by Anna Dove
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
The three young escapees sat on the carpeted floor of the Arlington apartment, a candle on the counter to their right. They stared in front of them with a sort of dullness.
“We can’t stay here,” said Haley. The candle flickered and spasmed, casting shadows on their faces.
“No, we can’t,” agreed Elizabeth. “The grocery stores will be empty by the end of the night--and the risk is so high in the congested areas. We shouldn’t risk going to get more; we would be risking our lives. We need to move to where we can sustain ourselves.”
“Let’s go north,” responded Haley after a moment, her eyes watching the flame as it danced. “That’s what we need to do. If we can make it up to my family’s house in Havre de Grace, we can join with them. If they haven’t been hit, fine--if they have, it doesn’t matter as much. They have access to farms and my mother has a giant garden and chickens. There are sustainable, reliable food sources up there, and my family knows how to survive without depending on infrastructure.”
“How far is it?” asked Carlos, and Elizabeth nodded.
“It’s two and a half hours by car.”
“We can’t drive,” pointed out Carlos. “Electric cars won’t work. Even if we could, we wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the roads.”
Haley paused, thinking. The candle lept and danced as if it were alive. A drop of wax dripped off the side and onto the carpet.
“What other modes of transportation would be safe? And off the road? And faster than walking? If we walk, we risk encountering bands of people larger than our group.”
“Horses,” said Elizabeth. Haley’s gaze snapped up.
“Can you ride?” Elizabeth asked Carlos.
“I know how,” he responded. “I haven’t in a long time but I’ll manage. I agree, that’s the fastest, safest way to work through the woods and fields.”
“Where will we find them, though?” asked Haley.
“I used to ride at a farm nearby,” answered Elizabeth quietly. “We take them from there at night.”
Elizabeth and Haley had both grown up riding. Elizabeth was the better of the two, having ridden competitively for years, but Haley was by no means elementary in skill. Her grandmother Junetta owned horses, and although Haley had not ridden for ribbons, a significant portion of her childhood and teenage years had been spent on the wide back of her grandmother’s favorite Palomino. Junetta, Haley and their horses traipsed the trails around Junetta’s woodland property, jumping fallen trees, wading rivers and streams, stopping to gather rose hips for holiday arrangements, snapping holly sprigs for Christmas wreaths. Junetta had taught Haley how to mount without a fence or block, how to guide with one’s legs and heels, how to balance naturally with the rhythm of the walk, trot or canter, how to duck a low branch or guide the horse around a log too high to jump. Brief memories flashed in Haley’s mind’s eye: Junetta, in a brown sweater, feeding a carrot to her horse and laughing, the wrinkles appearing merrily under her eyes and around the corners of her mouth. Junetta, holding up a sassafras root and explaining how one could make tea from it. Junetta, naming the different types of horses and remarking on the history of breeding.
“We need to go to Annapolis first,” Haley said abruptly. “My grandmother is there.”
Elizabeth took a breath and paused, and then touched Haley’s hand comfortingly.
“Haley, we must focus on our own survival first.”
“No, no! It’s not like that. Trust me, she’s an asset to us. She’s a botanist, an herbalist, a survivalist. She lives on a farm that doesn’t use electricity. She has horses and cultivates a garden every year. She lives a few miles west of the Harbor. If we go there first --plus, it’s much closer, we can change horses and bring her with us. She will be invaluable in learning how to find food and distinguishing the best survival methods.”
“I think that would be wise,” asserted Carlos, as Elizabeth nodded and withdrew her hand.
“The Harbor,” said Elizabeth musingly. “I taught sailing lessons. Where does the Harbor open into?”
“It’s on the Severn River, actually. Which opens into the Chesapeake Bay. Do you think you could sail us north up the Chesapeake? It meets the Susquehanna River after a while, which borders the property my family lives on,” said Haley quickly, the map of the excursion forming in her head.
“Yes, I could,” responded Elizabeth. “But we could only sail by night. Too exposed in the day.”
