Chapter 11 – Griff

A week passed in a strange blur of excitement and monotony. Some of the excitement came from piecing together just how they’d found themselves in this unexpected and unprecedented predicament. From radio reports, Griff learned that the blackout was the result of a gigantic solar flare – one that shot into Earth’s atmosphere like a billion hydrogen bombs and took down the power grid in the entire Northern Hemisphere. In a weird way, there was something exhilarating about this, that something so big and radical was going on, something significant enough to rock society to its core and cause a large-scale disruption of the status quo. Everyone knew that the future looked like a big, dried gopher-turd for Generation Z.  Huge debt, failing economies, and global warming were just some of the goodies spread out on the horizon for Griff and his cohort of up-and-comers. So, the thinking went, maybe Mother Nature had stepped in and doled out a queen-size bitch slap to wake everyone up and force change.

With the September days of Montreal still mild, students, now lacking classrooms, self-congregated around the campus’s open spaces, engaging in endless speculation and debate. These self-proclaimed think-tank discussions were often to the accompaniment of soulfully plucked guitar chords or pounded rhythms on a set of hand drums. The impassioned notes punctuated fevered words, then drifted lazily upward and disappeared into the vast, blue skies of early fall. When the sun dipped low, conversation and instruments alike migrated to indoor spaces, often joined by a bottle or smoke along the way to deepen the philosophizing. It was all great fun in those first few days. 

Until it wasn’t. 

It took only a short time for the elevated explorations of the mind to heed the insatiable demands of the body. Store shelves were quickly wiped clean. Disruptions in production and transportation led to severe difficulties in obtaining not only food but also other essentials like soap and toilet paper. That can-do cooperative spirit evaporated faster than a bottle of nail polish remover with the cap left open. Friends started to see one another as rivals when stomachs began growling. A week in, that giddy snow day vibe was mostly gone. Students who could drifted home to families staffed with older, more experienced adults and larger residences with stocked cupboards. 

Griff and Bear longed for the comforts of home, too, but their longings were frustrated by a reality that included an international border and about 2,500 miles of travel – plus the rather discouraging fact that neither one had been able to make any contact whatsoever with their parents back in Phoenix. 

“Maybe we should stay put and volunteer with the Red Cross or CARE,” Bear suggested a few days before, removing the last warm sports drink from their darkened refrigerator. “At least we’d be able to get news about what’s going on and stay fed.”

“And do good and help others,” Griff added.

“Of course, yes, that, too,” Bear said. 

“You’re giving me half of that,” Griff warned, eyeing the bottle in Bear’s hand. 

Bear took a hearty swig and passed him the bottle. 

“We’ll see,” Griff said, swallowing the remaining drink with a few giant gulps. The fact was that Griff wasn’t so sure how they’d do staying in the city. While he spoke passable French, having spent the first twelve years of his life in Montreal, the same wasn’t true for his American best friend. It didn’t pose a problem on campus, where the language of instruction was English, but off-campus was a different story. People were already becoming suspicious of one another, tempers were wearing thin, and impatience was running high. Not being able to communicate would only add another layer of frustration to an already volatile situation. And, besides, Bear, for all his size and power, athleticism, and brains, did not like to work. Griff really hoped they’d be able to speak with their parents back home and form a plan. 

In the meantime, however, they were determined to enjoy themselves as best they could. They partied hard for several days, a desperate kind of partying in which they tried to ignore whispers of the impending end. The partying would stop, the times would change, things would get bad. They both knew these things to be true, although neither voiced them aloud. For the moment, they were happy to push on, full of nineteen-year-old energy, far from home and ripe for a drop more adventure. Their hangout of choice was still the student pub. It was a good place, both for its central location and its well-stocked provisions, though they’d done a good job of draining the kegs in those first few nights, and mice had invaded the kitchen once they’d sniffed out the bags of shredded cheese destined in another life to top the pizzas and nachos of late-night revelers.

