Powerless
The power had been off for three days now, but she hasn’t stepped outside the front door of her apartment during that time. The first evening, she had stepped out onto her third-floor patio. When she heard a scream somewhere beneath her, she remained in the shadows but leaned out enough to look below.
A man was being attacked by three others. When he’d gone down, they had continued to beat him. She had stepped back inside, locked the patio door, knowing that there was too much glass. It would be easy for anyone to get inside. By day two, the screams had entered her building.
Attackers had gotten inside. Her door was locked and deadbolted, with a short length of chain that was supposed to stop thieves from entering her apartment. She knew that none of that would keep out determined invaders. She had held her hand over her mouth when she heard a noise at her door, then watched someone attempt to turn the doorknob. Someone screamed in the hallway, then she heard a voice she recognized as her neighbor’s begging to be left alone. The hand that had been twisting at her doorknob stopped, just before her neighbor’s thrashing and screaming also abruptly cut off.
On the morning of the third day, her water shut off. She thought first of the toilet, about not being able to flush it, and the stink that would soon arise. Then she realized that she hadn’t thought to fill containers so she would have drinking water. She grabbed a large bowl, placed it beneath the faucet in the kitchen sink. She turned both the hot and the cold water handles to full-on. Water trickled into the bowl until it was only half full, then dribbled to an end.
She had food in the top of her refrigerator, but it was uncooked and frozen. Perhaps it was thawed already, but her stove was electric. The lower shelves of the fridge mostly held items such as mayonnaise, relish, and ketchup, but that would not make a satisfying meal on its own. She preferred fresh fruit and veggies to canned goods. Too bad that the blackout occurred when it did. She’d put off going to the grocery store, and now it was too late. She knew then that a time was coming soon when she’d have to leave the relative safety of her apartment.
She didn’t possess a gun, or any other really useful weapon. The kitchen butcher knife could be taken away by most men and used against her. She looked beneath the sink in the storage compartment to see what might work. She withdrew two aerosol spray cans. One was to kill wasps. She’d bought that when yellow jackets one spring built a nest on her patio. She’d been too big a coward to use it, instead just keeping that door closed for nearly a month. The other can was some sort of ammonia-based cleanser. Those were probably the best she could come up with.
It was early winter, not freezing in the daytime with the sunshine, but still cold enough. She dressed in two layers of jeans, a wool shirt, and a heavy sweater, with her designer pointy-toed boots. She was an ugly mismatch of style, but she hoped to make it more difficult for attackers.
Holding the ammonia sprayer under her left armpit, she readied the wasp killer in her right hand, index finger on the button. As quietly as possible, she twisted the deadbolt to release it. When she turned the inside knob, the lock there automatically clicked off. Keeping the chain on, she slowly turned the doorknob and pulled it open just a crack. She put her right eye to the opening and looked left down the empty hallway. Hers was the final apartment down the hall, so no one should be to the right of her. She listened to the dead silence. Was it possible that they’d abandoned this building and gone on to others? Maybe, but it sure wasn’t something she could count on.
What was her plan, anyway? She admitted that she didn’t have one. She just couldn’t stay in her apartment without food or water. When would the power be restored? Maybe never, if the rest of the town was in the same shape as here. And how widespread was this blackout? Perhaps much more than just her own area. Maybe everywhere? Was there anywhere she could escape to?
She slid the chain until it fell away. Anyone could easily force their way inside now.
She stepped into the hallway, staring toward the elevator. No power. She’d have to enter the stairwell. Anyone or anything could be there.
As she crept quietly down toward the door to the stairs, a door to her left suddenly opened and a raised hand pointed a gun at her. The barrel struck her shoulder and bounced away. An explosion filled the hallway. She pressed down tightly on the wasp killer button and aimed it past the arm, into the face of her attacker. A woman screamed, and the pistol fell to the carpet.
She reached down with her left hand, picked up the gun, continuing to press the button. The air in the hallway was filled with poison. She dropped the can and pointed the gun. A woman inside was clawing at her eyes, screaming with the pain.
She knocked the woman to the floor, pointed the gun down at her, looking around an otherwise empty living room. It was neat and clean, as if from another world than the present that now existed.
She looked at the weapon, her finger inside the guard on the trigger. She’d never shot a gun before. The woman on the floor suddenly grasped her leg, trying to pull her down.
She pointed the gun down at the figure’s head and pulled the trigger. A spray of blood flew up at her, but the fingers turned loose.
Had anyone outside heard? Probably, but they wouldn’t know which apartment the gunshot came from, and perhaps they would be hesitant to search for someone not afraid to fire a weapon.
She closed and locked the door, then stepped over the woman’s body and walked into the kitchen. The bar and countertop held gallon containers of water. She opened the cabinets. They were well-stocked with canned goods and other supplies. Two large plastic jars of peanut butter. Boxes of crackers and even packages of cookies. An abundant food supply. This woman obviously kept herself prepared for such eventualities.
She walked around the apartment. In a bedside table’s drawer, she found more ammunition. She didn’t know how to do this, but she knew she’d figure it out, given a little time.
These supplies would only last a while. She’d have to find other sanctuaries, but that sounded like something she might be able to do. She’d remain here as long as she could, then maybe she could find other places here.
First, though, she needed to do something with the woman’s body in the living room. She figured the patio would be a good place for now.
Just as she was pulling the body by the legs, trailing a pool of blood, the lights came back on.
