Hideaway (Book 1): An EMP Thriller

by Hayden, Roger

  Her tenderness took him by surprise. “I love you too.”

  He rested his head on the pillow near her as his eyelids gradually shut and a comforting quiet remained. The animals of the evening hadn't come into full force yet. James’s mind continued to drift deeper into a dreamlike abyss. In his mind, he and Marla were still discussing the plan. He still had visions of the map, examining Willow Creek and the vast hills and valleys that surrounded them. If he did everything right, he'd navigate through the forest with no problem. He could get supplies or find out new and useful information. In his dream, he was already exploring the nearest town. Homes were vacant, with their property and belongings scattered outside the front lawn. A haze of smoke drifted down an empty rural street from a fire far in the distance. It looked like a bonfire, and he heard voices, hundreds of them chanting all around him.

  ***

  Sunday

  A week had passed since James and Marla's arrival at the cabin. In that time, the routine that followed was much the same. James would spend a little time with Larry during the day, hunting or fishing, while Marla and Carol worked near the cabin. At the end of the day, the emergency broadcasts also the same, urging residents to find a relief camp nearest them. Over twenty major cities had been evacuated along the East Coast, spilling over to other areas. Affected power grids had yet to be restored, resources were dwindling, and no end was in sight. There was talk of selective service enlistment mandated in affected counties. But there were no real answers to any of it, which James found unacceptable after so much time, and that morning, he decided to give his plan a try.

  After breakfast, James and Larry stood out on the front deck drinking coffee. Marla and Carol were inside, and there was no better time to begin the conversation. James leaned against the wooden railing, facing the cabin as Larry sat opposite from him, looking out beyond.

  “I'm struggling here, Larry,” he said with a sip of coffee. He paused and saw slight confusion, followed by a suspicious eye. “Nothing to do with you or Carol,” he quickly said. “You guys have been great. I just feel so trapped and confined.” He scratched along the scuff on his face and then pulled at the collar of his flannel jacket. It was chillier out than usual that morning. He had on pants and a jacket just as Larry did. “I'd like to take a hike just to clear my head.”

  In response, Larry studied him with careful eyes. “It's only been a week. Pull your head out of your ass and enjoy the scenery.”

  “It's more than that,” James said, hoping to reach a compromise. “Marla and I have been fighting a lot.” He then set the coffee mug down and cleared his throat, feeling Larry's piercing stare. “I just need to get away for a few hours. Have some time on my own.”

  Larry massaged his own forehead and then tossed his arm down. “You want to go for a walk? Go for a walk and blow off some steam. No one's stopping you.”

  “I appreciate your understanding,” James said. “It'll only be for a few hours.”

  “I've some stuff I'm working on anyway,” Larry said with a shrug.

  “Okay. I'll probably head out in a few hours,” James said, finishing his coffee. “Unless there was something you needed me for.”

  “Nah,” Larry said, standing up. He walked to the door and then turned around as if remember one of his own rules. “Don't venture off too far now. Stick to the areas I've shown you.”

  “Of course,” James said.

  Larry walked inside and saw Carol in the kitchen, washing dishes at the sink. James soon followed and continued toward the bedroom. Opening the door, he saw Marla at the window. The curtains were open and sunshine beamed inside. And her head never turned, even as he crept inside. Closing the door, he approached, speaking just above a whisper.

  “I'm going to head out soon,” he said.

  She turned her head as he approached. “Larry was okay with it?”

  “No objections,” James said, squeezing her shoulders.

  Marla brought her hands to her forehead, squeezing. “Okay. I told Carol I wasn't feeling well.”

  “Migraines?” James asked with concern.

  Marla nodded.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, continuing her shoulder massage. “I'm going to try my best to get us a car.” He then kissed her head and went to a chair in the corner, grabbing his backpack. Inside was bottled water and snacks along with his map, compass, and pistol. He kicked off his sneakers as he sat on the end of the bed. Marla continued to watch out the window as he put on a pair of hiking boots.

  “Nearest town isn't too far,” he said. “About eight miles.”

  “You told me last night,” she said, walking over. “Don't get lost.”

  “I won't.” They kissed as he went to the door, opening it.

  They walked out together and toward the kitchen where Carol was sitting at the table with a paperback book in hand. She glanced up to see the backpack over his shoulders. “Going somewhere?”

  “Just a little hike,” James answered, omitting specifics. He continued to the front door with Marla following. The exited the cabin and saw Larry on the porch. He looked up at them, surprised as he lowered a book.

  “Figured I'd get started while it's still early,” James said.

  Larry wished him luck and waved as he and Marla walked off the deck and toward the side of the cabin.

  “Be careful,” Marla said, squeezing him tight.

  “I will,” James said.

  He soon walked off and headed behind the cabin, waving to her. Except this time, he'd turn and go in the opposite direction once out of sight. Winslow was in the opposite direction of the creek and everything else. James walked down a rocky path leading into the expansive forest and could already feel a sense of confinement lifting from him.

