Chapter 8: Jonathon
I move my head close to the windshield and squint. Slowing the car, I try to make out the chaos up ahead. My sister yells something, I don't know what exactly; although the hundreds of young people up ahead may have something to do with it.
The supermarket is a beehive. The windows in the front are shattered and the hungry were hopping over them. It looks like a riot on TV. I bring the car to a stop at the entrance to the parking lot. Other cars fly past us out of the exit. A few groups of people carry bags of food and bottles of water. Some are running. Some are bleeding.
I finally get to the point where I can pick out individuals instead of observing just a mob. Most of them are Jo’s or my age. I see a few children crying off to one side of the entrance and some people fighting directly in front of them. A body lies on the ground– dead. In the middle of the fight before the door, a single boy emerges, yelling. He raises his arm, and fires a handgun into the air. The piercing sound of the gunshot doesn't seem to surprise anyone other than us. The looting just continues. I feel a hand on my shoulder and my heart jumps to my throat. It is one of the twins: Sara. She speaks softly, her eyes gazing at the crowd.
“Are they all fighting for food?” she asks nervously.
“Yes,” I respond. They’re doing more than fighting; they’re dying for food. I don't know what to say. Another gunshot rings through the buzzing air.
I throw the car in reverse and before I know it I am flying away from the mass of people. My father's warning echoed in my ear. That could have ended worse. I should have listened. The rear-view mirror shows Jo soothing both of the twins by running her fingers gently through their hair. Our eyes meet in the mirror and she mouths, “Let's just get there.” I couldn't agree with her more. I nod and we take off down the road, wondering how long it took for the supermarket to go from busy to a complete riot.
The campground is far removed from the city, but it doesn’t take too much longer for us to get there. That market sits on the outskirts of town, so the rest of the drive is primarily highway. Some daylight still remains as we approach the park entrance.
As we pull into the campground, it seems empty. A steel gate blocks the access road and I see the lock hanging from the chain binding the gate’s entrance. Going around it isn’t an option because of the deep ditches and densely packed trees on either side of the road. The ranger station is just beyond this obstacle. The key should be inside.
“I’m going to go see if there’s a key,” I quietly say to Jo and the girls. “Stay here; I won’t be long.”
The sun is going down and the trees cast eerie long shadows against the station’s walls. I walk up the steps and knock on the fading burgundy door of the silver trailer.
No answer. I knock louder. “Hello, is there anyone in there?” I shout into the trailer as I turn the doorknob. The light on the porch projects into the dark room. It seems empty. I feel the wall for a switch. My hand finds the toggle and the lights come on. It's relieving to know the power was still on in some places. Nothing. The room is empty.
I exhale a sigh of relief. Then, I feel a hand grab my ankle.