by Bowman, Dave
She didn't like any of those options. Annie couldn't count on anyone to help them anymore. Not since the EMP and nuclear attacks had made everyone just about go crazy. The EMP – the electromagnetic pulse that had destroyed the electrical grid and rendered most vehicles useless – had started the mass panic, and the nuclear attack had sealed the deal. They were living in social collapse, and it wasn’t pretty.
No one could be trusted, especially not the lying attempted murderer drooling on himself in the grass. And besides, Annie doubted Charlotte could walk very far with her injury. Certainly not over a hundred miles to Jack’s family house.
It would be up to Annie to figure out how to get them home.
She moved toward the car and opened the passenger door, kneeling at Charlotte's side. Her friend frowned, then slowly opened her heavy eyes.
Charlotte blinked at her a moment, confused at first. Then everything sunk in all at once, especially the pain. She screwed her face up.
“Ow,” she murmured as she shifted in her seat.
Annie checked her wounds. There had been some seepage overnight. She grabbed her supplies – she’d have to change the bandages. But first, they’d have to do something for the pain.
It seemed to Annie that there was an art to pain management. If they stayed on top of Charlotte's pain, making sure it didn't get too out of control, they could manage it. But if they let the pain go too long, it was harder to bring it back down. Charlotte had already waken up three times in agony. The biggest problem was that the only painkillers they had were ibuprofen and vodka.
"Another swig?" Annie asked, reaching for the bottle of the alcohol.
"Sure," Charlotte said, grimacing. "Hair of the dog and all. I'm practically hungover from yesterday."
Annie helped her take a drink, then capped the bottle. Annie used some of their limited water supply to wash her own hands, then began changing Charlotte's dressings.
"Is the cowboy still unconscious?" Charlotte asked, flinching as Annie removed the gauze over the entrance wound.
"Yep," Annie said. "Out like a light."
"Good. But I still think we should shoot him."
"We may have to," Annie said, glancing over at him. She took a deep breath. "Listen, I'm thinking about going to check out that farm he was talking about."
Charlotte looked at her. "What, now? You can't leave me alone here!"
"I won't be gone for long. And I'll leave the pistol with you," Annie said. "If he wakes up and gives you any trouble, just shoot him."
Charlotte scoffed. "We both know how well that went the last time."
"Yeah, but now you'll be ready. Last time you hesitated. Now you're mad. I don't doubt that you have it in you to pull the trigger this time."
"Well, that's for sure," Charlotte said bitterly. "But why do you want to go on a wild goose chase after some imaginary farm, anyway? Harvey was probably lying about having a family farm down the road. He lied about everything else."
"True, but there's bound to be some kind of homestead around here," Annie said, frowning as she cut a new length of gauze from the roll. "Maybe they have some equipment that would help us. Or a couple of people to help push."
Charlotte laughed skeptically. "Or to shoot us both."
"I know it's risky, but I don't have a lot of options," Annie said. "You can't walk, can you?"
Charlotte shot her a look.
"I didn't think so," Annie said. "And we can't stay here for a week while you recover. We don’t have enough water or food. And what if another guy like Harvey shows up?"
Charlotte chewed on her lip. She sighed. "I guess you're right. You’re always right.”
Charlotte glanced at the pistol, and Annie knew she was thinking of their run-in with the psychopath, Dan, the other day. Annie had never wanted to get in Dan’s car. She had never trusted him. And in the end, her instincts had been correct.
“Just be careful, okay?” Charlotte pleaded. “And don't stay gone too long."
"I won't. And you'll have to stay awake while I'm gone. I need you to be alert in case he wakes up. Do you think you can do that?"
"Knowing that I'm alone with him," Charlotte jerked her head toward Harvey, "I couldn't sleep if I tried."
Annie nodded, then moved on to the exit wound on Charlotte's back. Charlotte groaned in pain as she bent forward.
