Bittersweet Homecoming; Surviving the Black--Book 3 of a Post-Apocalyptical Series

by Zack Finley

  Near the back steps, there was an impressive pile of split wood. The splitting maul stuck out of the large stump used to support the rounds being split.

  Mike insisted on going through the back door first. We went with stealth instead of firepower. The back door opened into a remarkably clean mud room. Several overcoats hung on the rack, and two pairs of street shoes were tucked into cubby holes. The washroom was spotless.

  An older woman with steel gray hair boiled water on the black woodstove with pride of place in the kitchen. She never made a sound when Mike secured her hands and gagged her. She had her back to us and didn't realize we were in the room until it was too late. She must be hard of hearing, and I was glad a more permanent solution wasn't needed.

  Tom and I eased up the grand staircase while Mike and Joel finished searching the downstairs. We found beds and facilities consistent with 13 men and one woman. Once the place was secure, Tom sat down to talk with her. Tom learned she was a housekeeper. Her long-time employer was a retired army officer who bought the place when he retired many years before. After the crash, a local group offered them food in exchange for letting the 10 men, and their two officers lived there. The men and officers manned the roadblock, around-the-clock.

  We didn't tell her we killed the men. She thought we were part of the same outfit. She even offered to tell the colonel of our visit when he returned. She took being bound and gagged in her stride, although she asked to retire to her room to recover. While I didn't think she'd crawl out her window, I had Joel watch it anyway. We left her the food but took the overcoats and some of the slickers.

  We faded out of her life as fast as we came into it.

  The second house was vacant.

  At our all-clear, Jumper called for the lead truck with its cable and other gear to move the concrete roadblock. The sand and wet pavement made the concrete barrier easier to move than expected.

  We acquired new weapons, ammo, and a few good coats out of this. But we lost Andy and had one man wounded. I was not inclined to rest another time until we got to Breckinridge Valley.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter 14

  Just over 200 miles to go by our map with an unknown number of detours and issues. My watch said it was 16:30. I was bone weary, and my wet clothing, socks, and underwear were chafing in intimate places. It seemed such a petty thing to consider. Especially compared to Andy's body zipped into a body bag lying in a ninja trailer. I didn't even know Tom had a body bag. We could have brought Razor back for burial in Breckinridge Valley, too.

  I didn't know if bringing Andy home for his mom and dad to bury was better than giving him the warrior sendoff we gave Razor.

  After we got through to the Clarksville side of the bridge, Mike and Jumper left to scout ahead. The gruesome drive over skeletons on Zinc Plant Bridge didn't seem as horrific as the first time we encountered it. Joel drove the bus and made sure the kids didn't look out the window. No need for them to have nightmares about that.

  Tom had all our wounded resting in the bus. He assured me that Ben was fine and that he had replaced the dressings on Craig's leg. Tom gave no assurances about Craig's leg, except to say there was still no sign of infection. The wounded sentry had good vital signs and was still asleep, courtesy of some excellent drugs. I forgot to ask if Tom had any of that cannabis chocolate, Dr. Jerrod gave me for my recovery.

  Allie was back in her navigation seat, as we went back over familiar ground. I was glad for the defroster in this truck, it was a lot better than on our Humvees. I still had to wipe the windshield occasionally. Having five soaking wet people riding inside would burden any unit. The outside temperature, according to my fancy truck, was a balmy 45 degrees. The rain showed no signs of letting up. If it kept other people off the streets that would be a fair tradeoff.

  Driving back looked totally different. Sure, it was daylight and raining, but I didn't recognize any of the landmarks. The main time saver was going directly to the unblocked freeway crossing.

  Before leaving the Zinc Plant Road stop, Tom distributed dry socks and a couple of towels for each vehicle. I assumed he got them from the manor house but didn't ask.

  Few of us took the time to put on dry socks, before getting out of there. Allie had one boot off and was drying off her foot before putting on the dry sock. There was a lot of wriggling and writhing in the back suggesting they were doing the same. Allie carefully completed one boot before starting the next one. If we had a situation, she didn't want to be barefoot.

  Now we had wet socks on the dash and hanging from various places on the truck. It made my squelchy socks even more uncomfortable. At least the kids were warm and dry. Life aboard the Cumberland was now just a fond memory.

  There hadn't even been time to see how Jules or Andy's kids were doing.

  I still couldn't believe how lucky we were and how incompetent our opponent was. A bunch of barracks' soldiers only experienced in shooting down helpless civilians. I doubt they would have overrun us, but they could have inflicted a lot more casualties. Their military gear and proximity to Ft. Campbell raised some questions.

  Not my current problem, I hoped never to return to this spot.