“Right,” added Carlos. “We can sleep in the day with rotating watch assignment and then continue in the dusk and dark.”
“Should we begin tonight?” queried Elizabeth.
“Absolutely not. Too much chaos.”
“When, then?”
“Three or four days, I think. We are relatively safe here. Let everything die down a little.”
His choice of words was sobering and for a few moments they all sat, remembering the horror of earlier.
“I’ll take the night watch, from ten to six, and you both can sleep,” said Carlos, with a sigh. “I’m far too awake to sleep anyway. I see the one handgun. Are there others?”
“Yes, a rifle and a handgun in my room,” responded Elizabeth. “I’ll take the watch after that, and you can sleep, Carlos, while Haley and I plan our exact route.”
That night, the two women slept only fitfully, tossing and turning. Their bodies and minds could not help but sleep after having been awake for forty eight hours and experiencing surge after surge of adrenaline come and go like the waves on the shore. Images flashed through their minds as they passed from consciousness to dreams; a woman inside her silver Honda struggling to open the crushed door; a little boy in a red baseball cap wrapping his arms around his father’s leg as they both watched the planes fall; a woman in a black dress and no shoes running towards the monuments; a small group of teenage girls huddled together, staring at useless phone screens. Smoke, broken glass. Twisted metal, cries.
Haley awoke at five past five, and for a few seconds she forgot about it all, and laid on her back looking up at the ceiling, her mind and body adjusting to the feelings of consciousness. There was a delicious lightness in the air, a softness of the dawn ready to break into daylight. She turned to her left, and there was Elizabeth, asleep--a rush suddenly of memories--a horrible realization that it hadn’t been a dream.
Sick to her stomach, she sat up, and slid out of bed. Pulling a pair of sweatpants on and an oversize t-shirt, she tread on the carpet softly, careful not to wake her friend.
In the living room, which adjoined the kitchen only separated by a partial island counter, sat Carlos with the handgun by his side. He seemed deep in thought; his chin propped on his hand and his finger traced invisible patterns on the floor.
“Carlos,” said Haley softly, so as not to startle him. He looked up, with a remarkably sad expression in his dark brown eyes. There were tears hidden in their corners and his eyebrows were drawn downwards.
“Morning,” he said stiffly.
“I can relieve you,” she said.
“Sure,” he replied. “Where’s Elizabeth? I don’t want to bother her.”
“Sleeping in her room--take mine. First door on the left.”
He disappeared, and Haley took the handgun, laying it on the counter. She took a bottle of water from the pack that Elizabeth always insisted on buying. Previously having dismissed Elizabeth’s penchant for bottled water as unnecessary, she now realized how fortunate it was. There was plenty to last them until their departure.
She checked their food cabinet: bread, peanut butters, rice, lentils, granola, and a few other items. Good. They would need nutrient and calorie dense foods.
Next, from the bookshelf in the living room she pulled the map of Maryland. Haley had not yet used the map; she had a good idea as to where most cities and towns in the state were, and knew the major highways; but of course these were all now to be avoided. She unfolded the map and stretched it out onto the floor, placing the
handgun next to it within easy reach.
Her finger rested on Pentagon City, their current location. A web of roads and highways stretched around them, branching in every direction. To their east was the populated part of Arlington; to their north the formidable Pentagon, which would surely not be wise to approach. They would first have to go southeast, to cross the river into Maryland below Anacostia. She saw a wooded area stretching northwards to the east of Anacostia. There, they would be able to ride.
It would be best if they cut across northeast to the Chesapeake Bay, and then followed it up to Annapolis. The only major road to avoid would be Route 50, which they could cross at night. The other areas were small towns and wooded areas, which would be passable. Once they arrived at the Chesapeake, they could sail directly northwest to the Susquehanna River.
“Haley?”
Elizabeth entered from the hall. She came to her friend and sat down quietly.
“I’m planning,” said Haley, and briefed Elizabeth quickly on her ideas.