Annie bit her lip, careful not to gasp at the gruesome sight and scare Charlotte. The second wound looked about as bad as the first. They didn't look infected, but they didn't look too great, either. Annie didn't want Charlotte to know, but they didn't have enough first aid supplies to stay there another day. They would soon run out of gauze and medical tape. And Annie didn't know what she'd do for her friend without those essentials.
Annie concentrated as she worked, trying to use the least amount of gauze possible to get the job done. Finally, she was finished. She brought Charlotte's shirt down and put her supplies away. She handed Charlotte one of her pills to treat her Addison's disease, then pushed herself to her feet.
Orange light was beginning to appear on the eastern horizon. Soon, the sun would be up.
"Do you need anything before I go?" Annie asked, dusting herself off.
"Can I have another granola bar?"
Annie smiled and grabbed her one from the back. "Here," she said. "And don't forget this."
Carefully, Annie handed Charlotte the .22. Charlotte took the gun and placed it gingerly in her lap.
"You remember about the safety?" Annie asked.
"Yeah, yeah," Charlotte said dismissively. She squinted down at the gun. "The safety is on now. I have to turn it off before I can shoot."
"Good," Annie said. She stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the scene. She grabbed a granola bar and tore into it.
"Go on," Charlotte said, meeting Annie's eyes and smiling wryly. "Let's get this over with."
Annie smiled, gave a quick nod, then spun on her feet. "I'll be back soon," she called over her shoulder.
Annie set out toward the west. Though nervous about leaving Charlotte alone, she was excited to cover new ground, to get away from the desolate strip of road they had been stuck on for a day and a half. Other than the semi-truck sprawled across the two-lane highway nearby, the surrounding area was empty. They hadn’t seen any houses for several miles before she’d lost control of the Porsche and swerved off the road. Annie hoped there would be a house nearby to the west.
Walking briskly, she covered the distance quickly. As she scaled a steep hill, she looked back at the Porsche one last time. On the other side of the hill, it was out of sight. Stretching ahead of her were pastures and fields, green from the rains the week before. It was mostly wild land in this part of the Texas Hill Country, mixed in with cattle ranches and farm fields. To her right were some limestone cliffs dotted with cedars. To her left was a fenced-off expanse of partially forested land. No farms in sight, at least not yet.
With the sun nearly at the horizon behind her, the sky was brightening, and the features of the land were starting to take shape. This was comforting to Annie, and she felt her shoulders loosen up a bit. She hated leaving Charlotte alone with Harvey. But she had faith that Charlotte could defend herself if necessary.
What worried her most of all was facing whatever might be waiting for her out in this wild country. And she was unarmed. If only they had two guns!
If only Jack’s gun hadn’t been stolen.
But that was behind her. She couldn’t waste the mental energy regretting the squatters now occupying her own home back in Austin. She had to keep looking forward. She had to figure out a plan for them. That was the only way they were going to survive.
She felt herself break into an easy jog. She hadn’t realized how cooped up she had felt the past few days. First, hiding out in Dan’s house, then keeping vigil at Charlotte’s side. Annie had felt a bit stir-crazy with all that sitting around. Now it felt good to be moving, her lungs and her legs working hard. She ran faster, pushing he
rself to go up and down the hills one after another. The faster she ran, the sooner she would find a solution to her impossible predicament.
Annie scaled yet another rolling hill, then came to a stop at the crest of the rise.
There was a house down there.
Off to the right, a large field was cleared and surrounded by a tall fence along its perimeter. At the far edge of the field, at the end of a long dirt driveway, stood a single-story wooden farmhouse. A few outbuildings were scattered nearby – a barn, maybe, and a shed or two. It was hard to make it all out in the dim light, and Annie couldn’t see whether it was occupied or in what kind of shape the property was in. But it was something. And the first man-made structure on the road in miles.
As she caught her breath, a smile spread across her face. Finally, a glimmer of hope.
