This is an idea I've had for a while that I wrote relatively recently and posted on my old blog. It's nowhere near as long as "A Stranger at the Door" and I don't think it's as good, but I think it's worth posting, as an interesting concept if nothing else.
“It's time to go to bed.” her father declared.
She tore her eyes away from one of the many television screens scattered throughout the former furniture store. “Do I have to?” she pleaded, “There's news!”
Her father raised an eyebrow sceptically, but relented all the same, “Okay, thirty more minutes, and then you have to go immediately, no arguing. Got it?”
She leaped to her feet and hugged him tightly, “Thank you so much!” she exclaimed, before rejoining the crowd huddled in front of the flat-screen TV.
He watched her sit down next to her friends, and turned his attention to the images that flashed across the screen. It was a shot from the rooftop, looking over streets filled with decaying bodies ambling about and the carnage of war. They still hadn't figured out how to kill the “reanimated dead” only slow them with bullets. The first thing they had figured out was that bullets didn't kill them and that they couldn't climb stairs or open doors on their own. The cities were soon quarantined and the virus contained for the time being. The only way out was through one of the many military barricades.
The camera focused in on one of the many army snipers situated on the rooftops. The sniper kept his focus on the streets below, and the camera followed. Before the war, he wouldn't have let his ten year old daughter watch animated movies with too much violence, but he supposed war changed things. They had barely been able to escape their homes alive – few had. By some miracle, they had wound up at an IKEA, one of the few safe spots that remained after the grid had shut down in the midst of the war.
It had been the middle of the afternoon when they reached the barricade, blocking the infected city from the relatively safe countryside. Several hours and even more blood draws later, they were both let out with a clean bill of health. They got out of there as fast as they could, racing down the highway at speeds he wouldn't have dared drive at in a different time, but the roads were empty and he needed to get them out of there. His daughter fell asleep as soon as they had reached the car, it was a restless sleep, but there was little he could do, beyond getting them as far away as he could.
As night fell and edged towards dawn, his adrenaline faded, to be replaced by a heavy exhaustion; he hadn't slept in days. The first safe-house he saw was an IKEA.
He turned into the parking lot, full of cars, though there wasn't a person in sight, “Lil, wake up.” he said, shaking his daughter gently.
She awoke suddenly, her eyes flying open, wide with fear. When she noticed who it was, she hugged her father, and cried into his chest.
“I want to go home!” she said between sobs.
But they couldn't go home, and it hurt him to say it, no matter how much he knew he had to. She eventually quieted down.
“Come on.” he said, grabbing her hand and leading her away from the car, towards the entrance.
“Where are we?” she asked, her curiosity returning.
“IKEA.” he replied simply.
“This is a funny time to go shopping.” she laughed.
“I suppose it is.” he replied with a smile, unwilling to explain to his daughter that they weren't just shopping.
They approached the automatic sliding doors, but the doors didn't budge. He knocked, still nothing. Panic rose from the pit of his stomach and took over his mind. They had come so far, they needed to get in. He pounded at the thick glass doors, tried to pry them open and pounded some more, but to no avail.
“Why won't they let us in?” his daughter asked, taken aback by her father's sudden outburst, “Maybe they're closed...” she answered her own question.
He didn't stop.
“Come on daddy. Let's go home.” she tugged at his sleeve.
Suddenly a group of people, all dressed like a SWAT team, approached from inside. The girl fell silent. Her father stopped and stepped away from the doors, taking his daughter's hand once more.
The doors slid open.
“Welcome to IKEA.” they stopped and the one in the middle stepped forwards speaking with a rough female voice, “I am Serena Washington, head of this building.” she shook the father's hand without taking off her glove or helmet.
“George Mata, this is my daughter Liliana.” he replied.
“You're both clean?”
He nodded.
She eyed them sceptically from behind the clear pixeglass helmet, “You'll have to be in quarantine for 48 hours before you can join the community, I assume you'd rather be together?”
He nodded again.
