Race to Refuge

by Kyle Pratt

“No. We’re running on fumes, but we can hike from where we stop.” When the road dipped, Ryan took his foot off the gas and let the Jeep roll down. Then he silently cursed as the road rose before him and forced him to press the pedal.

  Moments later the engine coughed and the Jeep shuttered. Ryan steered the vehicle to a wide shoulder where it died.

  Amy grabbed her backpack, exited the vehicle, and slung it on.

  Ryan heaved the bugout bag onto his back and carried his other smaller backpack. “We can follow the road or cut the distance in half and hike across country.”

  Amy took Ryan’s smaller pack in her hand. “I don’t mind walking in the woods.”

  “Okay, follow me.” Ryan slid the compass, phone, and pistol into his jacket and led Amy up the gentle slope into the forest. He soon spotted a deer trail and followed it to a beaver pond beside a meadow.

  “Do you know where we are?”

  “Yes.” He pointed at two beavers as they slid into the quiet pool behind their dam. “I tramped all over these woods as a teen.”

  Ryan led the way upstream, where the water traveled fast along a narrow channel. The heavy bugout bag slowed him. Amy soon led the way along the bank.

  “I feel like I’ve slid back in time,” Amy said over her shoulder. “Some outlaw is going to burst from the forest, probably on horseback and with guns blazing.”

  Ryan laughed. “Well we have a few weird neighbors and most people around here can ride a horse and shoot, but we’re pretty safe.”

  For several minutes they walked in silence along the edge of the water. A buck deer strolled down to the bank.

  Amy whispered, “Hello Bambi.”

  The animal raced back into the forest.

  “We can cross the stream there.” Ryan pointed to a large tree that had fallen across a deep but narrow ravine. Someone had removed limbs from the trunk creating a narrow path along the upper side. Below the tree the water rushed through boulders. Ryan wouldn’t call the log bridge safe, but it was only twenty feet across and he had done it many times as a kid.

  He tossed the two backpacks across the deep ravine and the turbulent stream below. Opening the bugout bag, he threw whatever he could to the far side of the stream. The half-empty bag felt light on his tired shoulders. He started across, holding his arms out like a tight-rope walker.

  Ryan reached the mid-way point before he realized Amy hadn’t followed. Turning to face her, he said, “It safe. I’m heavier than you.” He knew part of that was true.

  She stepped closer.

  He tried to divert her mind away from fear. “You know, Lewis and Clark traveled just south of here?”

  “Did they cross on this old log?” She took a hesitant step.

  “They went south of here.” Ryan pointed. “And it’s not that old.” But it had fallen when he was in elementary school. How much had it rotted over the years? In an attempt to reassure her he said, “There’s one more stream we have to cross, but there’s a real bridge for us to use.”

  “Nice to know.” She slid one foot forward and then another, edging her way over the stream while barely lifting a foot.

  “See.” Ryan reached the far side and turned to encourage her the last few feet. “I made it.”

  A loud snap resounded through the tree, it shuddered, and a crack opened up between Amy’s feet.

  She swayed and then jumped, landing with a thud against Ryan.

  He embraced her as he stumbled backward. “And you made it across too.” He grinned. “Are you okay?”

  Amy took a deep breath. “My heart’s pounding, but yeah, I think so.”

  Ryan held her for a moment before releasing her. “It’s just a mile more to my house and some of that will be along a road.” He pointed. “See that really tall tree near the top of the hill?”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll head toward it. There’s a rock outcrop nearby. If you stand there you can see my parent’s home on the far side of the valley.”

  After repacking the bugout bag, they continued up the slope. Amy again carried one backpack on her back and the other in her hand. Ryan heaved the bugout bag on his back.

  As he walked, Ryan the straps rubbed on his shoulders.

  About half way to the top, Amy disappeared into the forest ahead of him.

  “Don’t get too far ahead of me,” Ryan called.

  “Take your time. I need to pee.”

  “You can’t wait?” he mumbled. “Okay,” he said a bit louder. He took a deep breath and sat on a log.

