by Ellis, Tara
When Tom finally saw the obviously named “Airport Vantage Road” sign he was happy to leave the highway and find some shade. It was another scorching day and he was trying not to drink all of his water. The tree-lined road would have been idyllic, if not for the wreckage of at least two planes strewn about.
It wasn’t a huge airport, and Tom was at the farthest corner of the airstrip, and yet the impact of the flash was still painfully apparent. The terminal in the distance was in smoldering ruins, and half of the trees on the street were sheared in half, a clear indication of the chaos that ensued when the planes lost power. He turned his attention to the cars parked along the street that were barely recognizable, and he wondered how many of them had been occupied. Half of the houses on the other side of the road showed various levels of damage, and a few of them had burned to the ground. Once a serene neighborhood, it now served as a stark example of how so much was lost in an instant.
Thankfully, the road was still passable on foot—and it wasn’t like turning around was much of an option. Tom gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore the bodies mixed in with the debris. One of the planes was mostly intact and must have dropped from the sky either right after take-off or just before landing. The front end of it had snapped a telephone pole in half before becoming embedded in another, but the back half was basically unscathed. As Tom passed the open door of the small passenger plane, he told himself that the occupants would have been okay and made it out. It made ignoring the rest of it a little easier.
Two miles farther, he was beyond the fields and entering a district full of churches, a park, and a school. More people were out milling around, most of them with distant, detached expressions. A woman sat sobbing on a park bench and people passed by without stopping. There wasn’t anything anyone could do.
The lack of running water and working sewers was more apparent the closer he got to the densely populated areas. It was a smell Tom compared to an over-used outhouse permeating the air. Garbage was piling up outside the buildings and he was constantly swatting at flies.
Tom avoided eye contact with anyone he got close enough to see clearly. Mixed in with what were mostly average-looking suburban dwellers were those with a more menacing demeanor. They had a desperate air about them and, armed or not, were dangerous. He could hear gunshots coming from the city, and yelling and screaming randomly echoed from nearby. The sense of unease was palpable as the number of people present increased, a foreboding like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
At the small school, Tom made a detour. He was too slow and if he ever hoped to catch up to Ethan, he needed to find some kind of transport. A car was too much to hope for, but a bike would improve his chances tenfold. At the back of the school, he spotted a family that had pitched a tent under some trees on the playground. The man lifted his toddler-aged son into the air, eliciting a childish giggle from him, and Tom smiled at them, reminded of better times.
Following the back wall of the two-story brick building, he finally came upon what he was looking for: a long bike rack. To his surprise, there was actually a ten-speed there. It was rusted, had a low tire, and was too small for him, but he would happily use it.
Before peddling away, Tom paused and looked at the back doors of the school. One of them was open several inches and as he thought about what could be inside, his stomach grumbled. It had been almost two days since he’d eaten anything. His goal was to get to Ed and Marnie’s by the next day, but part of his weakness was likely due to a lack of calories.
The school had to have a cafeteria and although school had been out for the summer when the flash hit, they probably kept some nonperishables stocked. Maybe he’d get lucky and it wasn’t looted yet. Tom got off the bike and approached the doors cautiously, looking behind him. The family was out of view and aside from a couple of people walking by at a distance, there wasn’t anyone obviously paying attention, so he went inside.
It was an entrance to the auditorium, so aside from the doors, there wasn’t much ambient light. Tom quickly crossed the murky room, his footsteps echoing much too loudly. On the far side, he was relieved to find a hallway with large windows at the far end. It didn’t take long to find the cafeteria, with its stacked tables and chairs. Tom leaned against the doorjamb as another wave of dizziness momentarily blurred his vision. During the brief spell of disorientation, he thought he could hear children laughing and chairs scraping against the floor. Rubbing his head to clear it, Tom forced himself from the childhood memory and back into the present. He had to find some food.
Blinking rapidly, he used the steel countertop to help steady himself as he walked into the back work area. He avoided the walk-in freezer door, and went for the dry storage area next to it.
“Bingo!” he murmured as he shrugged his backpack off and unzipped it. Reaching for a box of granola bars, he was too distracted to hear the stealthy steps coming up behind him.
“Ugh!” Tom grunted as someone slammed into his back, and tried to wrap him up. Although surprised, it was immediately obvious that his attacker was smaller than him and he easily counterbalanced the assault.
Planting his right foot forward, Tom shoved backwards and slammed the man into the shelving. When the arms around him loosened, he stepped out of the embrace and spun around, lashing out at the same time with his left fist. There was a solid, satisfying connection and cartilage crunched under his knuckles. A rage welled up in Tom that he hadn’t felt since he was a teen. Raw emotion that he’d spent years learning how to keep in check, but was now dangerously close to escaping.
“Stop!” a woman shrieked. Footsteps rushed towards them. “Please. We’re just trying to protect the food for everyone.”
Tom sucked in ragged mouthfuls of hot, stagnant air, struggling to breathe through the adrenaline rush. He still held his fist above him, poised to pummel the man on the ground at his feet. He took a step back.
