by Bobby Akart
Already? Really? We’ve only been gone half an hour!
Colton pulled his sidearm and released the safety. He trained the weapon on a clearing in the woods from which the sounds emanated. He was ready as the sounds grew louder. Heavy steps. Not attempting to hide their approach. Colton was sweating, slightly obstructing his vision.
Bursting into the clearing from the woods, two chestnut and black quarter horses trotted towards him and then abruptly turned down the shoulder of the road toward the south. Off they went in a slow gallop, rounding the curve as they took life’s hurdles in stride.
Colton’s body relaxed and he leaned toward the hood of the Wagoneer, intentionally bumping his head on the hood to restart his heart, which had momentarily taken a break during the stressful arrival of the horses.
He stood and began to laugh nervously. Madison rolled down the passenger window.
“Hey, Colt, do I need to get you another pair of pants?” she asked, laughing. Unconsciously, Colton reached behind and felt the seat of his jeans, just in case.
“Very funny,” he replied. Colton holstered his weapon and efficiently removed the obstructing tree limb from their path.
As he did, Colton thought about the fact that any game plan always looked good on paper, but rarely did it turn out that way. Murphy’s Law, whoever Murphy was, stated that anything that could go wrong, would go wrong and probably at the worst possible moment.
Colton reached for the handle of the truck just as the conductor struck up the Croakin’ Frog Jamboree.
Big croaks.
Chapter 2
DAY FIFTEEN
6:45 a.m., September 23
Chickering Road
Forest Hills, Tennessee
Alex leaned against the door and stared out the window toward Harpeth Hills Golf Course on her right. She’d miss golf. Obviously, there wasn’t room in the Wagoneer to bring her clubs. She wasn’t even sure if there was a course near Shiloh—not that it mattered.
She’d miss some of her friends, although she’d learned early on in high school that many were conniving backstabbers. The night the lights went out, Daddy had warned her and Mom about the depravity of man. Alex didn’t find the need to remind him that she’d learned about the depravity of her fellow teenagers years ago.
Alex would miss Disney movies and her favorite reality television shows—Survivor and Big Brother. She’d miss chocolate and Facebook. But that was about it. Seeing Harpeth Hills devoid of golfers was a grim reminder of a life without her favorite pastime.
As the sun rose, so did the walkers. No, not the walkers referenced on The Walking Dead, one of her favorite shows. Alex never could figure out why the characters on The Walking Dead didn’t call them zombies. That was what they were, and that was also what these people looked like as well.
Her dad slowed as refugees began to appear on both sides of the road. Once in a while, one would approach the truck, holding out their hands, looking for some type of mercy. The family had talked about this the night before. There would come a time when they’d be able to help others in need. First, they had to protect themselves.
Alex studied the walkers. There appeared to be two types of post-apocalyptic refugees—those who were marginally prepared and those who were not. The way they were dressed was one indicator. The way their skin hung on their degenerating bodies was another. Those who’d gone longer without food appeared drunk, at times staggering toward the truck as they turned to look at the odd sight of a moving vehicle.
Alex began to imagine every man, woman, and child leaving Nashville, fleeing the apocalyptic carnage of the city in search of shelter, food, and safety. As the heavily populated areas of South Nashville succumbed to anarchy and out-of-control fires, neighbors became survivors, but eventually, survivors sought other options besides their homes and became refugees.
Either the sound of their approaching vehicle or the rising sun caused the refugees to awaken. Faces of women and children peered through the windows of abandoned cars. Whole families living in lean-to shelters made up of cardboard boxes and tarps poked their heads out to take a look. Harpeth Hills golf course had become a tent city.
“Are we refugees, Daddy?” asked Alex as she continued to wonder at the masses of people who’d congregated here.
“I guess so,” he replied. “In a way, anyone who’s displaced from their home due to a catastrophe would be considered a refugee.”
“Like after Hurricane Katrina?” asked Alex.
“Exactly, although many of those people were more like evacuees because they had homes to return to,” responded Madison. She turned to look at Alex in the backseat. “I think a refugee is someone that’s permanently displaced.”
“Like us,” said Alex, who began to get emotional at the thought of never being able to return home.
“Not necessarily, Allie-Cat,” said Colton. “We had to leave for our safety, just like the evacuees from Katrina. When they returned to their homes, they didn’t know what to expect. We’re in the same situation.”
“That’s right, honey,” said Madison. “We’ll return home one day when things return to normal.”
Alex pondered this thought for a moment, doubting that her mother was certain of her own words. They’d taken the steps to leave the doors to the house unlocked but closed. Madison had left all of the cupboard doors open and the closet doors ajar. They had even created the appearance that their home had already been looted. With a little luck, any thieves would move through quickly, realize there was nothing of survival value, and go on to the next home. Her daddy thought this would increase their chances of having something to return to if their home wasn’t consumed by the fires.
“Honey, most people are creatures of habit,” Madison continued. “They’ll only move if something forces them to. Some people, like these folks on the side of the road, left before us. They didn’t have any place to go. They just needed to get away from what was happening all around them.”