“Very well. Follow me.” she continued as she led them up the stopped escalator, “We're part of the IKEA Plan, part apocalypse contingency plan, part do-it-yourself furniture store. We have our own grid, water supply, several months' worth of food and supplies enough for 100 plus people.” she smiled sardonically, “You'll have to live off of Swedish Meatballs, and there's not much in the way of privacy living with so many people, but at least you're not in the city.”
They stopped in front of a clear class barrier, with a door in it, behind the barrier sat one of those couches that folded out into a bed, pressed against one wall, on the other side of the small “room” there was a small table with a chair. A white curtain made up the back, behind which was a little bathroom
“Sorry for the inconvenience, one can't be too safe.” the woman explained gruffly.
He waved it off, “It's fine, I understand.”
And with that they moved into the room that was to be their home for the next two days. They were able to relax for the first time since the “war” had begun. Though they were far from boredom, he did welcome the occasional visits from others living in the former store, bearing everything from greetings and conversation, to food, to questions and news.
When the quarantine came to an end they were assigned beds among the many that filled the store and were left to adapt to their new life. Everyone rose at will in the morning, went to breakfast where they were assigned their work for the day. The children played under minimal supervision as the adults cycled through the jobs that needed to be done. There was always a lot of time for talking. His daughter soon made friends with the other children, and he found the adults welcoming enough. The power only came on, in the bulk of the store, for a few hours at night, when they watched news.
Life wasn't easy, living so close to so many people without any opportunity to get away, but the arguments that were rampant inside were incomparably better than the war that waged outside.
The half an hour passed quickly between his thoughts and the hypnotic tug of the moving images on the screen, that seemed as distant as a movie, though similar was happening not even an hour's drive away. A glance at the clock told him it had already been 40 minutes.
“Liliana, time to go to bed.” he called out, his voice was temporarily hoarse from lack of use.
“Don't call me that!” she replied, hands on her hips, though the tell-tale grin that spread across her face told another story, ruining the effect.
“Come on, Lil.” he said with a smile.
“Okay.” she stood, hugged her father, and made her way to bed.
She would probably have nightmares that night, as she had ever since their escape and likely would for quite some time to come, but at least they were safe.
She tore her eyes away from one of the many television screens scattered throughout the former furniture store. “Do I have to?” she pleaded, “There's news!”
Her father raised an eyebrow sceptically, but relented all the same, “Okay, thirty more minutes, and then you have to go immediately, no arguing. Got it?”
She leaped to her feet and hugged him tightly, “Thank you so much!” she exclaimed, before rejoining the crowd huddled in front of the flat-screen TV.
He watched her sit down next to her friends, and turned his attention to the images that flashed across the screen. It was a shot from the rooftop, looking over streets filled with decaying bodies ambling about and the carnage of war. They still hadn't figured out how to kill the “reanimated dead” only slow them with bullets. The first thing they had figured out was that bullets didn't kill them and that they couldn't climb stairs or open doors on their own. The cities were soon quarantined and the virus contained for the time being. The only way out was through one of the many military barricades.
The camera focused in on one of the many army snipers situated on the rooftops. The sniper kept his focus on the streets below, and the camera followed. Before the war, he wouldn't have let his ten year old daughter watch animated movies with too much violence, but he supposed war changed things. They had barely been able to escape their homes alive – few had. By some miracle, they had wound up at an IKEA, one of the few safe spots that remained after the grid had shut down in the midst of the war.
It had been the middle of the afternoon when they reached the barricade, blocking the infected city from the relatively safe countryside. Several hours and even more blood draws later, they were both let out with a clean bill of health. They got out of there as fast as they could, racing down the highway at speeds he wouldn't have dared drive at in a different time, but the roads were empty and he needed to get them out of there. His daughter fell asleep as soon as they had reached the car, it was a restless sleep, but there was little he could do, beyond getting them as far away as he could.
As night fell and edged towards dawn, his adrenaline faded, to be replaced by a heavy exhaustion; he hadn't slept in days. The first safe-house he saw was an IKEA.