  This time through, we planned to skip Port Royal Park and that charnel house of a bait shop. Allie kept in touch with the scouts, reminding them of turns and blockages. The route we took under I-24 on the way out was still clear. There was no need to follow our series of false starts, so we drove directly to join up with TN-76 on our way to Adams. Outside of Adams, it would be nearly dark. We planned to swap ninja riders and put on NVGs when we got there.

  US 41 outside of Adams was a much better road, but it had stalled cars parked everywhere. That combined with the driving rain and gusting wind, slowed all of us down. Near Springfield, we turned northeast onto TN 49. The conditions remained horrible as we drove slowly through Orlinda and onto TN 52.

  "Allie, tell the scouts to find us an unoccupied building we can stay in. Industrial is fine," I said.

  "Thank God," Allie muttered under her breath before radioing the scouts.

  Before I'd decided for us to pull over, I spotted hundreds of suitable places. Now we were looking, nothing popped out at me. Most of the farmhouses had active chimneys, and those that looked cold were just too close to others to risk it.

  Even our steady supply of churches had dried up. The hunt slowed progress even more. I was about to abort it when Allie said, "We are close to I-65. There were buildings there, even some motels."

  When we came through here on the way out, the freeway was empty in both directions. I didn't recall any businesses at the intersection, but at that time, I wasn't looking for somewhere to stay. A cold bed sounded like heaven. I wondered if someone left any coffee packets behind?

  We followed the scouts off TN 52 about a quarter mile to get to a budget motel. We drove by a truck stop and restaurant abandoned long before the crash. I wondered if the budget motel was also abandoned beforehand.

  There was no sign of looting, the glass on the lobby doors and windows wasn’t broken. It was cold, and it was raining. No hint of heat showed on my thermal scan. We parked the trucks under the front awning and the bus beside it.

  Craig and Jules volunteered for sentry duty. Both said they couldn't sleep anyway. Juanita set up the stoves and scavengers went out in the rain with an escort to gather fuel. Where one of them found an umbrella, I didn't know.

  The kids and the wounded sentry were still asleep, but the rest of us helped Juanita set up water to boil on the stove. Two tarps were set up to gather drain water into empty buckets. This reminded me once again, these people were survivors. Everyone had a duty. Someone filled up the trucks, some moved pails of soaking beans or corn, some stayed in and watched the kids. Someone even dragged a chair from the lobby out to the awning for Juanita to sit down. Before long, dripping clothes were hanging over ropes hung throughout the lobby. I pulled my last set of dry clothes from my ruck, hanging my wet things from one of the spare ropes
using the clips I normally carried to secure them. My jacket would dry by morning due to its material, but the rest would still be damp or only moist if I was lucky.

  I intended to wear my lightweight water shoes to bed. I wasn't going to have time to lace up my boots in an emergency, and I didn't want to wear them to sleep in. Breaking into the rooms was easy, and in no time, I gathered a nest to sleep in. I also snatched up the room’s coffee packets, including the cream and sugar. I even took the artificial sweetener. My plate carrier was dripping in a fabric chair beside me. I hoped by morning much of the wet got wicked away. The material resisted moisture, but it needed a little help.

  Several people were settling down around me, and in no time, I nodded off.

  It was light when I woke to the smell of coffee, wafting from a cup someone set down next to me. At first, I believed it was a dream but quickly determined it was real. I wasn't the only one who found those coffee packets.

  The rain still poured down, but with the light, we should still make good progress. Once everyone woke up, the lobby doors opened, and seven rambunctious kids ran in. This appeared to be an organized event. I drank my coffee, reminding myself to drop off the packets I took from my room with Juanita.

  I wasn't the only one savoring the aroma and taste of the morning brew. A man, whose name I didn't know, brought around a tray filled with breakfast served in disposable coffee cup inserts and plastic spoons. Breakfast was one large spoonful of corn and another similar sized scoop of soybeans. I considered sprinkling it with sugar and creamer but decided even that wouldn't help. I thought longingly of the hot sauce out in the truck, but not enough to go get some.

  Grady's crew acted thrilled by the food, devouring it with gusto. I ate mechanically because I was hungry. The contrast drove home the difference between hunger and starvation. It made my craving for coffee feel superficial. I still didn't waste a drop.

  My guys were busy, cracking open doors to salvage what we could. Tom wanted clean flat sheets for bandages. Everyone salvaging the rooms had two pillowcases, one for the coffee and condiments and the other for soaps and shampoos. Cheers and hand claps greeted the salvagers carrying jugs of bleach and laundry detergent from the hotel laundry. Jimmy showed his mechanical expertise by breaking into the various coin-operated machines. He recovered bottles of water and soda, laundry products, and even candy bars.