Alex continued to stare at the makeshift tent city as Colton continued the conversation. “It’s like your mom said, humans are habitual. We’re also creatures of comfort. In most emergencies, people will not want to leave their homes. Kinda like us. Something has to dislodge them, and when it does, it may be too late.
“When the power grid went down and the water stopped working, a lot of folks, even our neighbors, thought the government would get things up and running again. They didn’t accept reality right away and used up their resources like food and water.”
“I know,” said Alex. “Jimmy Holder told me that some of the neighbors were drinking water out of their hot water heaters and then their toilets. It was gross.”
“They were desperate,” said Colton. “When those options ran out, they left the city, looking for water, food, shelter and safety.”
“Why did they stop here, at a golf course?” asked Alex.
Colton wheeled the Wagoneer through several abandoned cars and turned right onto Old Hickory Boulevard. “We’re fortunate to have transportation,” he replied. “All of these people got the heck out of Dodge, searching for places to hunt and fish. They’ll stay here until something dislodges them again, and then they’ll strike out for points farther away from the city.”
“They seem to be getting along,” observed Alex. The sun was in full view and the day was under way for the refugees. Many stood talking to one another, pointing at the Wagoneer as it eased down the road.
Colton continued. “As time progresses and things get more dangerous, they’ll begin to weigh their options. Just like at home, these folks will band together and take the approach that there is strength in numbers.”
“Will they become marauders too?”
“Maybe,” said Madison. “As we’ve learned, desperate people will do desperate things. People who’ve walked this far will realize there aren’t enough fish in the pond around here, or notice that it’s getting too crowded and dangerous. They’ll begin to think the grass is greener s
omewhere else, causing them to migrate towards the farms or towards a river.”
“Unfortunately, they might loot along the way,” added Colton. “As this group of refugees walks out of the metropolitan area toward the farms and small towns, they’ll branch off the main highway onto small side roads or gravel driveways. Mile after mile after mile, they’ll approach the scattered houses and barns off in the distance, searching for food, water, and shelter. They might find them empty or heavily defended. The owners might say stop, or I’ll shoot. Others will simply shoot and ask questions later. That’s the risk you run in wandering aimlessly into the countryside.”
Alex sat quietly, staring at the sullen faces and starving children as they drove past. The sun was rising and, with it, her apprehension. The vague picture she’d conjured up in her mind last night of farms full of crops and fields teeming with cattle had been replaced with thoughts of locust-like refugees spreading far and wide, creating a bleak and plundered world ravaged by the hungry walkers—dotted with burned-down homes and broken-down vehicles.
She quietly said a prayer thanking God for her parents, and their 1969 Jeep Wagoneer, before she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 3
DAY FIFTEEN
7:15 a.m., September 23
Old Hickory Boulevard
Belle Meade, Tennessee
Madison continued to study the map as they cleared the last cluster of homes along Old Hickory Boulevard. They’d need to take a left up ahead on Vaughn Road, which provided them a direct shot to the Natchez Trace Parkway.
When she’d plotted their route toward Shiloh over the past couple of days, she decided on the Natchez Trace Parkway because it was a relatively direct route and they wouldn’t encounter many small towns. What she didn’t envision were the temporary towns springing up outside the city. Seeing the number of refugees camped out on the golf course surprised her.
The false alarm caused by the horses and the appearance of the refugees were cause for her to reconsider if this was the right thing to do. Madison knew there would be challenges to face, but the rising sun shed light on the realities of what the Rymans might face along the way.
Madison recalled the words written in the prepping books she’d purchased just before the solar storm hit. Bugging out was the terminology used by the preppers. At the time she was reading about the concept, Madison was unaware that Colton had successfully traded a shiny new, but now worthless, Corvette for this partially rusted out hunk of junk.
During those thirty-six hours, Madison first had to come to grips with the threat their family faced if the predictions and possibilities were true. Admittedly, the thought of having to bug out hadn’t crossed her mind. Any plan involving leaving their home was murky and, as a result, shoved to the rear of the preparedness planning line. The way she looked at it, the notion of bugging out was simple—grab your stuff and go.
Bugging out was considered a last resort for Madison. Like so many others, she never imagined the threats would escalate to the point her family would be forced out of their home. The rose-colored glasses got ripped away from so many people at once. Tensions were bound to boil over. Somehow, their beautiful city and their once quiet neighborhood had become a field of battle. Decades of pressure and stress had pushed ordinary Americans to the brink, and all it took was one catastrophic event to push them over the edge. Now in hindsight, Madison was amazed her family had lasted in their home as long as they did.
As Colton slowly approached the intersection of Vaughan Road, Madison realized her biggest regret was not having a specific place to bug out to. Jake Allen’s ranch in Shiloh seemed like the perfect location, but nobody knew they were coming. Plus, the Rymans only assumed they’d be welcomed in.
