Heat

1

“These are decisions we should be making together!” Ibón shouted at the wall, because he can never look me in the eyes when he was angry, apparently even in dire situations like this.

He kicked the table in front of us and a cloud of dust glimmered across the sun rays. I turned to the window behind him, seeing the unknowing waves draw back to leave a long desert of white sand. The only boat in view bobbed by the half-wrecked dock, the two occupants shielding their eyes to look out for us.

“I know we just met them, but this is our only chance to get to the mainland. We need to get out of the Keys” I responded, trying to stifle the terror in my voice.

He ran his hands through his hair and then his beard.

“It’s been 24 hours,” I continued. “Route 1 is completely blocked off. The stores are already halfway picked clean. People are fighting. There’s nothing for us here.”

“Fuck.” He said while beginning an anxious pace. “Dios mio, Eva. I was trying to figure out how to keep us safe here.”

I tied my hair into a bun and started to collect what I could from the apartment to throw into our backpacks – socks, t-shirts, water bottles… toothpaste? Is that something you should have in an apocalypse?

“Just help me” I said over stifled tears.

He nodded and I tossed his backpack towards him. He gave a hard sigh before walking to the refrigerator dripping with melted ice. We worked silently, likely not the best idea seeing as it meant we didn’t know what each other were packing, but the adrenaline was coming back and emotions were high. We both knew if we kept talking we’d waste more time fighting.

When finished gathering what we could, we threw our lumpy packs over our sweaty backs. We rushed out of the apartment towards the boat, the sun blazing down on us while we awkwardly stumble-ran through the sand.

“Jesus Christ, you guys! We’ve got to go NOW!” shouted our new captain, while grabbing our arms to pull us on board.

Paul and Wendy, the boat owners, had promised to take us to the outskirts of Miami. They were the only two people we’d come across since the power outage that weren’t crippled with fear or ready to fight. We’d all been waiting in a line outside the Key West police station to use the island’s only landline phone when gunshots broke out. All of the nearby police ran towards the sound, and Ibón had used the distraction to grab what he could from the nearby gas station. As the rest of us ducked behind a dumpster, which is when they told me about their boat, and I struck a deal that we’d help keep us all safe with our “survival skills”, which I most certainly overstated.

The boat shook into life as the motor turned on.

“Wait! Take me with you! Por favor!” shouted a woman running down the beach, wearing a torn tunic and only one shoe. “I’ll do anything!”

But we were already too far out. Paul had told us our fuel would last exactly the length of the trip. His head was cranked at an unnatural angle away from the beach; I could tell he was trying to pretend he didn’t hear her screams.

Her final “Please!” was drowned out by the sound of the motor now going at full speed. I teared up and felt Ibón’s hand on mine, our bright and shiny wedding bands clinking as they touched.

“Some honeymoon” I mumbled with an attempt at a smile, which felt more like the face I make after stepping in mud. I’d always thought my humor would help us feel better in an emergency situation. It didn’t. Ibón’s try at a smile was worse than mine, almost like he was running out of oxygen and drifting away into space. 

We looked out at the turquoise ocean to see a few dolphins jump through the surface. They were probably glad about all of this going on: humans having to live without the comfort of convenience. Having to be active to survive instead of relying on a powered world.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I had to remember not to jump to any worst-case scenarios just yet. It would cloud my judgement.

“The radio” I croaked at Paul, my throat already dry from my rationing of water.

He nodded, seemingly surprised he hadn’t thought of it. The channel was in Spanish. I could only understand a few words, but Ibón listened intently.

Verdad… truth, seguro… safe, adentri… inside, tres dias… three days.

I wiped my sweaty face with a hotel towel while he translated for Paul and Wendy. This was what I’d always feared. A power outage that might burn our world faster than kindle in a fire.

“It doesn’t sound that bad, actually” Wendy said while fanning her shirt. “Three days without power, we can do that. We could even just stay on the boat!”

Ibón looked away out to the sea and I knew calculations were forming just like mine. What were our resources? How were we feeling? Could we trust this couple not to start losing their minds?

“We don’t have enough water, so we’d have to do at least one supply stop. And if it ends up going longer…” I trailed off while imagining how quickly things would escalate.

“I doubt it will. And I’m sure when we get to Miami there will be free food and water handouts, you know, like from the government” Paul said dismissively.

