by P D Platt
Marion’s parents lived in an almost perfect location—a coastal Sea Island, far removed from the city. With the ability to cultivate vegetables and raise livestock, and access to an unlimited supply of food from the ocean, that lifestyle would be sustainable and offer the children a future. It was the future Solomon imagined for his new little family, albeit on the idealistic, utopian side of reality. But hope must exist for human will to flourish.
Although the exact nature of their group’s future wasn’t certain, Solomon recognized the numerous real threats in the present. Besides the new perils that traveling presented, heading to an island without confirming his in-laws were okay was a huge risk in itself. What if another less-than-friendly group had taken over the property? What would their options be then? They didn’t just have to get there; they also had to be prepared to accept whatever they found when they arrived.
Holding on to hope, he prayed that Emily’s grandparents were still alive and unharmed, for obvious reasons and some selfish ones as well. He wanted Emily to have a small piece of her mom back. And only her grandparents could give her that.
___
Karen’s last patient died on March 24. It seemed ironic, but no less sad, that the patients who died last were already on hospice care; those the world had expected to die first. Nothing about this virus—or plague, or whatever you wanted to classify it as—made any sense.
After getting over the initial shock of losing those close to them, people now had the time to reflect, and the survivors’ biggest questions were simple: Why not everybody? Were certain people just lucky—if you wanted to call it that? Was there an endgame or purpose in nature? Or was this just some random, cosmic mistake? Although logical questions, it remained an enigma. But the living had to live, to continue surviving and rebuild a new world.
Giving up was not an option their group considered, so they prepared for their journey. A potentially dangerous one. A trip that only a few weeks ago, they would have made without a second thought. But now, the stakes were higher, dangers multiplied, and everything had become more difficult.
They headed off in their caravan of just two vehicles: Skye’s flashy Bullitt—because you need speed in a scout car, or so she justified—and the new four-door, four-wheel-drive pickup. It towed a camping trailer filled with books, clothing, and boxes of foodstuffs stacked floor to ceiling. The bed of the truck held camping gear, two generators, a dozen jugs of water, five gasoline and eight diesel containers. They used handheld two-way radios to communicate between vehicles.
The pull-behind camper had been Karen’s idea. There were several in Halcyon Place to choose from and they’d picked the most outfitted one their truck could tow.
Solomon drove the pickup, with Karen and Mia joining him in the cab; little Fuzzle rode in the camper to ensure his all-important privacy. Emily and Daveek, of course, begged to travel in the ‘race car’ with Skye. Sammie wriggled his way in there too. Skye had become somewhat of an idol to the children.
Nature had begun to claim back its territory with head-spinning rapidity. Leaves and dirt littered the roads; once-manicured lawns grew wild in the spring sunshine. Deer, no longer afraid of asphalt that previously carried intrusive vehicles, bravely wandered with reckless abandon, gorging on tender shrubs and the untouched lush grasses of abandoned yards. Dogs roamed as packs again, hunting together, allowing instinct to guide them on their singular mission of finding food.
As they passed through the ghostly main street, the ‘Open for Business’ signs displayed in the storefronts bothered Solomon. This was nothing new. Even before all this happened, one of his pet peeves had been the neon lights proudly proclaiming ‘Yes, We’re Open!’ when, clearly, they were not.
“Why can’t they just flip the sign or unplug the lights?” Solomon had complained to Marion on numerous occasions.
She’d simply smiled at him, quietly acknowledging his obsessive perfectionism. “They’re probably just lazy or forgetful, honey,” she’d respond, knowing if she didn’t give him an answer, he wouldn’t let it go. Now many of the signs had been permanently extinguished; others left displaying a lie.
As they drove past the historic homes near the old downtown, an unusual sight caught Solomon’s attention. “Poor man.” Solomon spoke over the radio.