  “Ryan!” Amy screamed.

  Chapter 10

  “Amy?” Ryan shouted as the scream faded. He pulled the pistol from his jacket and hurried after her through limbs and brush. They were almost in sight of his house. Could she be in danger or had she merely encountered a skunk or porcupine? Then Amy screamed again and he dropped the bugout bag from his back and sprinted.

  Through the bramble, Ryan spotted Amy on the ground. A man stood over her holding a gun.

  “Just shut up,” the man shouted.

  The voice seemed familiar, but Ryan couldn’t see the guy’s face.

  The man used his free hand to hold a walkie close to his ear. “That’s right, Dad. Yeah, she seems to be alone, but she has two backpacks … I’ll check. Over … Okay, out.” He returned the walkie to a pocket and ordered Amy to stand. Then he turned, providing Ryan with a better angle of view.

  From the bushes, he stared at a face he hadn’t seen in several years. “Jeb, is that you?” With the gun at his side, Ryan stepped around the brush and into the clearing. “Why are you pointing a gun at Amy? She’s with me.”

  “Ryan?” Jeb pulled Amy in front of him and held her by the arm. “I thought you were dead. They hit Seattle with a nuke this morning.”

  Amy whimpered.

  Thoughts of his classmates and professors flashed through Ryan’s mind. If what Jeb said was true most of them were dead now or were dying a slow painful death from radiation exposure. “We left yesterday.”

  Amy stood motionless, a disheveled statue of terror staring with pleading eyes at Ryan.

  “Stop pointing a gun at my girlfriend. Let her go! We’ll walk away and everyone can forget whatever you think happened here.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Ryan asked. “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do nothing. She got nosey and found the tanker.” Jeb nodded to his right.

  A gasoline tanker truck sat behind tall brush and under a canopy of trees. Could that be the truck the police were looking for?

  “I called my dad.” Jeb nodded toward the walkie on his belt. “He’s on his way. He’d be really mad if I let her go.”

  “But I’ve seen the truck too,” Ryan said.

  “Yeah. That’s a shame.”

  “You’d shoot me?”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to, but Dad might.”

  Amy kicked back, hitting Jeb in the knee, then thrust her fist backward striking him in the groin.

  “Ahhhh.” Jeb released his grip on her with a curse.

  Amy ran toward Ryan.

  Jeb’s face flushed red as he pointed his gun.

  Only a few yards away, Amy blocked Ryan’s aim. Holding the pistol in a ready position he stepped to the side. “Drop the gun!”

  “Can’t.” Jeb shifted his aim to Ryan. “Sorry.”

  Two shots boomed.

  Pain like a hot poker coursed through Ryan’s thigh as he collapsed to the ground with a thud. From somewhere he heard Amy scream. Then a frightened, but beautiful face hovered over him. He smiled.

  “You’re bleeding!” Amy’s mouth hung agape.

  Ryan swore as at the pain as he tore at the bloody pants and discovered a jagged wound along the outside of his leg. With the help of Amy, he stood and hobbled to Jeb.

  Ryan leaned next to his childhood friend, gritted his teeth and fell to his knees beside him.

  Blood stained Jeb’s shirt around a single wound to his upper che
st.

  “Is he dead?” Amy asked with hands covering her mouth.

  When he found no pulse, Ryan gave a slow nod.

  “We’ve got to call the police,” Amy stammered. “It’ll be all right. It was self-defense.”

  “Jeb’s father won’t think so.” The man was a hick, but he loved Jeb … and guns. Ryan recalled all the weapons he had seen the family use over the years. They even owned a cannon that they fired, repeatedly, on Independence Day and New Year’s. “He might kill us both.” Still on his knees, Ryan grabbed Jeb’s gun and held it out to Amy.

  “No, no, no.” Amy took a step back. “I can’t.”

  Ryan slapped it into her hand. “You need to protect yourself. Help me up. We need to leave.” Holding on to her he hobbled to the bugout bag.

  “Keep a lookout while I bandage my leg.”

  “You need a doctor.”