Bear and Griff ended up at the pub most nights. In a strange twist of fate, it turned out that Rachel, the Newfoundland blonde of Griff’s as-yet-unrealized dreams, along with her roommate, Maeve, a red-headed firecracker of a gal who could throw back shots almost as fast as Bear, lived in the same student ghetto building that year. The four had become fast friends. At around nine each night, Rachel and Maeve knocked on Griff and Bear’s door, and the foursome set off to the pub. It was all very platonic thus far, four friends having good times. But Griff was always aware of Rachel. He knew where she stood at any given moment, whether she was to his left or his right, felt a thrill if her arm innocently brushed up against his. Some nights, when Maeve and Bear were busy pounding shots, Griff would look up to see Rachel observing the spectacle with a look of amused horror, and he’d catch her eye, shake his head, and they’d share a smile.

It was that smile that was in his mind as Griff made his way along the dark streets back to the pub. He’d stumbled out about a half hour before, his stomach lurching dangerously after consuming warm alcohol in the sweaty, smoky confines of the pub. He’d made a quiet escape in search of some fresh night air, though what he’d found was hardly fresh. Mounds of trash were piled high on curbs, and the breeze carried a distinct odor of rot. But still, the coolness of the night had helped clear his head, cleared it enough so he realized how foolhardy it was to be walking the streets alone, his only weapon the small army knife in his pocket, the last gift given him by his late father, which he carried always, a trusted talisman. Griff fingered the handle in his pocket and glanced around uncomfortably, sensing menace on the street, a foreboding silence interrupted only by an occasional canine howl or distant car horn.

Griff walked fast, retracing his earlier steps to the pub. Standing about fifteen feet away, he could see something had changed. The building, so welcoming the last few nights, ripe with the promise of secret gatherings and youthful laughter, now stood tense and angry. Its stark walls rising from the sidewalk in silhouette against the thin moonlight seemed poised to push curious visitors away. Shadows flickered in the main window, and no music drifted out to the walk. Griff side-stepped the door and peered in the window. Three men in their early twenties wielded baseball bats while Bear, Rachel, Maeve, Evan, and two other people he didn’t recognize sat on the floor with their hands on their heads, looking terrified. 

Well, shit. Griff stepped off to the side of the window and rested his forehead against the brick wall, trying to keep his breathing steady. He was now fully sober and fully alert, adrenaline having displaced alcohol on every sensory receptor in his body. “What do I do?” His brain fired through a list of possibilities, instantly testing and rejecting each until a forceful push between his shoulder blades pinned him against the wall and shook all thought loose from his head.

“Don’t move.”

 With one side of his face flush with the bricks, Griff strained his peripheral vision for a glimpse of his assailant, but all he saw was the business end of a black Louisville Slugger. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just taking a walk,” he said evenly, calling on years of martial arts training to channel the Mushin, or calm state of mind, that would keep him in the present.

“Well, looks like –”

Griff wasted no time. He jerked free and executed a very passable low spinning heel kick, knocking the thug off balance mid-sentence. He swatted the bat away with his right hand, launched a wide left hook to the guy’s face, and then brought him down to the ground with a chokehold. “Looks like what?” 

Griff was breathing heavily, buzzing from a strong cocktail of adrenalin, fear, and surprised elation, trying to figure out his next move, when the pub door burst open. Two guys stood there, one looking wiry and coked-out, the other looking tall as Bear and twice as wide. 

“You shittin’ me, Wayne?” the wiry one asked. “You let this little guy bring you down?”

Griff bristled at the word “little.”

Wayne coughed as Griff loosened the grip on his neck. He spat to the side and wiped his mouth with the back of his jacket sleeve. Rising slowly, he faced Griff, eyes lit with hatred. “Just let me have another go.”

Griff started backing away, his hand reaching inside his jacket pocket for his knife, but was thwarted when a rough hand grabbed his arm, yanked his collar, and dragged him into the bar. “We’re taking this inside.”

The big guy pushed Griff to the floor as the other two followed and locked the door. Griff could see everyone else gathered at the far end of the room. His friends sat in a huddle guarded by another thug with another bat who shouted, “What’s going on?” at Griff’s captors. 