They gazed in silence as they passed a man cutting his lawn, riding his mower at a glacial pace as if wanting to prolong his task. A few days after the Reaping, they would have deemed him foolish, maybe even insane. But now, they recognized his need for normal activity, anything to occupy the mind and anchor the body to reality in light of recent events. Would he be better off using his time and fuel resources on building a sustainable future?
Probably.
But still, they understood.
Their first stop would be the grocery store, a place Solomon had avoided since the Reaping. Like a watering hole in the grasslands, it would attract all sorts of danger. Until now, they’d been content with whatever they could scavenge from their neighbors. But as logic prevailed, they realized it was necessary to stock up in bulk while they could.
Prepare for the long game.
As he’d expected, the store had been targeted hard and early. Using a car as a battering ram, someone had plowed into the front sliding doors, leaving their frames bent and flattened inward and sparkles of shattered glass panels littering the sidewalks and vestibule. Shopping carts lay discarded in all directions. A half dozen abandoned vehicles sat vandalized in the parking lot, two completely burned out. This no doubt explained some of the dark smoke they’d seen pluming early on.
They parked close to the entrance, avoiding the extensive debris field as best they could. Except for circles of buzzards gliding overhead, the world outside was still. They’d not heard any gunfire in days. Plumes of smoke were rare. Distant barking and the crunch of glass underfoot were the only sounds at present.
The plan was for Skye to safeguard everyone outside while Solomon made a quick sweep inside.
“I’ll go see if anything’s left,” Solomon said.
Reaching the door, putrid currents of sourness and rot forced Solomon to pause and affix a bandana around his face: a technique he’d adopted early to subdue the gagging odor of death. This smell was easier to deal with. The stench of a rotting corpse was impossible to forget. Not only the acuteness of it, but the realization that someone’s life had ended and they were now wasting away—never to breathe, think, or talk again—twisted one’s mind. Compared to that, he’d take the smell of a souring refrigerator any day.
He’d made it no farther than the checkouts when a tumble of cans down an aisle froze his footsteps. Darting in its direction, he kept his pistol raised and ready. His flashlight illuminated long aisle after aisle. All were a mess. Boxes and cans lay strewn on the floor, covering them beginning to end.
The clink of a metal can rolling along the tiled floor reverberated for a few seconds and then fell silent. Solomon zeroed in on the section from which the disturbance originated. Steadying his pistol, he swung around the end of the aisle and was confronted by a streaking shadow, magnified by his flashlight’s beam. He sidestepped to center his aim down the aisle then lowered his pistol in relief; it was a just a resourceful raccoon. The plump little fellow screeched and scampered away from him, scattering more canned goods in its wake.
Relaxing his shoulders, Solomon loudly exhaled, pleased with himself that he hadn’t fired a panicky shot at the animal; this proved that his reflexes and instincts were getting sharper by the day.
As he walked back to the front of the store to give the all clear, he heard shouts coming from outside.
“Keep your hands on the wheel!” A man had a handgun pointed at Skye through her half-open car window. Daveek and Emily could be heard screaming in the back seat.
Solomon waved his arm at Karen and Mia, motioning for them to stay put. Crossing in front of his truck, he kept his gun trained on the stranger. “Drop your weapon!”
The m
an’s head jerked toward Solomon. Seizing the opportunity, Skye swung her car door open. It collided with the man’s knees, knocking the gun from his grip.
Solomon prepared to shoot as soon as he was sure of his aim. The kids were too close for him to take any risks. He wanted to place himself between the man and the children. Skye was already out of her car, and with a kick, she sent the dropped gun skittering across the pavement.
“Uncle Kal!” Mia’s voice shrilled across the parking lot.
Caught off guard, at first Solomon didn’t register what Mia was yelling. Skye bent down and picked the little girl up mid-stride—her legs still flailing.
“Uncle Kal. Uncle Kal,” Mia called repeatedly.
Solomon relaxed his aim. “Mia, this man’s your uncle?”
Tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, Mia nodded. When Skye lowered her to the ground, the little girl jumped into the man’s outstretched arms.