  “Right now I need to not leave a blood trail.”

  “A what?”

  Ryan pointed at the spots of blood leading to where they stood. “It’s an easy trail to follow.”

  He finished wrapping the wound and said, “The bag will only slow us down. Hide it in the brush.”

  She slid it deep into the thorny brush and helped Ryan to his feet.

  Even standing on his good leg hurt. Ryan held tight to Amy and at a painful and slow pace, limped toward home.

  Several minutes later, a man’s anguished cry resounded through the woods. “I’ll find you and kill you.”

  Ryan recognized the voice, Jeb’s father, Clint.

  Amy pulled Ryan close as they increased their pace up and over the crest of the peak.

  “See that bridge?” Ryan pointed to the paved road below them and traced along it to a narrow bridge over a stream in the valley below. “Cross there.”

  “I’m not leaving you.” Amy pulled him along at a faster pace.

  Ryan pointed to the far side of the valley where a tan ranch-style house stood atop a small knoll. “That’s my home. Go there.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be right behind you.” Ryan stiffened his good leg and planted his foot, stopping her. “You’ll be faster alone. Get my dad and send him back for me.”

  A shot higher on the hill pinged and ricocheted nearby.

  Amy gave Ryan a quick hug and then ran toward the bridge as Ryan sought cover.

  Several more shots pinged off the nearby rocks.

  Ryan floundered boulder and then to a large tree, and onward, down the hill, to a clump of bushes.

  Another gunshot boomed but Ryan couldn’t see where it hit. Is he shooting at Amy? Dear God, please keep her safe.

  Ryan had a simple plan, get to Coldwater Creek and hide in the bushes. Maybe ford the stream at a shallow spot or make his way to the bridge and cross there. Hopefully, by then, Amy would have reached his parents’ house for help.

  For the next several minutes he continued a slow, painful, shuffle down the hill. As he neared the stream the ground softened and the slope increased. He stumbled forward. Electric bolts of pain radiated from his wounded leg as he fell into bramble along the stream. Thorns tore at exposed skin. He yelped in pain.

  With a splash, Ryan hit rocky ground along the water’s edge. Laying in the mud and rocks, Ryan whispered curses and wiggled into a more comfortable position. When he heard the crack of breaking glass, he pulled his phone from his pocket. Sure enough, the glass had broken. Testing the phone, he found it still worked. Cell service in the area had always been spotty, but if he could send a text to his parents, it might save both him and Amy. His fingers moved over the splintered glass. “Shot by Grimes. Ok. Amy to house. Me near Coldwater Ck brdg.” He could only hope they received it.

  ***

  Amy dashed along the narrow two-lane road. Her heart pounded, not from her rapid pace, but from her fear of being shot. She looked over her shoulder. No one pursued her, but she had lost sight of Ryan. Ahead of her the road curved away from the Palmer home. Trees now blocked any view of her destination. She sprinted along the road, hoping it would lead back to the house and help for her and Ryan. Never before had she felt so utterly alone.

  Please God, what should I do? She raced onward. Help Ryan.

  Moments later, a man on horseback and wearing a black denim jacket and jeans thundered out of the trees and onto the road. In his left hand, he held the reins and, in his right, a rifle.

  Amy stopped and stumbled back. Is this the man that wants to kill us?

  The horse galloped to her. “Amy?”

  How did he know her name?

  She stumbled back as the rider pulled the animal to a stop. “Are you Amy?”

  Still confused, she nodded.

  “I’m Ben Palmer, Ryan’s father.”

  A huge weight of fear disappeared. Amy pointed toward the bridge behind her. “He’s back that way, but I’m not sure where.”

  “I know where he is.” Ben’s eyes narrowed as he looked down the road. “Go to the house. My wife is waiting.”

  Amy shook her head. Determined to find Ryan, she pulled the pistol from her jacket pocket. “I can take care of myself. I’m going back with you.”

  Ben gave a hint of a grin, reached out his hand and hauled her up onto the horse with relative ease. “Hold on to me.”

  Amy slid the gun back in her pocket and wrapped her arms around him.

