Jake tasted copper inside his lip, so he rolled down his window and spat the blood out as the first sign for I-81 appeared. He pulled onto the exit ramp and turned west toward home. His body began to unclench as he left Harrisburg behind, but the cold wind beat at his face, and cold slivers of air chilled his skin through his clothing. He noted a pain in his left leg that had just started to throb. He put his hand to the side of his leg and felt warm liquid seeping into the seat. When he brought his hand up in front of his face, it was stained red, drying right before his eyes.
Squeezing his eyes shut and hunching down into his jacket, Jake pushed the Explorer to fifty-five but stopped there. Any faster and he’d arrive in Tennessee frozen like a Popsicle.
Chapter 10
Jake, Roanoke, Virginia | 11:51 p.m., Saturday
The Explorer blew past the sign for Roanoke, Virginia, and Jake’s hands on the wheel were freezing and numb from the cold. He’d tried to pull his hands back into the sleeves of his jacket long ago, but it had barely helped after a brief deluge of rain had soaked the front seats of the vehicle.
The SUV was showing serious signs of imminent failure. The knocking in the front end was obnoxiously loud, and Jake caught occasional whiffs of radiator fluid from the engine. The vehicle was on its last leg, and he’d need to find another before this one left him stranded on the expressway.
Jake drove the clanking, complaining Explorer onto the exit ramp and cruised down to I-581 toward Roanoke at a blazing twenty-five miles per hour. Any faster, and he feared the front end would fall apart. He passed some farmland, city buildings, a Waffle House, and other establishments as he drew closer to the city.
And then, remembering what the bikers had said about getting too close to heavily populated areas, Jake began looking for a quiet place to pull off and stop for good. After passing the Roanoke airport with its cross-T landing strip and UPS hub, Jake spotted several huge buildings with large department store signs on them. He couldn’t read the signs due to the nearly complete darkness, but he thought one was a Lowe’s Home Improvement store and the other a Kroger.
He’d never really gotten used to the darkness that swallowed the business areas of the towns he’d passed on the way here. With power still out along most of the Eastern Seaboard, a marked lack of authority, and organized criminal elements in control of some areas, it felt like the world had been turned off.
Roanoke was even darker and more sinister than other places he’d seen. Being on the innermost edge of the storm zone, the city had its share of debris strewn across the road and cars dumped unceremoniously into ditches along the sides. There was even a massive pileup of vehicles in the middle of one intersection that Jake had to drive around.
It wasn’t nearly as bad as Boston, but Roanoke had taken a punch or two over the past month.
He debated whether he should look for a new car in one of the quiet subdivisions around town or find one abandoned in a parking lot. At first, a parking lot in front of some already-trashed department store seemed like a good place to hunt, but Jake suspected those were magnets for groups of criminals trying to establish themselves as rulers in the post-apocalyptic world. On the other hand, the good citizens of town were likely bundled up in their homes and ready to protect them at any cost, even if it meant shooting the first person who stepped into their yard.
“Parking lot hunting, it is,” Jake said to himself with a shiver.
The entire trip down I-81 had been a lesson in cold torture. His cheeks felt like they were scraped raw and his joints were stiff. His clothes were frozen, skin feeling like it had a layer of ice on it. Even his brain seemed affected by the cold. Every thought was a struggle, and all he could think of was to keep his foot on the gas pedal and keep moving forward, every mile bringing him closer to Sara and the kids.
He’d only pulled over long enough to tend to his wound, which was located high up on his left leg, right below his gluteus maximus in the meaty part. It was the result of a bullet that had punched through the door and seat padding before breaking his skin enough to cause some serious bleeding. Jake had cleaned the wound as best he could and placed a bandage over it. He found the piece of lead down in the seat and dropped it into his pack along with Alice’s Uno wild card where he’d moved it to keep it dry.
As Jake turned onto the main road leading to the retail store block, he killed his headlights. Their penetrating beams could be seen for miles in all this darkness, and he didn’t want to alert anyone to his presence. Jake drove past the south part of the Roanoke airstrip and entered the retail area via a Krispy Kreme parking lot.
Just the thought of a warm, fresh donut and slightly sweetened, creamed coffee made Jake’s mouth water. The only problem was the store had been raided long ago, as evidenced by the flung glass and gapingly dark windows.
Salt-copper blood flooded his mouth as he salivated about the donut and coffee, and he ran his tongue over his lip to detect a cut he’d somehow received escaping the militia battle in Harrisburg. He spat the blood out the front window with a sour expression, mad because he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten the cut and also because it would be a long time before he’d ever taste a Krispy Kreme donut again, if ever.
Jake cut slowly across the lot and stopped at the corner of the Krispy Kreme, looking across the parking lot of an Aldi, a BJ’s Wholesale Club, and an AutoZone. There were maybe twenty or thirty abandoned cars in parking spots, any one of them ripe for the taking. The only problem was that there was a group of five or six cars parked and idling down by the AutoZone. Their headlights and taillights were on, and he could see figures milling around.