“Sure,” agreed Elizabeth. “You know, I used to ride at a horse farm near Waldorf.” She pointed to the map. “It’s on our way, and I know we could find horses to ride there.”
“Is there much chance that we would be caught?”
“No, the barn is a little ways off. I mean, you can see the house from it, but I think it will be feasible.”
+
Sunrise, little beams of hopeful light pushing through the blinds. Falls in a slanted pattern on the carpet. Birds begin to sing in the eerily quiet complex, audible outside the window. One person on watch, one eating, one sleeping. Noon comes, they rotate, turning like the hands of a clock to their duty. One on watch, one eats, one sleeps. The afternoon, and now the sunlight softens and slants the opposite way. It fades, it morphs with the shadow, as evening comes, and then a new shift--one watches, one eats, one sleeps.
Order is comforting. In the incomprehensible chaos it is reassuring to know that you will be able to eat soon, or you can go to sleep, or you must sit by the door with a gun in your hand. There is order, and structure, that can offer stability so desperately craved. Even if this stability is in a sense perfunctory, it still helps psychologically, the knowledge that you must do something next.
For the following few days, the three took turns watching, eating and sleeping. They moved quietly and spoke in hushed tones. Their door was locked and bolted, and an extra gun, on safety but loaded, was hidden under a pillow nearby. They did not want to take any chances.
The second day passed in the same manner, and the third. The bathrooms had begun to smell as there was no running water, and the three were becoming nervous of increased unrest in the city. The apartment had lost much of its position as a place of solace. They knew that they could not remain much longer.
On the fourth day, the sun set at 7:23 pm, although they did not know the time. As the last of its rays disappeared over the horizon, Haley, Elizabeth and Carlos slipped silently from the apartment and ducked into the woods behind. They were armed, and carried small packs of nutrient-dense food and essential supplies (two pocketknives, some twine, a heavy load of ammunition, and matches). There gnawed a certain tightness, a dull anxiety, in the pits of their stomachs, and they felt as if suddenly they were very exposed, very vulnerable. The trees seemed extraordinarily tall and the sky seemed extraordinarily high as they trod up the hill into the woods.
The cool air refreshed their faces. The heat had faded with the setting of the sun, and they walked with their jackets on, single file with Carlos in the lead and Haley in the rear. Every ten minutes they would stop briefly and listen for sounds of other people, but all they heard were the light twittering of birds, the croaking and sputtering of insects, and the crunch of the branches and leaves under their own feet. They set their direction southeast, towards the Potomac, following south Arlington Ridge road in the wooded area to the left of it. Crossing south Glebe road, they scrambled back into the woods to the side of Mt. Vernon road, and cut due east until they found the Four Mile Run river, where they followed the wooded bank, keeping close to the shadows of the tall oaks. They waded into the river to cross under Route 1 and the George Washington Parkway, and then soon found themselves at the mouth of the river where it meets the Potomac. By this time, all sunlight had faded completely from the sky and the stars had entered the heavens. The river flowed softly as they approached. It was wide but the current was calm.
To their immediate left, or north, lay Reagan International Airport. They could still smell the odor of gas and smoke, and Haley shivered. She was glad that the moon had fallen behind some clouds, and that there was no light in which to see the airport wreckage.
They continued south, now along the wooded bank of the Potomac. In twenty minutes they had come to Washington Sailing Marina.
The masts of the boats swayed gently in the movement of the water, solemnly rocking to and fro. The travelers stopped for a moment and watched as the starlight reflected softly off the glistening white bows. The boats swayed as if in a somber dance, their slim masts reaching to the heavens and their ropes tightening and then falling lax as the current dictated. It was quite beautiful, and Haley felt a little tension relax in her body as she watched.
Carlos stepped forward and the young women followed. The trio descended onto the wooden planks of the dock, to which the boats were tied.
“Here,” said Haley softly, motioning to a rowboat. “No sail. Less visibility.”