  Ben gave a little kick to the horse.

  The animal lunged forward, startling Amy. She pulled herself tight against the big man’s back. Her determination to go with him faded with each bounce of the horse. She had never fired a gun and doubted both her capability to kill and her aim. What help could she be?

  ***

  Ryan gazed at the fast-moving stream and considered his options. If both his legs were working, he might be able to walk through the water to the far bank. If the stream were too deep, he could swim. But now his leg burned with agonizing blasts of pain every time he moved it.

  He considered just staying put and hoping that Amy or his father found him—not Clint. He prayed for that outcome but, after a moment, didn’t like the idea of waiting. With a pain invoked grit of his teeth, Ryan pulled himself out of the water and up the muddy bank. The bramble ran along the stream’s edge for as far as he could see. The only way out was back through the thorns.

  Painful minutes later and finally clear of the brush, he continued to crawl along the bank until he reached the bridge. There he used the railing to pull himself up and hopped across. At the far end, he tried one more hop, but fell and rolled down the soft shoulder of the road into a hay field.

  Maybe I should just wait.

  A shadow spread over Ryan. “I’m guessing from the wound in your leg that you shot my boy, not the girl Jeb said he caught.”

  With slow casual movements, Ryan felt for his gun, but it was gone. He didn’t know where or when. “Hello Clint.”

  “Hello Ryan.” The man stood on the road edge a couple of yards away. “Did you kill my boy?”

  With slow and painful movement, Ryan stood.

  Clint aimed the weapon. “Was it you?” he snarled.

  Ryan couldn’t think of a good reason to answer and so remained silent. The sound of hooves pounded out a quick pace, but Ryan couldn’t tell from which direction.

  Clint looked toward the Palmer home.

  Hope leapt within Ryan.

  The quick steps of the horse continued for a moment, but then came to an abrupt stop. “Don’t do it, Clint.”

  Over the tall grass, Ryan glimpsed his father and Amy dismount a horse. For a moment he lost sight of them and doubted his eyes, at least in regards to Amy. Then his Dad strode into full view with his rifle aimed at Clint. Behind his Dad, Amy walked with the reins of a horse in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  “Your boy killed the only son I had left,” Clint growled.

  “He tried to kill Amy and me,” Ryan shouted.

  “He was a good son. Protecting what is ours, that’s what he was doing.”
/>
  “Protecting a stolen tanker truck?” Ryan asked incredulously.

  Clint snapped the rifle to his shoulder. “Your boy needs to pay.”

  Ryan fixed his gaze. Who would shoot first, Clint or his dad? Either way this might be the last thing he saw. Please God keep my fam—

  A gunshot boomed.

  Ryan stumbled back a step, but this time no searing heat pierced him.

  Clint staggered. His eyes flared wide. The rifle swayed, but then he aimed again at Ryan.

  Another shot thundered.

  Clint fell to the pavement.

  Ryan’s father hurried to the downed man, slid the rifle away and checked for a pulse. “Son, are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. Did you … ah, is Clint ….”

  “He’s dead.” His father looked to Amy. “Are you okay? Put the gun down.”

  A pale Amy dropped the reins, and then lowered the gun to the pavement as if she were curtsying. “He was still aiming at you. I … I.”

  Mouth agape, Ryan struggled to the road on shaky legs.

  Tears rolled down Amy’s cheeks. “You’re safe.”

  It seemed as if only in that moment she realized he had lived. She ran toward him. “I couldn’t let him … I had to stop him.”

  Ryan didn’t know what to say. When they had started the journey, his only wish was to keep her safe from the tumult of the war, but in the end, she had protected him more than he had protected her. “Thank you.” All the pain in his body faded as they drew close and he kissed her on the lips.

  She embraced him and returned the kiss.

  * * *

  I hope you enjoyed Race to Refuge, a standalone introductory novella to my post-apocalyptic stories. On the next few pages I’ve provided information about two popular post-apocalyptic series that I’ve written. I hope you’ll check it out. Click here to learn more about my other books.

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