He turned into the parking lot, full of cars, though there wasn't a person in sight, “Lil, wake up.” he said, shaking his daughter gently.
She awoke suddenly, her eyes flying open, wide with fear. When she noticed who it was, she hugged her father, and cried into his chest.
“I want to go home!” she said between sobs.
But they couldn't go home, and it hurt him to say it, no matter how much he knew he had to. She eventually quieted down.
“Come on.” he said, grabbing her hand and leading her away from the car, towards the entrance.
“Where are we?” she asked, her curiosity returning.
“IKEA.” he replied simply.
“This is a funny time to go shopping.” she laughed.
“I suppose it is.” he replied with a smile, unwilling to explain to his daughter that they weren't just shopping.
They approached the automatic sliding doors, but the doors didn't budge. He knocked, still nothing. Panic rose from the pit of his stomach and took over his mind. They had come so far, they needed to get in. He pounded at the thick glass doors, tried to pry them open and pounded some more, but to no avail.
“Why won't they let us in?” his daughter asked, taken aback by her father's sudden outburst, “Maybe they're closed...” she answered her own question.
He didn't stop.
“Come on daddy. Let's go home.” she tugged at his sleeve.
Suddenly a group of people, all dressed like a SWAT team, approached from inside. The girl fell silent. Her father stopped and stepped away from the doors, taking his daughter's hand once more.
The doors slid open.
“Welcome to IKEA.” they stopped and the one in the middle stepped forwards speaking with a rough female voice, “I am Serena Washington, head of this building.” she shook the father's hand without taking off her glove or helmet.
“George Mata, this is my daughter Liliana.” he replied.
“You're both clean?”
He nodded.
She eyed them sceptically from behind the clear pixeglass helmet, “You'll have to be in quarantine for 48 hours before you can join the community, I assume you'd rather be together?”
He nodded again.
“Very well. Follow me.” she continued as she led them up the stopped escalator, “We're part of the IKEA Plan, part apocalypse contingency plan, part do-it-yourself furniture store. We have our own grid, water supply, several months' worth of food and supplies enough for 100 plus people.” she smiled sardonically, “You'll have to live off of Swedish Meatballs, and there's not much in the way of privacy living with so many people, but at least you're not in the city.”
They stopped in front of a clear class barrier, with a door in it, behind the barrier sat one of those couches that folded out into a bed, pressed against one wall, on the other side of the small “room” there was a small table with a chair. A white curtain made up the back, behind which was a little bathroom
“Sorry for the inconvenience, one can't be too safe.” the woman explained gruffly.
He waved it off, “It's fine, I understand.”
And with that they moved into the room that was to be their home for the next two days. They were able to relax for the first time since the “war” had begun. Though they were far from boredom, he did welcome the occasional visits from others living in the former store, bearing everything from greetings and conversation, to food, to questions and news.
When the quarantine came to an end they were assigned beds among the many that filled the store and were left to adapt to their new life. Everyone rose at will in the morning, went to breakfast where they were assigned their work for the day. The children played under minimal supervision as the adults cycled through the jobs that needed to be done. There was always a lot of time for talking. His daughter soon made friends with the other children, and he found the adults welcoming enough. The power only came on, in the bulk of the store, for a few hours at night, when they watched news.
Life wasn't easy, living so close to so many people without any opportunity to get away, but the arguments that were rampant inside were incomparably better than the war that waged outside.
The half an hour passed quickly between his thoughts and the hypnotic tug of the moving images on the screen, that seemed as distant as a movie, though similar was happening not even an hour's drive away. A glance at the clock told him it had already been 40 minutes.
“Liliana, time to go to bed.” he called out, his voice was temporarily hoarse from lack of use.
“Don't call me that!” she replied, hands on her hips, though the tell-tale grin that spread across her face told another story, ruining the effect.
“Come on, Lil.” he said with a smile.
“Okay.” she stood, hugged her father, and made her way to bed.
She would probably have nightmares that night, as she had ever since their escape and likely would for quite some time to come, but at least they were safe.
RSS Feed