  The backpack bounced against his back, with its water bottles inside. James hurried down the uneven terrain off the beaten path and found a spot the shade of a dozen trees to begin his real journey. He lifted his pack up and set it onto the ground. Kneeling next to it, he pulled out his compass and map from the front pocket. He had to maintain a consistent direction of 320 degrees northwest. He even had a small handful of pebbles he planned to use for a pace count.

  He expected to find a rural town largely unaffected by the blackout. There were a lot of farms out there. People were self-sufficient by nature. Feeling confident in the mission, James continued down the thick path, through brush rows of pine trees, with his focus shifting between his compass and the view ahead.

  He tried to maintain a brisk pace despite the rough terrain, and the continual downhill slope assisted him with that. Though James knew it wouldn't be the same story walking back. The trip home would be just the opposite. That was where most of the work was going to be. He soon came upon a clearing, seemingly empty, where the tall grass and weeds had been flattened or dug out.

  He continued along the large circle which resembled a crop circle at first glance. There were several different fire pits dug into the ground as James soon realized he was walking by one of the campsites Larry had warned him to stay away from. But there was no one around. They hadn't seen a single person anywhere in their travels through the forest the past few days. Most people, he assumed, had either evacuated the area, found refuge elsewhere, or were hunkering down like them.

  James kept a steady downhill pace through thick grass and patches of dead autumn leaves. He stepped over sticks in his path while moving completely around a dead fallen tree. He stared down at the compass in his hand, trying to maintain the proper degree and direction, dropping pebbles after so many pace counts along the way.

  Even with the slight breeze in the air, trees peacefully swaying, he was sweaty and out of breath. Maneuvering through the brush, he came upon a familiar dirt path with tire tracks. It was the very path that led to the cabin. All James had to do was to follow it down to the road at the end of the hill and he'd be somewhere closer to town. He was making progress. In his pockets were his wallet, cell phone, and keys. He didn't know why he brough
t any of it other than out of habit. His hiking boots dug against the rocky dirt path, crunching along the way and leaving footprints behind.

  From his vantage point, he could see farther down where the road curved around the hill and the ground leveled below. Miles from the cabin, he hadn't heard or seen any vehicles from afar or aircraft above. He had seen little wildlife on his journey so far. Following the narrow path with looming trees on both sides took James slightly off his directional pattern as the compass arrow veered north. He'd reconvene on the road where Winslow was only a few miles off from.

  James soon found himself on a level terrain with a long line tire tracks leading out of the forest completely. Through hanging branches, he could see a horizontally-stretched road ahead. Beyond the road was a corn field, one of many in that area. The sight of civilization was a breath of fresh air.

  James quickened his pace, holding his compass to the side as the backpack slapped against him with every hurried step. He continued down the path, insects buzzing around him. He estimated the time closer to nine or ten in the morning. The week had blurred together so much, and it wasn't easy to decipher the days. He needed an escape from it all, if such a thing was possible.

  The road slanted upward where the road was in clear view. James pivoted to the side, behind some bushes upon hearing a rumbling the distance. His mind raced with possibilities. Was a single vehicle or a convoy? The sound became clearer as he crouched for cover. There were multiple engines in the distance, loud and unruly. James looked all around him, trying to figure out which direction they were coming from. The roaring increased. James whipped his head to his left and saw a blurry figure moving fast down the road, trailed by several others.

  Upon closer inspection, James could see motorcycles. They were moving fast. Rubbing his eyes, James watched them, transfixed. There were at least a dozen bikes on the road, storming across the road like torpedoes. They looked like bikers with their black leather and helmets. James immediately rose and stared ahead in amazement. He hadn't even made it into town and already things were different. He rushed from around the bushes and hurried forward, attempting to wave down the bikers. He stumbled down the hill and ran out onto the road. The bikers were already far past, with the blaring engines echoing. They hadn't noticed him, and perhaps that was for the better. The haze of exhaust lingered in the air.

  James stopped in the middle of the road, weeds sprouting from its cracked pavement. He leaned down, stretching and catching his breath. Soon things were quiet again, and there were no other vehicles on the road. He moved across to the other side of the road, pulling the folded map from his pocket and leaning on a guard rail. Unfolding the map, he held his compass out and then measured the distance to Winslow at an estimated fifty 290 degrees west. He had roughly five miles to go. He pulled a bottle of water from his bag and sucked it down while resting against the guard rail. He sat for a moment, examining both sides of the road. After a quick breather, he stood up and walked left, carefully resigned to the shoulder of the road where the town of Winslow wasn't much farther off.

  Crossing Borders

  Beyond the town sign were homes in view on both sides of the desolate road. James was at the side of the road with a pair of binoculars. He scanned ahead and saw a few scattered mailboxes and vehicles in the driveway. The homes were fairly spread apart, and far ahead he could see the hanging lights of an intersection. Of course they weren't working, and James was somewhat disappointed to not encounter anyone during his journey to the town, other than some bikers passing by.

  He scanned the street ahead and saw a sign a vacant gas station and a small plaza across from it. The road he was on veered off into two separate directions with grass in the middle. James stuck to the left side and walked back several homes shrouded behind woods with long dirt driveways and No Trespassing signs hanging from wooden fences. He passed a few homes, spotting an old blue Cadillac with its top open in the driveway of a quaint one on the corner.