I could see Ibón wince. The cynic in him was shifting into first gear. Our experience with the government had been extremely tattered by immigration issues; after years of excruciating long distance, we’d finally decided to just get married so he could move here. We had wished we could have had more time to plan our own engagement and wedding, something intimate and peaceful. Instead, we were shoved into the bright light in front of our family and friends, at a wedding his family planned that was more extravagant than anything else I’d ever experienced. I still felt the adrenaline and anxiety of it all, almost overpowering the feelings about our current situation.

As I zoned back in, I caught the last of Paul’s proposed plan. “… so while I’m getting the fuel, Ibón and Eva, you can go get food and water. Wendy will stay here with the boat.”

I jerked my head towards him “You’re leaving her here alone? What if someone comes to take it? And food and water could take hours. Every single store that sells any kind of beverage will have lines around the block...”

Paul shrugged and started to take off his drenched shirt. “No way. I mean just go to a like, CVS or something. People won’t think of those yet. And Wendy will be fine. She knows karate!”

I got up to get closer to them, so they could see in my facial expression how serious this situation was.

“Guys, it’s quite literally going to be like the Wild West wherever we go-”

“The Ritz.” Ibón said dryly before I could finish. 

They looked at each other and furrowed their dripping brows. I could tell that they were hitting a peak of what they could mentally comprehend today. Myself, I saw Ibón’s suggestion before he was going to say it. It was the only place that might not be chaotic.

“My parents, they stay there. Not right now, but the staff knows them well.”

Both of their faces paused in an unmoving state. Ibón looked off into the sea again, feeling the pain of having to use his family’s wealth, even in a situation like this.

“The Ritz-Carlton in Key Biscayne, outside of Miami. The people will be… se dispera…”

“Scattered” I helped. “He’s right. No one’s going to be thinking about luxurious hotels during a time like this, and they will be heavily guarded. Guests will be staying in their rooms expecting to be taken care of by the staff. Ibón will be able to get us in, and we can probably stay there for at least the night.”

Paul raised his shoulders to Wendy and they both nodded in approval. Ibón pointed to the location on the boat’s map, and we sped on.

Wendy went up to stand with Paul and Ibón sat next to me, the shadows in his angular face looking darker than ever.

“I’m worried, Eva. What is if this is it? El fin?”

I paused to gather my thoughts, knowing what I said next would probably be even more important than the vows I’d spoken last week. I grabbed his hand.

“It won’t be, for us. No matter what happens, we’ll figure it out.”

It seemed so simple, maybe even naive, but it was something I’d said before and I thought that familiarity might give him ease. He nodded and we both looked over to what we could see of the land to our left. It was mostly barren. We saw a few streams of smoke rising from scattered parts of the beach, a small group of young people fighting and an old man filling a bucket with water. If they hadn’t been wearing bright beach gear, you’d really think it was the Wild West.

2

The ride to Key Biscayne went by slowly with the molten rays attacking our skin. We were already low on water, even with my persistent rationing, I knew this would become dire if things didn’t go well at the Ritz.

We pulled up as the sun was finally making its way to the other side of the world, and we all freshened up with towels, wet wipes, and a bottle of Wendy’s perfume.

“Let me do the talking” Ibón said as we pulled up to the only dock for the hotel, manned by a guard that clearly had a weapon.

“Hola,” he started, before gauging from the guards reaction that he’d prefer we spoke in English.

“I’m Ibón Sanchez-Garcia. Son of Rico and Maria. They stay here often and are friends with Marcos, the manager.”

The guard nodded and walked away to speak into his walkie-talkie. After a very long minute, he came back and simply gave another nod, this time towards the hotel.

After a moment of stunned silence, we gathered our things and started making our down the windy path past the white lawn chairs and palm trees quietly swaying in the wind.

The hotel was silent, almost like someone had hit pause in a movie. The indoor heat felt almost wet in contrast to the days’ dry scorch. The orange setting sun was the only major light source, with small candles placed throughout the crème-colored lobby.

A disheveled waiter came out with a tray of appetizers that looked rushed: warm chicken salad on pieces of lettuce, browning guacamole and a few chips, and grapes on skewer sticks. All four of us exchanged a look of surprise but quickly started devouring what we could. I couldn’t believe how hungry we’d already gotten. We refilled our bottles from a nearby glass jug and took long sips to quench our parched throats.

Afterwards, we all sat down at a small table and sighed in relief. At least we had somewhere to stay for now. Somewhere quiet and safe.

“El vaquero!” Marcos exclaimed as he rounded the dark corner into the candlelight.