“Please,” the woman repeated. It was the one from the tent on the playground. She knelt next to the man and propped his shoulders, helping him to sit. Behind her, a small boy peeked around the counter, his eyes round with fear.
Tom felt bile rising in his throat and coughed once to force it back. His field of vision widened as his head cleared and his heartrate slowed. He looked at the box of granola bars, still clasped in his right hand.
“We’re both teachers here,” the man croaked and spit blood onto the floor. Slowly, he got to his feet. “This food belongs to the people who live here. Not you.”
Tom dropped the box into his pack and zipped it up without comment. Slinging it over his good shoulder, he sidestepped the couple. He offered a smile to the small boy, but it only caused him to run crying to his mom. He kept forgetting how his face must look. “I only need enough for a day,” he offered by way of an explanation. “I’m leaving. You don’t need to worry about me. Sorry…about your face.”
When neither of them said anything in response or tried to stop him, Tom made his way back outside. The heat was stifling, but he looked up gratefully at the sky, glad to be in the sun. Shading his eyes, he squinted and studied the horizon to the south. The normally dark blue color had an odd haze to it. It was something other than the smoke he’d grown accustomed to, and was instead a weird, orange hue. Shrugging, he took out a granola bar and jogged back to the bike rack. Relieved that the ten-speed was still there, he jammed the food in his mouth before riding away as fast as possible.
The small bike was awkward, but it would still more than double his traveling speed. He steered with his good arm while finishing off the bar, forcing the calories down. The granola was dry in his mouth and he was having a hard time swallowing it. What had he become? He’d just broken a man’s nose over a box of snacks.
“You have to survive,” he said aloud. For his son. And while Tom knew that in all fairness he’d been attacked and was just defending himself, he also knew what he was capable of. He’d do whatever was necessary to get to Ethan, and God help those men when he
did.
Chapter 5
RUSSELL
Randolph, Utah
Russell stopped behind a burnt-out gas station and quickly assessed his surroundings. The sign just outside of the small town had said “Welcome to Randolph, Population 488. The friendliest town in the West”. He suspected it was less so since the event, based on the number of buildings left standing on the three-block long main street. It most likely started with an explosion at the pumps and quickly spread from there. The crispy corpses in the vehicle straddling the pump island attested to it.
According to a sign on the other side of the freeway, in two days he’d traveled thirty-three miles. Russell thought he could walk faster than that. There were still several hours left before the sun went down, but…he needed a better mode of transportation.
Turning to look at a small store still standing on the other side of the alley, Russell wiped at his forehead. He didn’t like to sweat, but had little choice in the blazing heat of the day. The long-sleeved prison guard shirt didn’t help. He’d like to swap it out for something else, as well as find some other essentials, and the store was likely his only option for another day or two.
“Randolph, let’s see how nice you are,” Russell purred as he stepped over some rubble. The few people he’d passed on the street on the way through didn’t look very accommodating, and they hadn’t spoken to him. He pushed at the glass door and grinned when a bell chimed over the entrance.
“We’re closed!” A man barked from the gloomy recesses of the building.
Russell wrinkled his nose at an unpleasant smell and then cleared his throat. “Hello?” he made sure to have a waver in his voice. “I’m an employee from the state hospital, just trying to make it home to my family.” He cleared his throat again, feigning nervousness, as he edged his way down an aisle, then grinning at the lack of response when the man mistakenly assessed him as not a threat. “I’d appreciate any help you could offer me. I don’t need much and I can pay.”
“I don’t have much and what’s left isn’t for sale. You’ll need to move along.”
Russell took care to avoid stepping on a bag of chips on the ground as he rounded a tall stack of canned goods. There was a candle burning on the back counter, but it was still dark enough for him to avoid being seen.
“Hello?” The store owner moved out from behind the counter and walked cautiously towards where he’d last heard Russell. “I said you need to leave.”
Russell was enjoying himself so much that he considered dragging the game of hide-and-seek out for a while longer, but there were too many people outside to risk it. Instead, he slid stealthily behind the older man and brought a can of soup down onto his head with such force that he collapsed mid-stride.
“Now, that wasn’t very friendly of you,” Russell admonished, dropping the can onto his chest with a dull thud. It sounded like the man was still breathing, though he didn’t care one way or the other. Removing his backpack, he quickly went about seeing what the town of Randolph had to offer.
Less than an hour later, he was a mile out of town and sipping on a lime sports drink. Not his favorite flavor, but it couldn’t be helped. His bag was rather full with random supplies after his binge shopping, and it further compelled him to reassess how he was traveling.
There were a few farms scattered across the wastelands and he could probably find himself a horse, but it wasn’t his first choice. He’d never gotten along well with animals. They seemed to have the ability to see into his soul, where others couldn’t.
There was a little yellow house not far ahead, with a barn about the same size. Maybe he’d find a bike in there. Whistling, he picked up his pace and pulled a map out of his back pocket to study again while he walked. It was a good find and he’d almost missed it. The rack of postcards, hand-made greeting cards, and local roadmaps was situated off to the side of the entrance of the store, and if he hadn’t bumped into it on the way out, he’d still be wondering where, exactly, he was.