  James looked at the cluttered yard and knew something was amiss. A television lay flat on the ground with its screen cracked down the middle. Beyond that, he saw a mess of dresser drawers scattered about with clothes everywhere. He walked up the driveway and kept a careful eye on the front porch for anyone. He stopped near the Cadillac and called out toward the house. “Hello? Is anyone there?” He waited, but there was no answer. He turned and peered inside the open Cadillac. Below the already wheel cannibalized steering wheel, a mess of wires had already been pulled out.

  James looked to the porch and saw a busted front door. He ventured closer to explore, making his way up the porch steps. He called out again for anyone as he looked inside the house. There was furniture and tables flipped among the shattered glass and holes in the wall as though a rowdy bunch of vandals had a field day. He quickly left the house and went back down the driveway, moving on. The street was quiet, no sounds of engines or people. He felt completely alone.

  A few abandoned vehicles sat on the road ahead, among them a white Ford Falcon crashed into a telephone pole. He walked past a two-story Victorian style home with a vast yard surrounded by wooden fencing. On the side of the house was an empty stable.

  He continued down the seemingly desolate street, glancing at a few sporadically placed homes on both sides of the rooms. They all had sprawling yards with forest behind them. James kept to the sidewalk and slowed to examine one small, square home with a flat roof, far behind a chain-link fence. Its front door was open, there was a Mercury Sable in the driveway, at least ten years old. Its gray paint had faded sun spots on it. Children's toys littered the sizable yard. Like some abandoned nuclear testing village, there was no one around.

  James passed the next seemingly empty house and reached a four-way stop. Beyond the narrow intersection, he saw a field on one side with cows grazing in the distance. Across the street was a sign indicating a police station a half mile up the road. He pulled out his binoculars again and spotted another intersection ahead. Below the non-functioning traffic lights, he saw two cars smashed into each other.

  He lowered his binoculars and moved on, boots against pavement and passing a speed limit sign, riddled with bullet holes. He wasn't sure how old the damage was, or if street signs were normally used for target practice around there. He increased his pace, determined to arrive at the police station. There had to be someone around for answers. James peered inside the brush at his right where insects scurried through the leaves upon his approach. Pine trees loomed overhead, shading his path. He paused for a moment, leaning down to stretch. His backpack felt heavier by the hour despite its light weight. It had warmed up since morning, and he was already sweating.

  He took the ball cap off his head and fanned his face, readjusting his sunglasses. He tapped the pointy end of his walking stick against the sidewalk. He'd been gone at least two hours by his estimate. He soon arrived at the intersection with the car collision in the middle. The smashed-in truck and the Subaru Outback were both unoccupied. Glass was shattered out in their windshields, bits covering the oil-stained road.

  He followed a curve and passed an old three-story brick building, surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. Vines trailed the front of the building, obscuring an already faded sign. Most of the multi-paneled windows were smashed out. Tall grass and weed sprouted from tiny rocks that once constituted a parking lot.

  Gripping the chain-link fence, James examined the building. There were several No Trespassing signs affixed to the front and on the fence itself. He looked at the gaping windows and absent glass. Whatever it used to be, it was no more. He turned from the building and kept walking.

  “Where the hell is everyone?” he said under his breath while moving quickly down the road. He followed the next curve of the endless sidewalk and saw another building ahead on the right, across the road. He moved faster and was able to make out a sign in the front lot surrounded by bushes. There was a police logo and a few marked cars parked. Across the street from the station sat a quaint gas sta
tion with a big yellow sign. Its doors were closed and no one was inside.

  James headed for the police station wagon as his backpack slapped against him with its water bottles rumbling inside. He vaulted across the road, eager to make contact, only to find a startling reminder of how things were going to be.

  The doors to the station was locked, with bars on the window. All the windows had bars on them as well. James pulled the entrance handle and then banged against the door, rattling it. A sign hung on the door from inside, displaying hours of operation and the name of the sheriff and deputy inside.

  “Anyone in there? Hello?”

  He backed away from the door, stunned. He then circled the small building, passing the two police cruisers parked in the shade. They were covered in leaves and debris from the trees around the lot. He opened one driver's side door and saw that the car had been cleaned out of any police equipment or items. There were no weapons, laptops, uniforms, or anything else inside. It was just the car and its divider cage.

  He closed the door and went directly to the next car. Its driver's side window was smashed out, shattered glass covering the vinyl seat. James carefully opened the door and saw a crowbar lying below the ravaged steering wheel. With its array of wires hanging out, it was clear that someone had already tried to start it.

  James continued around the small building, passing an air-conditioning unit, but couldn't find a way in. There was no way inside, so James gave up and returned to the street. He didn't know the answers, but he did see refuge in the form of a grandiose church across the way with its arched roof stretching to the sky. Up an entrance ramp, the double door entrance was closed. There were no windows in the front. The lower half of the building was stone that trailed around it, its upper half dark brown wood. Its vast green lawn was still surprisingly trim. There was a long, horizontal sign planted in the surprisingly trim lawn for the 1st Winslow Baptist Church. The marquee below had bible sections listed and the date of the next service, dated two weeks prior.