that comes with the darkness. Like a bundle deal, you can't have one without the other.