It was a long way to Mercy, Montana. Russell didn’t mind. The world was suddenly a new landscape to twist and shape into whatever reality he chose.
He paused next to an abandoned sedan and, after a brief debate, pulled at the open driver’s door and reached in and popped the trunk. Just as he’d thought, nothing useful was left behind, except maybe… Russell grunted with the effort of pulling up the floor to reveal the spare tire. He smiled and started whistling again as he popped the two-foot long lug wrench from its bracket.
Hefting the heavy tool, he turned back to the yellow house. He certainly didn’t plan on carrying it for long, but it would come in handy if anyone was home.
Russell ignored the house and went straight to the barn. The rusted hinges squeaked when he pulled on the large double doors, but opened easily enough. Inside was a literal treasure trove when it came to what one might look for when trying to survive the apocalypse.
“Huh,” Russell grunted, stepping inside. It was a large, rather open space with a high ceiling and dirt floor. The barn doors allowed enough light in so that he could turn in a circle and take in all the gear he had to choose from. The owner had been so kind as to carefully sort his shelves, with yard tools and home supplies all on one wall, while hunting and camping gear filled the other.
He stepped up to a box advertising a two-man tent and ran a finger along it. A tractor occupied the majority of floor space; on the far side, against the back wall, were several bikes. Two kids’, one woman’s ten-speed, and a man’s mountain bike. An American flag was tacked to wall above them, one of the white stripes painted blue. Russell was absorbing the meaning when the door banged open behind him.
“I’d suggest you come out so I can see you.” The man’s voice was full of authority and left no room for argument.
Russell carefully set the lug wrench on the back of the tractor before stepping out from behind it, hands raised. As he expected, the large, middle-aged man facing him was dressed in a police uniform. The officer had his service revolver aimed at him so Russell took a couple of quick steps to close the distance between them.
“That’s far enough,” the officer said evenly. He frowned as he took in Russell’s attire. “You from the mental hospital?”
“Well, yes sir, Officer…Rogers,” Russell answered, reading the man’s badge. “I only worked there for a month, but I stuck around as long as I could. Everyone else left.”
The deputy relaxed his stance slightly without lowering the gun. He tilted his head as he continued to study Russell. He was obviously a man with strong instincts.
Russell kept his hands splayed out at his sides in a placating gesture. “I apologize for not going to the door, but I’m afraid the last one I knocked on nearly earned me an extra hole in my head.” He laughed lightly and shrugged. “All I’m looking for is a sleeping bag. It’s been a while since I had to sleep on the ground.” He smiled. “Do you know what the heck happened? I’ve asked five people and gotten five different answers.”
Deputy Rogers lowered the gun a foot and turned slightly to point at the camping gear. “I’ve got—”
Russell grabbed the wrench sitting inches from his hand and in one swift movement, brought it down on the man’s right forearm. The Glock clattered to the ground and the deputy staggered forward a step, his face contorted in pain and shock. Not stopping the motion, Russell whipped the tool back around and it connected with the officer’s right temple.
He could have left then. Taken what he wanted and left Deputy Rogers unconscious on the floor, to be found later by the ten-speed riding woman. But for all of the lives Russell had extinguished, he’d never used a gun. He picked the Glock up and felt the weight of it. The power.
He knelt next to the man at his feet and studied him for a moment. The rise and fall of his chest, the blood pooling under his cheek, slowly being absorbed into the dirt. Russell carefully pressed the Glock against Deputy Roger’s spine, at the base of his skull, and pulled the trigger. The result was immediate
and somewhat unsatisfying. There was a reason he’d never killed with a gun before. It was so…impersonal.
Minutes later, Russell slowly buttoned his new shirt, hoping the small bloodstain on the back would blend into the dark brown. He pocketed Tim Ridgeway’s nametag before readjusting his new badge.
“I always thought I looked like a Rogers.”
Chapter 6
CHLOE
Outskirts of Mercy, Montana
The sun was just sliding behind the mountains as Chloe stepped off the trail and into a gravel trailhead parking lot. She staggered past two empty vehicles with forest passes hanging in their windshields and stopped in front of a large brown sign.
“Mercy Loop Trail,” Chloe read out loud, smiling broadly. “I can’t believe we finally made it.”
“Let’s hope the people in town are doing better than we are,” Bishop said, moving up next to her. He turned to address the rest of the group. “We have no idea what’s happened. They may not be as happy as we are about us reaching their town.”
Chloe’s brow furrowed as his words sank in. She hadn’t even considered that. She’d been so focused on getting to Mercy that she didn’t think about whether they’d be welcome. From their camp halfway down the mountain the night before, they had been able to confirm there still weren’t any obvious working electric lights or moving vehicles. It looked like two structural fires were still smoldering, but otherwise the main part of the tiny town appeared intact.
“Why wouldn’t they help us?” Crissy asked. She’d removed her heavy trail pack and was sitting on it. Her face was painfully red, and small blisters dotted the tip of her nose.