Annie jogged down the hill, reaching the bottom quickly. She followed the road as it curved to the right, leading her to the beginning of the long driveway.
Annie slowed to a stop and looked around. An empty field stretched out to the west. It looked like cattle had been kept on the land at one point, but not recently. It stood empty and unused, and weeds grew tall. Seeing that no one was working the land made her hesitate. What if the place was empty? Maybe it had been abandoned long ago. Maybe she’d make better use of her time by looking for another house farther to the west.
After a moment, she shrugged and started up the driveway. If it was empty, it wouldn’t be that much of a loss. And a few steps down the driveway, she got a better view of the property. The house looked to be in decent repair. And even better, a newer truck sat parked off to the side behind some oak trees. The truck was too new and valuable to have been left on an abandoned property. Someone was living there.
“Hello!” Annie called out with her hands cupped around her mouth. “Anyone home?”
She waited and listened.
“Hello?” she called louder. “Hel-looo?”
She slowed her pace as she got closer to the house. She didn't want to startle anyone. That alone could cause her to be shot, especially with everyone's nerves on edge after the attacks.
Finally, she came to a stop at the edge of the front yard.
"Is anyone here?" she called toward the house. "I was hoping somebody could help me. My car is stuck in a ditch down the road. And my friend is hurt –"
Annie stopped herself. She felt silly talking to the house. Maybe no one was home. The whole thing had probably been a waste of time. But she figured she might as well knock on the door. Surely if anyone were home, they would've heard her shouting by now. But, just in case, she crossed the yard and began to climb the steps to the front porch.
"Hello, hello? Anyone home?" She shouted in the direction of the window.
On the second step, an overwhelming odor assaulted her senses. It was putrid and intense. Instantly, she realized it was the smell of death – of rotting bodies.
Suddenly, her heart was in her throat. Her eyes fell on the window near the front door. Inside the house, she saw someone sitting in an armchair. All at once, her throat went dry. She wanted to run, but for a split second, her legs felt heavy as lead.
The person in the armchair was dead.
It was an elderly man, and his body slumped over the side of the recliner. His discolored arm dangled over the edge of the armrest.
Annie jolted herself out of her momentary freeze. She stumbled backwards down the steps, then turned and began to run across the yard.
Behind her, something was happening. A noise. A movement – coming from inside the house.
Terror filled Annie to her core. She ran through the tall grass of the yard. And to her horror, she heard the front door swing open behind her.
Annie propelled herself forward, picking up speed as she reached the driveway.
But someone was on her tail. Footsteps pounded on the porch, then moved across the yard. He was gaining on her.
She glanced quickly over her shoulder as she turned toward the road. She caught only a glimpse of the young man running after her – his dilated, crazed eyes, his pasty skin. She had time for only fragmented thoughts. Had he killed the old man inside? Was she going to be next?
She heard him breathing right behind her, getting closer. She caught only a glimpse of the young man as he closed the distance – his arms reaching out, the gray of his sweatshirt as he moved.
Then he tackled her. He grabbed her around her shoulders and pulled. She tried to tear away from him, but he was too fast.
Annie felt the wind knocked out of her. In one dizzying movement, she slammed against the driveway, hitting the gravel hard.
3
Sunday, 7:02 a.m. - White Rock, Arizona
“Rise and shine, sweetheart.”
Brent squinted at the harsh light shining in his eyes. He turned over in his bed to see one of the guards standing in the doorway, shining a flashlight on the thin, bare mattress where Brent lay. As always, the guard was carrying a semi-automatic rifle.
“Out of bed. Now, 155,” the man barked at him.
Brent swung his legs around to the floor and felt the cold, dirty tiles under his feet. The man with the gun took a step inside the room, and plunked a tray of food on the bed beside Brent.
"Eat up," the guard said, grinning. "You'll need your energy today."
He turned and left, locking the door behind him.
