CME Apocalypse Fiction

by Blaze Eastwood

  Vaughn took another look, and he noticed one of the fishers reeling something in. On the hook of the fishing pole was a small creature, flapping its fins back and forth. “I guess they did find something. But if enough people keep doing that, they might end up depleting the fish.”

  Multitudes of stranded vehicles sat dormant along the expressway lanes. Many of them had their windows smashed open by desperate people who had been searching for food. Even if there was just a remote possibility of a granola bar being left in the glove compartment, the hordes of starving people were interested and willing to investigate.

  Although Vaughn appeared to be strolling leisurely, he was intensely focused and deadly serious. He was on a mission, and he intended to treat it like so.

  The highway overpass was a heap of abandoned semi-trucks. The trucks that contained deliveries for grocery stores were broken into and emptied of their cargo.

  The sound of smashing glass was continuous, and it echoed through the highway lanes and overpass. A group of nine people were breaking into cars, fifty meters ahead of Vaughn and Mason.

  “Let's walk this way,” Vaughn said uneasily, heading toward the trees on the left side of the highway. “I don't want to run into any of those people.”

  There was no comment, nor were there any footsteps treading behind him, and when Vaughn reached the side of the road, he realized that Mason had not followed him.

  He turned around, and at the center of the highway was Mason, taking a long sip of water. He lowered the plastic container of water momentarily, then raised it again to take another sip.

  The group of looters were growing closer.

  Vaughn waved his arms. “Mason, come on,” he said in a very loud whisper.

  Mason didn't seem to pay much attention. He simply lowered the water container for a few moments, then raised it again to take a few more sips. Now he had caught the attention of the looters, or so it appeared. They were certainly looking in his direction.

  Vaughn's heart was thudding.

  But strangely, the looters didn't seem to care about Mason, and instead, they shifted their attention toward Vaughn.

  When Mason had finally noticed that Vaughn was trying to get his attention, he slowly made his way over to the side of the road, tucking the water container back into his suitcase.

  “Mason, come on. Hurry.”

  The looters looked at Vaughn strangely, and then they shifted their gaze back to the abandoned cars that encompassed them.

  * * * * *

  Vaughn's thoughts, hearing, and vision were growing increasingly cloudy, and when Mason spoke, his words sounded muffled half the time. He assumed it must have been from the food deprivation, combined with the prolonged periods of brisk walking. He certainly wasn't accustomed to doing so much walking while consuming so little calories for energy.

  They had been keeping track of their mileage by staying close to the highway and observing the signs. When they saw they had put in twenty miles for the day, they decided to head further away from the highway to set up their tents.

  As usual, Vaughn was looking forward to his supper as he had looked forward to his breakfast. Eating seemed to be the highlight of his day now, and he assumed that's how it was going to be until society recovered.

  * * * * *

  “Have you thought about what I said?” Mason asked vehemently. “You know, when I asked you what you were going to do to improve your chances of surviving mentally and spiritually.”

  “I'm still not sure what you meant by that,” Vaughn said, taking a spoonful of cold chili from the can. “How do I survive spiritually?”

  “You still haven't figured it out?”

  “Why don't you just tell me what you mean?” Vaughn asked, taking his last spoonful of chili from the can.

  “It doesn't work that way.”

  Mason seemed to be speaking in a cryptic language that Vaughn was unfamiliar with. But Vaughn was far too exhausted to decipher the code at the present moment.

  Their tents were right behind them, fully assembled, so when the sun went down, they were in no particular rush.

  For dessert, Vaughn treated himself to his last piece of chocolate.

  “I don't think I've ever felt so anxious to get home,” Mason said.

  “I know what you mean,” Vaughn said, staring into the darkness of the night. “I imagine the longer we're out here, the more tired of it we're going to become. It's been getting tougher every day. But going back to our houses won't fix the economy.”

  “Still,” Mason said. “I don't want to die out here. I want to see my family.”

  “Don't even think like that. I don't think you're going to die out here.”

  “I've got a further way to go than you, and we're both almost out of water,” Mason said sorrowfully.

  “You can stay at my house for a day or two. We have plenty of food and water in our storage area. You can rest, and then just pick up where you left off.”

  “I appreciate the offer. But your house might be a little too far out of my way.”

  A crackle of thunder roared across the sky, and then raindrops began to fall.

  “We'll make it back to our houses,” Vaughn said, standing up and heading toward his tent. “Don't worry about it. We'll be okay.”

  Chapter Nine

  Vaughn awoke the next day to a bright and sunny morning. He had slept fairly well; better than he had most nights in the past week. He sat up and stretched, feeling the aches and pains of his sore legs. Then, in a tiresome daze, he exited the tent.