“Oh, Mia. I’m so glad you’re okay,” the man said, embracing her in a long hug. Kal turned to face them with Mia in his arms. “I’m Kal Freemont…Mia’s uncle.” Kal took a long pause before continuing “I called by the house…and saw…”
Sobbing loudly, Mia shook her head before burying her face in his neck. Both Skye and Solomon relaxed their stances and stared at the littered pavement around their feet.
“I’m so sorry, Mia,” Kal consoled, “but we’re gonna be okay. Alright?”
Mia peeked up at him and gave the tiniest of nods.
“We’re all so terribly sorry,” Solomon added.
Chapter 22—News
“I read the notes you left at the houses,” Kal explained. “I came to the nursing home and saw your vehicles pulling out. It looked empty, so I followed you.” Kal turned to Skye. “Sorry about pointing the gun at you; you were the first vehicle I came to…I was just trying to protect my niece.”
“No worries. Believe me, I understand…all too well,” Skye responded.
Solomon had forgotten about the notes—one left at Mia’s and the other they’d left at his house, with directions to Skylark. The first note had been more of a gesture encouraged by Emily, giving Mia hope that her uncle might come looking for her. Neither Skye nor Solomon had expected him to still be alive.
Kal explained the world he’d escaped from. “Look, it’s different everywhere. Some places are safe and…well, others are just plain scary. From what I’ve experienced, you should avoid the cities at all costs.” Kal waved his arms as he talked, the sides of his jaw pulsing with tension as he relived the chaos he’d seen. “There are those out there who are enjoying this new world—this lawlessness. Some people are just plain…evil.”
Hungry for information of places beyond their town, the other adults listened to him with interest. None were encouraged by Kal’s account of conditions elsewhere. Their earlier nervous trepidation about traveling quickly transformed into full-blown fear.
“These survivors were once the outliers of society, the ones who didn’t belong in a civilized world. But now they control it using fear and oppression; by employing pure violence. In this new world, the aggressive have become leaders in their own little fiefdoms, and the weak have chosen to join their groups out of self-preservation. It’s either join or be killed,” Kal explained.
“We knew there was random violence, but we had no idea it was that bad,” Solomon said. Placing his hands on his head, he stared up at the clouds in shocked disappointment.
“We’ll find a way, Solomon,” Skye said, resting a hand on his shoulder. She looked back at Kal. “And the interstate? It gets bad, how far down?”
“They’ve blockaded the interstate about twenty miles out of Charleston. It took me by surprise. By the time I realized what was going on, they’d boxed me in. They took everything: my food, survival gear, radio, and my guns and ammo. I was lucky I survived it, and even luckier I didn’t have anyone I cared about with me. They’re killing anyone they deem to be a threat. They took wives, girlfriends—” Kal swallowed hard, choking before he continued. “They took kids, man…they took damn kids…”
Karen jumped in to console this time, embracing him in a hug. “It’s okay. Take your time.”
Kal cleared his throat and continued, “I was lucky; they got distracted by someone shooting from the car behind me. I just started running. Kept running into the wood line. I headed along the edge of the roadway, staying out of sight. Several miles later, I came across an abandoned car, got it working, and drove to my brother’s house—that’s where I got the gun. I knew where he’d stashed it, he hid it, even from his wife. Angela would have never approved…God rest their souls.” Kal crossed his chest and lowered his forehead to his pinched fingers.
“I am so sorry for your loss. We’ve all experienced so much grief. We shouldn’t have to deal with these…these gangs of human garbage on top of it.” Solomon paused before asking a burning question. “It can’t be like this everywhere though. Right?”
“This same basic hierarchy saturates the urban areas all over the country. Possibly all over the world. Entering any urban area’s a bit of a crapshoot,” Kal explained. “They’re attracting people looking for resources, which, in turn, attracts human predators and other lowlifes.”
Solomon interrupted, “And how do you know all this?”