Brent lightly rubbed his aching side, which was still painful from two days ago. Then he looked down at the tray of food the guard had left on the mattress. There was the same gray stew he got every meal – full of reconstituted potatoes and some kind of fake meat substance. In the compartment next to it, a small package of crackers. An off-brand juice pack stood at the far corner of the tray, completing the meal.
Brent took the plastic spoon allotted him, and began to choke the food down. He was hungry. Ignoring the nausea provoked by the colorless food, he ate it quickly. It was dark in the room, and he didn't want any cockroaches crawling in his food like last time when he didn't eat it quickly enough.
He had spent two nights in that disgusting room. How many more would there be? These people – whoever they were – seemed to have no intention of letting him or the other prisoners go anytime soon.
He was quickly finished with the paltry meal and drink. Leaning against the wall, he ran his fingers along his jaw. It was swollen and bruised. Sighing, he reached under the bed, groping in the dark for his eyeglasses. The frames had been twisted and the lenses scratched badly, but at least they weren't destroyed.
Yesterday, when the prisoners were being marched to the work site, Brent had seen a prisoner falling over fire hydrants and walking into trees. The prisoner had complained that he couldn't see anything without his glasses. In response, the guard had given him a swift kick in his back.
Brent waited for the guard who’d brought breakfast to return to the room. It wouldn't be long. Outside, the sun was probably rising, and daylight was wasting. These guys wanted to get as much work out of the prisoners as possible.
He was on the fourth floor of a college dormitory. At first, on that horrible day he’d been captured, they had taken him to the first floor. But then, after the incident, they had moved Brent up to this room. Plywood was nailed over all the windows. And without power, candles, or flashlights, Brent and the other prisoners were in total darkness in their rooms.
As far as Brent could tell, all prisoners on the fourth floor were locked up in a room by themselves – solitary confinement. The first floor had been different. On the first floor, he’d had a roommate. But that hadn’t lasted for long.
The door flew open, and the guard returned. This time, a second armed guard stood in the doorway while the first approached Brent.
"On your feet, 155!" the first guard ordered.
Brent stood up, facing the wall, and waited while the man handcuffed him. On the first floor, some of the guys got plastic zip ties around their hands. Up here, it was metal cuffs for everyone.
“March!” the guard ordered.
Brent walked out the hall and followed the ten or twelve other prisoners already heading down the stairs. Armed guards watched them closely and followed them down the stairs to the first floor. None of the prisoners spoke. Everyone with half a brain had learned that talking to other prisoners would result in a beating.
On the ground level, Brent waited off to the side as the guards assigned the prisoners work duty. They were split off into small groups. Each high-risk prisoner like Brent was grouped with four or five low-risk prisoners. Once the men were all arranged into small groups, the guards led them to their work sites. Brent followed the guard and the rest of his group outside the dorm building.
Brent felt a wave of relief each time he was allowed outside. The building he was detained in was claustrophobic and disgusting. And there was always the worry that the guards would somehow forget about him. After all, this wasn’t a real prison. This whole thing was just a slapped-together operation by some wannabe gangsters and their supporters. These guys didn’t know what they were doing.
Outside, he felt he could breathe again. He knew he’d have to do back-breaking work, but at least he wasn’t locked up in that dark little room.
The guards led the men to a makeshift latrine – really, just a hole in the ground with some sawdust to scatter on top. The guard uncuffed each prisoner one at a time and gave him a few moments to relieve himself. Their only privacy were some scattered bushes. Depriving the prisoners of human dignity was part of the process, it seemed to Brent. Everything was designed to break them down psychologically.
Once the prisoners were finished, the guards led the men down the street to the north one block, then west a few blocks. They passed other men working. Some were hauling materials, some were digging latrines. Down one street, some teenagers on bicycles pulled small trailers loaded down with packages of food – supervised by guards on bikes, of course. All of them worked in total silence.
Brent looked carefully at each of the groups. He never saw Jack.