The cowboy. Ibón had told me this was his nickname among his family’s social circle due to how much hiking and traveling he’d done. His “rugged” adventuring was deviation from their luxury vacationing.

They embraced in a hug and started a conversation in Spanish that seemed to go quickly from cheerful to extremely concerned. Paul and Wendy fiddled with their packs and I tried to sit still and calm down despite feeling suffocated by the indoor smog.

After a while Ibón came back towards us with a lethargic gait. He sat down and folded his arms across his chest.

“It’s not good. Things seem peaceful now because the guests are inside their rooms for curfew. But some have become dangerous. One in particular says we should start an Army.”

“An Army?!” Paul spat out along with some of his water. “Why in God’s name-“

“He’s an ex-veteran that stays here every once in a while. Been known to have issues with some of the other guests. Really big ego…”

“So we just avoid him then” Wendy said anxiously.

“It’s not really that easy. Marcos said the day has spiraled into near chaos and it was difficult to get the guests to stay in their rooms...”

“But we can just stay in ours. Wait this thing out…” Wendy said faintly.

Paul abruptly stood up, panicked. “It’s only going to be a few days! How bad can it be! There’s no way it could get worse-“

“It can get VERY bad!” I found myself shouting and also jumping out of my chair. “It could get extremely lawless, very quickly! Don’t you understand…” Ibón shot me a look and I stopped before I went into full panic mode. I plopped into one of the velvet sofa chairs, immediately drenching it in my sweat.

“We’ve got to remain calm-“ Ibón began, but the conversation was cut off by a loud siren coming from the radio. It blasted across the hall, seemingly shaking it.

"..energía… cortada… todo Estados Unidos… Indefinidamente."

The power was out for the entire United States. Indefinitely. 

There was silence throughout the lobby. The only movement was the candlelight on the tall walls. The thick air was almost solid in anticipation, as if before a shootout in a saloon. After a few minutes we started to hear chatter from the rooms down the hallways, that got louder and louder.

“We gave all the occupants emergency radios…” Marcos said quietly…

It all happened so fast. It started with Wendy’s shrill scream as a man ran into the halls in a frenzy, pocket knife flailing in the air.

“This is the end! We need a soldier to lead!” His hair was matted down from sweat and his clothes were torn. His eyes were wild with adrenaline, mixed with confusion and fear. He had lost his mind.

“You! You just keep us trapped in our cells! You’ve got to go-“

He ran at Marcos like his life depended on it and was just able to get the knife in his side before the guards’ bullets hit him. He fell to the ground in pain and shortly after was cuffed and dragged down one of the dark hallways by the guards. Ibón grabbed a napkin from one of the tables and ran over to put it on the knife wound.

I couldn’t tell who was screaming louder: Marcos, the man or Wendy. Paul patting her back as if she were a sick dog.

I couldn’t move.

3

Marcos loosened his grip on his wound, knowing it was fatal.

“El vaquero… lock him in room 306. It’s the farthest away. You’ve got to be in charge now. Keep everyone safe.”

“Marcos, no. ¿Pero cómo? I.. I don’t know how to do that!”

I looked around and realized he was the only one that could. Even the guards around were very shaken up, not able to make eye contact with any of the rest of us. Shuffling back and forth in confusion.

“Marcos…”

He drifted away exactly like in a movie scene. The hotel was silent again. None of us dared looked away from the two of them for what felt like hours.

Ibón eventually got up and walked over to me. “We’ve got to talk.”

“O-okay” I was able to get out, throat drier than midday sand.

We walked around the dark corner into an office area, the computers now looking like relics given the situation. The noises from the guest rooms were getting even louder and we could hear guards shouting in Spanish.

He paced back and forth and then slowed to a stop and sat on a desk chair.

He began his usual “coming to terms” routine – hands through the hair and then beard. Looking off into the distance, the prominent angles of his face silhouette against the candlelit wall.

“He was right. Soy el único. I have to take charge. Soy el único… I’m the only one… ”

I walked over to embrace him and then pulled back to hold his face in my hands. This time, I wanted to comfort him with a new phrase, for the new version of him that had just been born. He was already no longer the sweet, quiet, introspective adventurer. Any privilege from his wealthy upbringing dismantled. This man was now a leader. And I knew it had to be my mission to support him.

He was the protagonist.

“El valiente vaquero,” I said without a single crack in my voice.

 The brave cowboy.