“That’s bad news,” Jake said to himself before he eased the Explorer forward cruised slowly out of sight around the Aldi. The Lowe’s was up ahead and to the left, but Jake didn’t want to get there any faster than he was going. Firing up the clanking, hissing engine would only get him heard and chased, and he wasn’t in the position to outrun anyone, either by vehicle or on foot.
Jake’s shoulders bunched together as the Explorer crawled along, eyes darting to each of his rearview mirrors in turn, half-expecting a car to rip around the grocery store in pursuit. Yet none ever came, and he turned into the Lowe’s parking lot and pulled around to the back of the store via an access road where he was certain he wouldn’t be seen.
The space was filled with sheds and pallets of soil and bricks as well as other building materials left out in the elements. Semi-trailer trucks had been left abandoned at the docks, and Jake pulled in between two of them so his vehicle would be hidden from casually prying eyes. He started to kill the Explorer’s engine but paused to crank the heater to full blast, hoping to coax just a little bit more out of the broken-down truck.
He held a hand up to the vent, but it only kicked out cold air across his fingers.
“Well, big guy. Looks like you’re done for.” Jake pressed the starter button, and the engine died for what Jake suspected was the very last time. Then he opened the door—which creaked like crazy—and climbed out of the vehicle, nearly collapsing from the stiffness in his legs. His left leg, especially, seemed weak, so he favored it as he holstered his Ruger and got the M4 carbine out of the back seat, making sure to put a couple of extra magazines in his coat pockets.
Jake limped around the SUV, marveling at the damage that had been done to it. The front right side was smashed from the wreck at Suffern, and the front bumper was barely attached. Bullet holes riddled the grill and front panels of the vehicle from being shot at in Harrisburg, and it was a miracle he’d not been wounded worse. He suspected the big engine block had taken most of the damage, keeping him from being shot to death. Looking down, he saw that the right front tire was almost flat, and who knew how long it had been that way?
“Tough truck.” Jake patted the hood of the SUV, convinced what his next purchase would be, should he ever need another vehicle.
Tarps covered almost everything in the lot, although many of them had blown off and were han
ging from a nearby fence. Jake limped over and grabbed two off some piles of wood and secured them over the Explorer, using bricks to hold them down. He didn’t know if it would dissuade anyone from looking inside, but it was the best he could do to protect the small amount of assets he had, the important one being the case Captain Sanchez had left in his care.
In any event, Jake didn’t plan on being in the Lowe’s very long. He just needed to score some tools with which to hot-wire another vehicle. Then he’d drive the new ride back to the Explorer, move his gear, and be on his way.
With his possessions somewhat secured, Jake walked to the end of the trailer and peered around the lot to check for cars, then he moved to a set of stairs next to the loading dock, which led up to the dock office. He wasn’t surprised to find the door open and swinging lazily on creaking hinges.
Jake swept his rifle barrel around the office, but nothing moved in the shadows. He took out his flashlight and started to turn it on out of habit before he caught himself. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out one of the socks Lizzy May had packed for him when they’d left her place. Thankfully, the good Captain Sanchez had put Jake’s old pack in the back of the Explorer before he left so Jake would have a warm change of clothes. He might be able to do one better. The Lowe’s might have some coveralls he could wear, provided they hadn’t already been stolen off the racks.
With the sock secured over the end of the flashlight, Jake turned it on and shined it around. The sock muted the light perfectly, shedding just enough for Jake to make out some details in the room.
The office contained just one desk with a big, leaning office chair behind it. Bills of lading and invoices were scattered across its surface, along with an antiquated computer and monitor. Two plain chairs faced the desk, and Jake could imagine truck drivers coming inside and tossing their invoices down before falling into one of the chairs while they waited for their trailer to be unloaded.
Jake moved out of the office through another door and entered the warehouse stock area of the store. There were some neatly stacked crates and boxes laying around, while others were broken open with their contents scattered across the floor. Walking up to one busted-open crate, Jake saw boxes of buckshot and birdshot spilled out. He checked some of the other crates that had not been shelved and found light fixtures, sinks, rolls of carpet, and window shades.
He grinned when he found a box of Craftsman 700 lumen flashlights with their batteries included. He turned off his generic, plastic-cased flashlight and put it in his coat. Then he opened a package with one of the Craftsman flashlights and hefted it. It was made of tougher material and felt good and heavy in his hand. If worse came to worst, it would work well as a weapon.
Switching his sock from his old flashlight to the new one, Jake turned it on and was rewarded with a slightly more intense halo of light than he had before.
Turning in a circle, Jake grinned at the wealth of goods that remained in the Lowe’s. The citizens of Roanoke must be kinder, more respectful folk…or they were perfectly content to stay indoors and wait for the worst of the country’s problems to pass.
Another reason nagged at Jake’s brain as he looked for boxes of tools. Maybe the citizens of Roanoke were too afraid to come out. But afraid of what?
Chapter 11
Jake, Roanoke, Virginia | 12:32 a.m., Sunday
Jake started at the back of the Lowe’s and moved through electrical and lighting, where hardly anything had been touched. It wasn’t like anyone needed electrical supplies in a powerless world.
Sticking to the back wall, Jake made his way to the tool and hardware section, peering down rows upon rows of untouched items, except for a mess of raided shelving that used to hold the power tools and other valuable objects that were easy enough to simply carry off.