“Shortwave radio—ham radio,” Kal explained. “I’m just a novice though. My girlfriend, Linda, she is…was the expert. She had years of experience—it was her favorite hobby. The irony is she was the prepper, but she was the one who died. I only know what I learned from watching her. Listening to her shortwave radio for days made me realize how bad things are everywhere. After burying her…and my parents, I decided to check on my brother—my only remaining family.” Kal broke down again as the reality of his grief sank in.
“I’m so sorry for all your loss,” Karen said, ever the empathetic one of their group.
“Thank you. I really appreciate that, and I want to thank you all again…for watching out for Mia,” Kal said.
After that brief pause, Solomon continued, “What about the backroads to the coast?”
Skye nudged an elbow into his side.
Kal picked up on the cue. “It’s okay…I’m okay.” He continued telling them what he’d learned of the outside world. “Even some of the rural areas are just as dangerous. Many of those people—the ones who survived—were folk who valued their privacy and freedom to begin with. Now, with this virus thrown into the mix, they’ve become paranoid recluses. Distrustful, ready to kill anyone who enters their property, without a second thought. These folks relish natural order. They’ve grown up in a world where self-sufficiency is seen as a virtue. It’s considered a badge of honor to test their mettle.”
“So, you’re saying the only safe place is suburbia?” Skye asked with a raised eyebrow.
“My point is, if it’s safe here, which it seems to be, this is the best place to be,” Kal said as he shifted Mia in his arms. “You have to focus on those you love that are around you—especially these kids.” Kal wiped at his eyes and smiled. “Fortunately, there are a lot of good people left too; they’re organizing shelters and checking on loved ones for people far away. It’s all being coordinated through the radio. That’s the key to rebuilding a civilized world. Communication leads to cooperation.”
It seemed evident that the ideal place was, in fact, their own neighborhood. The area they knew well—a place they all understood. Kal offered to look for another ham radio operator in the area and use their equipment to make a plea for someone to check on Emily’s grandparents. So, they made their decision. The nursing home would become their stronghold, their headquarters, and new home.
Kal and Mia jumped in his commandeered car, and they formed a mini caravan back to Skylark. They parked the vehicles in the back lot near the delivery area, keeping any temptation out of sight of any passersby. The place needed to retain its present look of abandonment.
Chapter 23—Realizations
As the
bleak news of the outside world sank in, the adults unanimously agreed to fortify Skylark, to hunker down and make it as livable and as sustainable as possible. They knew the bodies in the west wing needed to be dealt with. Reluctantly, they finally completed the gruesome and laborious task, burying all the deceased patients under a patch of ornamental trees that bordered the side of the building.
The next several days consisted of team supply runs, using the new truck to bring in stockpiles of foodstuffs and cases of water. Stores had been looted, but none picked clean. The biggest threat they encountered was animals—both wild and the newly wild varieties. The earlier violence of man seemed to have fizzled out—locally, at least. For now. Maybe the violence had spread farther, thinning itself by necessity.
One of the primary resources needed to maintain a civilized lifestyle was fuel. Not only was it essential for powering the transportation required to collect other necessities, but it also provided the energy to give them all-important electrical power. With electricity, they could use appliances and tools to help build and repair other indispensable items.
In a bid to keep Skylark’s generator running, Skye had secretly been toying with the ambitious idea of commandeering a tanker truck. She’d already formulated the idea of installing hoses to gravity feed fuel into the generator’s fuel tank. Keeping the tank full would be as simple as turning a hand valve. The same system could be used to refuel the pickup. She’d purposely chosen a diesel pickup at the dealership for this very reason. Once they’d checked a healthy supply of fuel off their list, they could begin to think about other long-term solutions for everyday necessities.
Finally, she pitched her idea to Solomon.
He reluctantly agreed. “Okay, but only if we don’t stray too far…If we don’t find something nearby, we scrap the idea. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” she replied.