Chapter 2: The Only Way is Westward
3/25/65
The pale, light-blue numbers on the dashboard read 04:34. The rain continued lightly. The roads, especially the I-95, were full of people heading in the same direction. I had decided to pass the supply center near my apartment because after having arrived at the designated high school, there was such a congestion of cars in the roads around it that I knew the wait would be long. I wanted to get to Alexandria as soon as possible. I also had a hunch that, based on the accumulation of military personnel and vehicles at the high school and past rumors about more drastic military plans to draw on the civilian population for manpower, the supply center was meant for the distribution of military weaponry to the civilian population.
As I sat within my old, self-driven car, I felt a familiar feeling. It was reminiscent of those times when, as a child, my family and I would be in the car heading to the airport for an early flight. It had all the quietness and tiredness of mind that characterized those early morning drives. There was also that familiar feeling of escape that accompanied those trips to the airport. It was that feeling that I was leaving my home to never return and one of an unpredictable future.
As I sat in my car, that gravitation of heart to school, to work, to home, and to everything else composed of regular care and worry vanished. It was that foundational change in my heart that I will forever associate with the dissolution of normal, everyday life. I lifted my eyes to the dark sky and saw the blinking lights of countless aircraft heading eastward to hinder the advance of the unseen foe. During my northward drive on the I-95, I saw those countless lights in their formations. Some went wondrously fast, some relatively slowly. I sat in complete awe of those formations and what they meant. How can I do justice to the grandness of that early morning sky filled with those frantic lights of military aircraft, invisible in the darkness?
It was 5:27 when I neared Alexandria. The rain had ceased, but the clouds still covered most of the dark sky. There were fewer cars on those roads. Realizing that I hadn't called my parents yet, I tapped on my dad's number on the contact list on the dashboard screen, intending to tell them that I was coming. There was no answer. I tried again, but to no avail. I thought nothing of it. No more than thirty minutes later, as I drove deeper into Alexandria, I saw countless soldiers and military equipment stationed throughout. The occasional large parking lot would be completely filled with such personnel and equipment and I occasionally saw the FEMA logo and that of other major national agencies on temporary structures. It evoked a sense of the end of times, the last breath of humanity. Being so close to D.C., it wasn't a surprise to me.
There were only a few cars in those city roads at that time, some driving in the same direction that I was heading and a few going the opposite way. I found myself slowing the car down once in a while to take in this sublime accumulation of military and government personnel in this modest town of Alexandria that I had grown so accustomed to during my late high school and early college years, when I had still been living with my parents. There were massive tanks grouped here and there. Some were moving on the roads. Not one of the soldiers, clad in what appeared to me as full gear, or those dressed in government or federal attire were interested in my driving past. They were all either seemingly immersed in some important business or were standing or walking with a somberness that impressed me.
Once I arrived at the group of townhouses where my parents lived, I noticed that there were no cars parked outside anywhere, not one in sight. Normally, an empty parking space would be a rare sight because of the smallness of the garages of the townhouses and the fact that most of the residents had two or three cars to themselves. When my car pulled itself into the small driveway before the garage door, which was in the back of the house, I immediately exited my car, entered the passcode into the button pad beside the garage door, and then entered the door within the garage. On the chair immediately before the door, there was a whiteboard with the following message written on it:
"Michael,
We were informed to make our way westward. We decided to go to Aunt Theresa's house in Colorado. You should remember how to get there. We tried to call, but there was no signal. Be safe!"
I couldn't help but sit on the floor before the sign in silence. On the whiteboard, I could see my sister's old marker drawings half-erased. An old drawing from years ago was still on it and had long dried. It was an old whiteboard that had been stashed away until then. I felt a little dejected for not having arrived sooner, but at the same time, I was relieved that they had got a head start away from the east coast. To be honest, I preferred to be alone anyway, and I was always calmed by the thought of my sister being in the caring hands of my mom and dad.
I got up and paced through the silent and empty house. It was beyond silent and empty. It felt like ruins or what I imagined being in abandoned ruins would feel like. That was what I thought it would become sooner or later. I walked up to the second floor, into the kitchen to find the lights still on. I first went to turn on the TV in the living room and switched it to the news. I turned down the volume. The EAS messages were still moving across the top of the screen, but there were no updates. Then, I pulled out one of the dining table chairs and sat. Being a person always impressed by and attracted to silence and feelings of pure solitude, I sat in that empty house, those ruins, for a while. It was not completely silent, however. There was the faint sound of aircraft flying overhead and the occasional muffled sound of what I assumed to be military convoys moving along the roads nearby.
I considered whether or not I should go to Colorado to meet with my parents. Really, I did not feel any great affection for them, I only wished to be there for my sister during such frightening times. I had known her since she was a small baby and during that period of her life, having been immersed in a serious practice of the Buddhist habit of meditation and silent contemplation, I had developed a sensitivity toward her that stayed with me all this time. Yet, as I stated earlier, I was always reassured by the thought of her well-being in the care of my parents. With that in mind, I decided that I would go wherever I wanted to go before heading to Colorado. Maybe I would fight or find other ways to aid those on the frontline. Maybe I would spend my time in a national park until the war ended.
The prospect of the dissolution of normal society did not distress me too much. I had no major attachments to food, clothes, and the general allures of the world. I had long become used to eating little every day and what little I ate was simple and unrelished. To me, addiction to food was merely an artificial hindrance to an even mind and in the event of an apocalypse, which I had of course never considered before, a nuisance. I also believed that the approaching ordeals would be temporary, and that humanity would eventually emerge from them with a never-ending resolve to keep themselves in check, lest the same mistakes be made as we were then experiencing the results of.
I had confidence in Project Zero Dawn and believed that long before the swarm could make it to the interior of the U.S., the secret weapon would eradicate them. Everyone had faith in Zero Dawn. Some, including myself, even believed that the military alone was enough. Therefore, I felt no drastic urge to see my parents and my sister at Colorado right away. Once the war was over, I would see them again, although the east coast and my home with it would probably be uninhabitable for a while afterward. After a while, I got up and headed toward the kitchen. From within the fridge, I mindlessly grabbed an orange and peeled it slowly. The news continued from the TV with subtitles. Briefly, a clip was shown on the news of the distant flashes seen from the coast. There were a small group of onlookers in view. I turned away from the screen and somberly ate each individual slice with a subtle sense of anxiety. At the same time, I felt that I had all the freedom in the world either to remain where I was or to leave on a whim and go in whatever direction that I wanted. All except eastward of course.