He skipped grabbing any tools right away and went straight to a section of the store with work clothes. There he found the coveralls and work boots. To Jake’s great relief, the goods were relatively untouched where they hung.
Fishing through the coveralls, he found a pair in his size and a pair of boots to match. Then he laid everything out in front of him, including a fresh pair of thick socks from his backpack, a dry pair of boxer briefs, and a plain white T-shirt.
With one final look around the store to make sure he wasn’t being watched—and didn’t get caught with his pants down, literally—Jake placed his M4 carbine quietly on the floor and undressed. He quickly looked over his wounded leg, cleaned it, and put a fresh bandage on. His stomach wound’s bandages needed replacing, too, and he used the last of his gauze and tape to cover the thin, pink wounds where the man had stabbed him back in Boston.
Injuries addressed, Jake quickly and carefully re-layered his clothing, starting with the boxers, socks, and a soft, white cotton T-shirt. He grabbed a long-sleeve shirt from the rack and put that on over the T-shirt, followed by the coveralls. The store was quiet as he dressed, although the chilly temperature and occasional breeze through the store indicated that the front doors were likely open or shattered, like so many other stores Jake had seen.
There was the faint scent of something sweetly rotten, too. Jake wasn’t surprised. He recognized the smell instantly, and his first assumption was that someone, or several someones, had died in the store.
He tried not to think of that as he donned his new outfit. His skin reacted to the feel of the dry clothing by producing goosebumps and shivers of pleasure that coursed up his back and down his legs.
His new boots felt heavy and warm on his feet, and Jake stood and stomped them quietly on the tile floor. As a final touch, he grabbed a heavy jacket off the rack, slid it on, and zippered it before dropping the Ruger into the deep front pocket.
Jake lifted his backpack and M4 off the tile and went back to the tool section. It took him all of five minutes to find a pair of insulated gloves, a screwdriver, a hammer, wire strippers, and the other instruments he’d need to make hot-wiring a car a snap.
“Time to go hunting,” he said, looking toward the front of the store where the parking lot of potential scores awaited him.
Jake flipped his flashlight off and slipped quietly around the scattered power tools, keeping his head up and on a swivel. In the major appliances section, Jake stopped next to a refrigerator and listened, noting only that the stench of rot had become slightly stronger. His stomach filled with dread knowing he might run into another scene of carnage.
He found them all around the checkout lines. Fifteen or twenty corpses that had died locked in some deadly battle no history book would ever remember. With his muted flashlight, Jake had to get close to make out any details, a fact he regretted immediately despite feeling he should be immune to such sights.
One rotting corpse held a shiny new hammer in its hand, apparently dead of a shotgun blast to the stomach judging by the spray of dark fluid on the tile behind it.
Others had passed on by means that were not so easily identifiable, though one pair of combatants had died near one another in an epic axe fight that had left one with a severed arm and the other completely disemboweled.
“The great Battle of the Roanoke Lowe’s,” Jake murmured to himself to keep from retching. “No wonder no one’s been back here. It’s gross.” He started to walk away from the chainsaw combatants toward the front doors of the store, yet he stopped and glanced back. “A chainsaw would come in handy.”
Once he acquired a vehicle, and if he had the time, he’d make a quick trip through the store to pick up a small chainsaw along with anything else that might come in handy.
The low sound of a car engine caught Jake’s attention, and he immediately snapped his flashlight off again and ducked behind the cash register. Peeking over the counter, Jake looked out through the shattered doors into the parking lot where a white SUV cruised slowly past. He didn’t know if they were friends or enemies, but he bet it was the latter.
They didn’t appear to have noticed Jake’s presence as they drove past and disappear
ed behind a Sonic fast-food restaurant. Jake waited three or four minutes before he crept toward the doors and looked into the lot for a potential target.
There were two dozen dark shadows in the lot, many parked haphazardly near the front. They were probably the vehicles left by the corpses in the store, and Jake bet he’d find some keys on them if he looked. The question was, did he feel like searching through their rot-soaked pockets?
Jake swallowed hard and then turned back into the store with a sigh.
Once back among the dead bodies, Jake set his pack and rifle down and donned the insulated gloves he’d intended to use for hot-wiring. Then he drew out his Ruger and held it up while he went over to the nearest corpse. Kneeling next to it, he began feeling on the outside of its clothes for any lumps that might indicate keys or a key fob. He quickly found what he was looking for, then he switched positions so he could dig inside the pocket more easily.
He fished out the key fob in a second and dropped it into his pocket. Then he moved to the next corpse. This one had a key fob in the front pocket of its flannel shirt, and Jake tried not to look into the corpse’s milky white eyes as he liberated them.
“Just a few more and I’ll have a good selection to choose from.”
The next corpse wore a pair of coveralls with deep pockets, and Jake had to shove his hand deep inside to retrieve the prize. As his fingers reached for the key fob, he felt the dead, bloated skin sliding along the muscle.
Jake’s gut suddenly and unexpectedly revolted, and he found himself heaving his stomach’s contents on to the dead man’s chest.
Weathering The Storm (Book 5): Downburst Page 7