Filing into the tiny rowboat, they stepped gingerly as it swayed under their weight. Haley tucked her bag in the back and grabbed an oar, sitting on the wooden seat towards the stern. Carlos took the other oar, seating himself on the other seat, and Elizabeth sat between them. Carlos untied the boat from the pier, and threw the rope overboard.
“Row,” he muttered.
Under the cold light of the moon, the rowboat slipped from the pier towards the opposite bank. The Potomac flowed steadily, and Carlos and Haley carefully corrected the direction of the rowboat, keeping its bow pointed at the opposite bank. The dark water ripples around their oars, and the sound of the little splashed and pulls were the only noises to be heard.
Before long they neared the opposite shore, Maryland. They increased the speed towards land, pulling long strokes on the oars, forcing the bow up onto the grassy land in a sudden halt. Elizabeth jumped into the shallow water and pulled the boat the rest of the way onto land; Haley and Carlos stepped onto the grass. There was no movement around them; they were landed on a grassy knoll that sloped into the woods.
“Let me take the front,” responded Elizabeth. “I think I can find the farm from here.”
She stepped to the front, and Carlos put Haley in the middle.
“Let me take the rear,” he said, and Haley gladly accepted.
The trio began into the wooded area. It was not thick with trees but rather a light forest, filled with maples and oaks and fortunately few brambles and low bushes. They traipsed easily through, their eyes straining for movement and their ears trained for any sound. All they could hear was the crunch of the leaves below their feet, the chirping of the spring peepers, and the soft whispering of the wind in the foliage.
The moon rose higher in the sky, casting a strange luminescence in between the shadows of the trees. It was the first time in a long time that any of them had been awake at this hour in the woods. Haley realized that she had forgotten the quiet woodland night air, the fresh breeze, the cool light, and the sense that the world was still very awake at this hour, though in a different way, awake as if stealthily biding its time until morning, breathing in and out in quiet watchfulness.
It crossed her mind that they were very fortunate. How many would be dead by now--killed in fighting over necessities. Water, food. Medicine. The hospitals.
She didn’t want to think any more about that, and so she forced herself onto a different topic. Anything--what could distract? Wilderness survival techniques. There’s a useful thing to think about. The
Swiss Family Robinson...hadn’t they made explosives out of coconuts? Maybe that was the movie, not the book. To beat the pirates? That wasn’t so useful here--no coconuts, no pirates. What else had they done? They had built a treehouse, an extravagant sprawling one by the pictures. Had they also killed a tiger? Oh--a better guide, the Survivor’s Handbook that she and her brothers had poured through when they were younger, fantasizing about how they would use all of these techniques when they were inevitably stranded on a desert island or in a deep jungle. They had romanticized survival, and had even played at it in the woods behind their house, sewing leaves together with thin grass thread, building fires and forts, gathering berries--but not the poke berries. Poke berries would kill you. So they made ink, and found bird feathers, and sharpened the tips and made quills and the most rich purple ink that somehow ended up all over their hands and faces and hair.
Elizabeth suddenly stopped and threw her arm out to the side. The others stopped too, their hearts racing.
“Farm,” she muttered under his breath, barely audibly. “The barn is off to our left, but be very quiet—it is within view of the house. Follow me.”
The three crept forward. Soon they were at the end of the wooded area, facing a fenced pasture. A barn and a house sat not fifty yards from them, clearly visible by the light of the moon. Haley wished that she could simply be pretending that this was all true, romanticizing survival and playing make believe in her backyard with her brothers. Instead, it was terribly and frighteningly real.
They moved from the shadows of the woods into the pasture and approached the barn cautiously, slipping through the fence, stepping lightly on the grass on the balls of their feet, holding their breaths. The moonlight illuminated the ground, casting a faint iridescent glow on the specks of dew that were appearing in the frosty midnight air. No birds sang, no bugs flitted about. The chill of the April night crept up their necks to their cheeks, nipped their noses, and made their eyes glassy. Haley kept her hand on the handle of her gun, watching the doors and windows of the farmhouse as they approached the adjoining barn. All was dark inside; not a soul stirred.