  The exterior's polyester material was still damp from the overnight rain shower.

  To his surprise, the tent that had been next to his was gone.

  He looked around in startled bemusement, calling Mason.

  But there was no answer.

  Vaughn thought about what Mason had told him the night before; about how much he wanted to get home. He had sounded worried. Had he left immediately after sunrise to get home faster? If so, why wouldn't he have informed Vaughn? Surely, Vaughn would have walked with him, even if it meant getting up a little earlier than what he was accustomed to.

  He looked down at the ground and saw shoe prints in the mud. They were pointing north. He packed up his tent, grabbed his suitcase, and hurriedly followed the prints.

  Maybe I can still catch him, Vaughn thought. He couldn't have gotten far.

  He felt sorry for Mason, and he wanted to help him. There was no way he would be able to make it all the way back to his hometown with such a low supply of water. He needed to go to Vaughn's house to replenish his supplies.

  His heart raced as he walked more speedily than he ever had before, paying little attention to the uncomfortable terrain.

  He repeatedly pushed foliage out of his way, feeling the rigid extensions of the leaves scraping against his forearms.

  Moving his eyes rapidly and turning his head in different directions, he saw no sign of Mason.

  * * * * *

  After a few miles of walking, the shoe prints began to descend a slope. Grabbing onto the tree trunks for support, Vaughn began to work his way downward.

  Up ahead, he saw a man sitting on a large rock, facing the other direction.

  Vaughn hurried over to him, then slowed down when the strange face turned to look at him. Vaughn had never seen the man before. He was older than Mason, and a few inches taller. A camping backpack was sitting on the ground next to him.

  “Sorry, I was just looking for my friend,” Vaughn said abashedly. “You haven't seen anyone pass through here in the past few hours, have you?”

  The man shook his head slowly. He looked exhausted. “You're the first person I've seen in two days.”

  Vaughn looked around confusedly. “Oh. Well . . . thank you.” He proceeded past the man, continuing to walk north.

  The shoe prints were no more.

  Chapter Ten

  Vaughn woke up the next day with a headache. His neck was stiff, and he was dehydrated. But at l
east he had slept through most of the night. He was feeling less tired now, and his mind was beginning to clear up. He took the last few sips of water from the plastic container, hoping it would be enough to sustain him for a while.

  Mason was still nowhere in sight.

  As Vaughn packed up his tent, he thought about what he had been doing to prepare himself for mental survival.

  Brainstorming, he thought back to his past and tried to draw inspiration from the harsh events he had triumphed over.

  He recalled the time he had gotten his bike stolen when he had lived in Chicago. He began cutting the grass and doing other yard work for some of the neighborhood residents. He wasn't always financially reimbursed for it, but sometimes he was, and eventually, he saved enough money to buy himself an even better bike.

  Then he thought about the time he had his basketball hoop torn down. He had coped with it by inventing an imaginary friend, and . . .

  That's when it occurred to him.

  An epiphany was very slowly beginning to make it's way into the light.

  Mason had only existed in Vaughn's mind.

  He had sought a survival mechanism that would keep him sharp mentally during such a perilous time, so he invented Mason.

  Deep down in his subconscious mind, he knew such a habit was not sustainable in the long term, so he began to question himself about what he was going to do for mental survival. He knew he couldn't keep pretending in this way for much longer. He couldn't keep pretending that a figment of his imagination was real.

  He needed to find a better coping mechanism.

  But he had struggled and procrastinated.

  * * * * *

  By the time he reached his hometown, he was ready to collapse. His legs were wobbly and his mouth was dry.

  It was early evening.

  His neighborhood was hardly recognizable, but he supposed it could have been worse. The houses still looked secure and the cars did not appear to be broken into.

  When he walked up his front steps, it felt like a dream. He could hardly believe he was finally home. But he was also nervous. What was he supposed to say to a family that had not seen him in a matter of weeks and had probably thought he was dead?

  He reached into his suitcase to look for his keys. But while he was searching, the lock clicked, and then the door swung open.

  “Vaughn!” his wife exclaimed with wide eyes. “I saw you through the window.”

  “I made it home as fast as I could,” Vaughn said, leaning forward and hugging Anna.

  “You're dad is home!” Anna announced to their kids.

  As the reunited family embraced each other, Vaughn looked over Anna's shoulder and saw a brief glimpse of Mason. But the person he saw was much less vivid than what he had seen on his journey. Mason lingered for a few final moments, and then he faded away entirely.

  For more stories, simply go to the Blaze Eastwood author page on Amazon.