“We found another one outside who wants to join the party,” the wiry one said, delivering a swift kick to Griff’s right flank. Griff tried to get to his feet but was knocked off balance by another kick. He briefly made eye contact with Bear, who shook his head almost imperceptibly, warning, “No.” Griff stayed down for a moment and surveyed the room. A square oak bar surrounded by stools took up the middle of the room. Tables and chairs were scattered about the periphery, most of these having been pushed toward the back to make standing room. The primary source of light came from a tabletop fire bowl with a strong, steady flame. Griff’s gaze shifted to Rachel, seated next to Bear. Her eyes were closed, and she was rocking back and forth, crystalline tear tracks running down each pale cheek.

“People!” the wiry one suddenly shouted into the room. He held his bat over his head and swung it down on the bar. Rachel’s eyes flew open, and several of the others jumped. “Just put your valuables in the pillowcase,” he yelled, tossing a dirty white sack at the group. “Wallets, phones, jewelry – rings, watches, bracelets, everything you got. No holdouts unless you want to get hurt.” He paused and glared menacingly at the group. “No one here has to get hurt tonight if you just follow simple instructions. No one,” he smiled, “except this guy.” On the last word, he kicked Griff again and pointed with his bat toward the group. “Move! Over there! I want them to see what happens to anyone who doesn’t follow the script.” He motioned to grab Griff, but Griff put his hands up in the air. 

“I’m going.” He stumbled to his feet, wincing from the pain in his side, and slowly began to move across the room. He searched his brain for a plan but came up blank. He was in a strange time-warp, everything moving slowly, fear deranging perception. From underwater, he heard Bear shout, “C’mon, dude! Just take what you want and leave us alone!”

“Shut up!” The wiry guy turned toward Bear and raised the bat.

Then, he heard Rachel, soft and beseeching, “Please …” 

The guy guarding the prisoners banged his bat into the floor and took a step toward Rachel. In that instant, Griff swiped a half-filled bottle of Bacardi 151 off the bar and hurled it at the fire bowl. 

“RUN!”

The Bacardi bottle splintered into a thousand shards of glass, and the resultant flame shot like a torch toward the back wall. A noxious smell of smoke and chemicals invaded the air, and then sprinklers began raining down. It was total chaos. Bear trucked the man with the bat and ran for the front door with Griff, Rachel, and Maeve on his heels. 

 They ran full-out down McTavish Street until Bear tripped over a fire hydrant. Groaning, he pushed his chest off the sidewalk and scooted along, finally propping his back against a dark streetlight. Griff silently dropped down beside him, both too out of breath to say anything. Rachel and Maeve remained standing, hands on knees, gulping for air, heads swinging nervously in all directions. 

After a few minutes, Bear finally gasped, “Definitely … not ready … for football opening day.”

Griff caught his breath and looked at the others. “What happened?”

Bear shrugged. “We were having a great time singing and drinking. Then, those four guys walked in through the front door like they owned the place. They said they were the new campus security and that we should get out.”

“That was obviously bullshit,” Maeve chimed in, “and Evan called them on it.” 

“Right,” Bear continued. “They didn’t like that, so they started swinging bats.” 

“Where did the others go when the commotion started? You don’t think anyone’s still in there, do you?” 

“No, I saw Evan and the others running for the back door. I’m sure they made it out.” 

There was a moment of quiet, and then Maeve declared she was going to be sick. She turned from the group and puked off the curb into the empty street while Rachel rubbed her back and held back her hair.

Bear faced Griff, grimacing at the sound of Maeve’s wrenching. “Thanks for saving our lives, by the way. Pretty sure those guys were stoned and drunk, not to mention assholes. Anything could have happened. A couple of them were eyeing Rachel.”

Rachel turned at the sound of her name, and her eyes met Griff’s. She looked so sad and afraid, Griff wanted to reach out and touch her, tell her it was okay now, but the spell was broken by the sound of vomit striking pavement. Rachel dropped her eyes and turned back to tending Maeve. 

“Assholes,” Griff muttered. 

“Hey, so what did you do to that guy outside, anyway?” Bear asked. “Did you pull some of that crazy ninja shit on him?”

Griff’s eyes were watching Rachel’s back. She still hadn’t uttered a word. “Yeah, some pretty crazy ninja shit,” he said quietly.