Madison leaned forward to focus her view on the upcoming intersection. Ahead were numerous tents set up within the baseball fields, and more than a dozen stalled vehicles along the road slowed their progress. Edwin Warner Park had become a temporary town of its own.
“Turn left here, honey,” said Madison. The intersection appeared to be blocked ahead, but Colton improvised by navigating the Wagoneer onto the shoulder and past the grassy baseball diamonds of Heriges Memorial Field.
After the solar storm, their world got much smaller. Their boundaries were limited by the distance they could walk or ride a bike. While the Wagoneer expanded their world, the Rymans quickly learned that the roads were not passable in many instances, like this one.
Madison’s mind wandered back to the bug-out process. Madison had learned that the art of prepping was not an exact science. For one thing, predicting when and where a catastrophic event would occur was anyone’s guess. From what she’d read in the EMP book, solar storms were more predictable than something like a nuclear-EMP attack by North Korea, Iran, or one of the other countries that didn’t like the United States very much.
Timing a bug-out, she determined, was critical to its success. In a perfect world, they’d have a destination, Colton would’ve been home, and the family would’ve left hours before the solar storm hit. If nothing happened, then they had a night or two away from home as a family getaway. They could always go back after the threat passed.
If you bugged out too late, which she now realized they had, you’d face masses of people with the same idea. The whole concept of sheltering-in-place might make sense in a bad storm, but in a catastrophic event like this once-in-a-lifetime solar storm, Madison realized that societal collapse occurred much faster than anyone could imagine. She’d seen the signs before, and after, the power grid went down.
The Wagoneer bounced through the field as Colton ran through ruts in the dirt and hopped over potholes in the ground. This jarred Alex, who let out a grumble, as most teenagers awoken from their slumber might do. Colton continued through the fields, looking for an entry point back onto the road.
“Maddie, I don’t like the looks of this,” said Colton as several people started toward them. “We’re attracting too much attention.” Having one of the few operating vehicles in town was another reason to bug out before everything collapsed, thought Madison.
“What if we turn around and find another way?” asked Madison, but as she glanced in the side-view mirror, she answered her own question. People were gathered behind them and walking behind the truck. Soon, they would be surrounded.
They began to hear shouts as suddenly people began running toward them from the parked cars on Vaughn Road. Two men had reached their tailgate and began to tug at the tarp that covered the extra gasoline and the generator.
“Colton, we’ve got to do something,” urged Madison. Colton pressed the gas and swerved to the left, abandoning the attempt to regain access to the road, instead heading towards the open fields surrounding the baseball diamonds.
“I’m gonna try to make it to the asphalt driveway that circles around the pavilions over there,” said Colton as the rear end of the Wagoneer swayed in the dust, kicking up dirt and gravel on their pursuers. The truck hit the asphalt road at an angle, causing it to catch and sway back and forth. But Colton gained the much-needed traction to speed up and put distance between them and the chasing mob of at least three dozen people.
Alex, fully awake again, shouted, “There, Daddy, to the left of those power poles. There’s an opening by those big rocks.”
Colton picked up speed and burst onto the field again, bouncing the truck up and down until he finally slowed his pace. Madison glanced back and saw that the pursuers had given up the chase.
“We’re good, Colton,” she said, bracing her hands against the dashboard. “You can slow down now.”
Colton reacted slowly to her suggestion, his hands gripping the wheel to the point his knuckles were white.
Madison reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “Honey, we’re good.”
Colton let the air out of his lungs and shook his head, acknowledging that the threat was over. He found his way through the large rocks and onto Vaughn Road.
“Colt, do you wanna pull
over somewhere and catch your breath? Maybe grab a bottle of water?” asked Madison. She could tell Colton was shaken by the incident.
“Nah, but thanks, guys,” he replied. “Let’s keep rollin’. Somehow, I think the farther we get away from the city, the better it’ll be.”
Madison leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek. She rubbed his neck and shoulders for a while to help him release some tension and to remind him that she loved him. She studied the face of the man she’d loved for so many years.
They were more at risk than she realized. Their operating vehicle stocked full of food and supplies was one of the most prized possessions on earth right now. People would stop at nothing to take away these things. Madison was prepared to make the tough choices. She vowed that she would protect, and defend, the most prized possession in her mind—her family—whatever it took.
Chapter 4
DAY FIFTEEN
7:35 a.m., September 23
Loveless Motel and Café
Highway 100
Belle Meade, Tennessee
Colton carefully approached the intersection with Highway 100. The NHC Assisted Living Center to their right had been looted. He took a double take to confirm there were two dead bodies decomposing in their hospital gowns, lying facedown at a side entrance. He immediately began to speak, attempting to draw the girls’ attention away from the morbid sight like a good dad would do when traveling on the interstate to avoid their laying eyes on a dead critter in the road.
“We’ll take a left here at the church and it should be a quarter mile or so past the Loveless Café,” said Colton. He looked both ways out of habit and turned to the west and the entrance to the Natchez Trace Parkway. They passed a family of four walking down the road, pushing shopping carts with all of their worldly belongings.