Maeve, finally emptied out, gave a wet sniff and ran a sleeve across her mouth. “Much better,” she said. “We should move on. It smells like puke here.”

No prodding necessary, Griff and Bear climbed to their feet. Griff gently pulled up his shirt on the left side and checked out the big purple bruise forming on his lower ribs.

“Ouch,” Bear said.

“I guess I’m just lucky they didn’t break anything. I’ll be okay,” Griff said. He groaned slightly as he let the shirt fall back down. Rachel moved beside him. 

“You were pretty brave back there.”

“Well, you know what they say. There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity.” Griff laughed self-consciously.

Rachel, however, did not laugh. “No, you were just brave,” she said. They walked home, the pain in Griff’s side suddenly gone.

The streets were mostly deserted, except for the odd unseen animal that scurried about just outside the beam of their flashlights. They huddled close together with Bear in the lead. After a block or two, he pulled up short and stopped, causing a domino effect behind him. “Turn off your flashlights and look up,” he said. 

Everyone did so. Wispy green bands of light danced through the sky. They started quite faint, then became brighter and brighter. 

“Damn,” Griff whispered. “The Northern Lights. Just like the night before the power first went out.”

“Which means,” Bear continued, “another solar flare and another coronal mass ejection.”

“That’s the second one, right?” Rachel asked. “It’s beautiful. And we don’t even need our flashlights now.”

“Yeah, the second one,” Bear responded absentmindedly, tilting his head. “And listen … hear that?”

They all cocked their ears to the sky. 

“Like firecrackers,” Maeve said.

“The last of the transformers around the city exploding,” Griff said.

Bear’s head fell, his chin to his chest, staring at the sidewalk. “I think that’s it for the grid. There won’t be anything coming online anytime soon.”

***

Once they’d arrived back at the apartment, thoroughly drained and exhausted, Griff and Bear said goodnight at the fourth floor, leaving Rachel and Maeve to continue their trek to the sixth. They locked their door and lit a candle on their cheap coffee table, then dropped heavily onto the couches and stared at the flames. “What a night,” Bear finally said.

“What a night,” Griff repeated.

“Hey, man, you want an aspirin or something for your ribs? You’re gonna be pretty sore tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’ll get it,” Griff said.

“No, stay right there.” Bear walked into the bathroom, penlight in hand, rummaged around for a minute, and came back with two aspirin in hand. 

Griff gulped them down without water. “It’s only going to get worse, isn’t it?”

“We both knew it was just a matter of time. We’re going to need to make a decision.”

Griff didn’t say anything. He kept his eyes on the light, mesmerized by the flame. He remembered Rachel beside him on the street. No, you were just brave.

“Earth to Griff?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just wish we could get in touch with our folks back home.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Bear agreed. “Still no cell service,” he mumbled, looking at the watch on his wrist, same one Griff wore on his. “Y’know, I sure as hell am glad those guys didn’t end up taking these,” he said. “That would’ve sucked.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. Soon, he was asleep. 

“’Night, bro,” Griff said softly. He stayed still for a few more moments, knowing he should get up and head to bed, but his body felt too heavy. His eyes fluttered a few times and closed, and then –

BUZZ! 

His watch suddenly sprang to life, the vibration startling him alert. Bear jumped up at the same moment, clutching his left wrist with his free hand. 

“What the …?”

The face on Griff’s watch lit up, revealing a large fingerprint on the LCD screen where the time would normally be. He touched his index finger to the print, and the LCD screen changed. From the sharp intake of air on the other couch, Griff could tell Bear had done the same thing. There was a message: 

Children,

The CMEs are just the beginning

Things will get much worse

You must gather as five

And let us guide you

Bear and Griff looked at one another at the same time. “What the hell is this?” Bear asked.

“A message?” Griff answered.

“Well, no shit. But what the –”

Griff had stopped listening and was focused back on the watch. The message was gone, and five names appeared in its place, each one written in different colors. Griff tapped on one and waited. He could hear a low hum, and then a voice said, “Hello? Who is this?”

“Alice?”