  Despite their thoroughness, everything was loaded and ready to go within an hour. We even had sheets of plastic to sit on, since the truck seats were still wet and we were nearly dry.

  Tom, Craig, Ben, and the wounded sentry remained on the bus, during the salvage operation. Grady told me his guy was sore, but both Tom and Lois were pleased with his condition. It was 07:15 when the two scouts on fresh ninjas moved out. The rest of us followed by 07:30. It was rainy but still 45 degrees according to my fancy truck.

  Allie announced it was about 70 miles to Celina and then another 90 miles from Celina to the Valley. We had a few known detours and a lot of stalled cars to go. Except for the detours, we would stay on TN 52 for much of the way.

  I cracked several windows and ran the heater and fan full out to purge some of the moisture from the cab.

  The wind calmed some since last night. It was no longer trying to jerk us around, and I let the speed creep up, still wary of stalled cars around blind corners. The visibility was so much better in daylight.

  Celina could slow us down if someone reformed that roadblock. To be honest, so could some new action by anyone. At this point, though, I felt confident we'd find a way to go 160 miles. If necessary, we could send four ninjas directly to the Valley to bring back help. The Valley could send Humvees with machine guns to bring us in. I might have done that if we'd gotten to Hickman and phoned home. If I'd done that Andy would still be alive.

  I chased that thought away. I knew it would return when I relaxed my firm grip on my thoughts. Razor and Andy would join the ghosts that haunt my dreams. Part of me will always feel blame. But the part of me that responded to therapy knows I didn't kill them or my wife, Irene. At least those thoughts no longer dominate my waking consciousness.

  The need to keep our speed down warred with my eagerness to get home. The poor visibility and standing water caused by the heavy rain made dodging stalled cars particularly challenging for the men riding the ninjas.

  "Scouts, find us a place to stop for a few minutes," I radioed.

  "What's up?" Allie asked.

  "We'll pull in the ninjas till we get closer to the Celina bridge; this weather is just too dangerous for motorcycles," I said.

  The two ninjas stopped at the top of a small hill, with a mostly unobstructed view in both directions. They hooked the motorcycles up to chargers and disappeared into the bus. My pickup would now scout ahead. The two pickups would sandwich the bus in between.

  We started back up in this configuration. About a mile later TN 52 returned to the two-lane windy rural road I remembered. My memory of our route was sketchy, it looked a lot different during the day. On our way out, we took the time to clear stalled cars that would have delayed us now. Allie provided advance warning for the few places we had to leave the main road to go around wrecks.

  The most substantial detour came just after we drove through Lafayette. This detour I remembered due to concerns over being trapped in a 20-foot-deep canyon carved into the limestone. There the road was the perfect killing field with no way out. It still caused me shivers just remembering we drove into it willingly.

  We found a way around the roadblock, and since no hostiles manned the high ground, it just resulted in a minor delay. I had no desire to learn if the place was manned by shooters during the day.

  The detour was complicated, but Allie's notes seemed up to the task, until the farm road we were on disappeared into a torrent of water. I suggested a latrine break while Allie searched the map for an alternate route.

  The rest of us needed to find a place we could turn the bus around. Backing it up on this narrow gravel track would be hard enough. It would be up to Jules' truck to turn around first and backtrack.

  I didn't envy Joel, who was driving the bus. Visibility sucked, and the road was barely a single lane wide. The minuscule shoulders were soft and would trap a tire, potentially dragging the bus into the water flowing in the ditches on both sides.

  "Joel do you need guides to walk beside the bus and help you stay on the road?" I radioed.

  "Couldn't hurt since visibility sucks," Joel radioed back. After a brief pause, he radioed, "The two scouts have volunteered. I think it is a commentary on my driving."

  I turned off my truck engine and leaned back into the headrest. Allie was busy flipping pages back and forth in her map book, searching for that alternate route.

  It took at least an hour to get everyone back on the road facing in a direction we could drive forward in. We drove nearly all the way back to Lafayette to find another route. It was 11:00. We traveled 40 miles in three and a half hours. Still faster than walking.

  Allie sent us in a long loop south around the affected area. This would return us to TN 52 east of Red Boiling Springs. The detour featured farmland broken by stretches of forest. There were fewer abandoned cars. I speculated evacuees favored more direct routes. The detour took us back into hill country where roads were sparse. This foray wouldn't last long, but it was a hint of things to come. Roadbuilders skirted these rugged hills preferring the more welcoming flatlands.

  With the Cumberland River crossing in Celina, we would move into the Cumberland Plateau. On the plateau, the number of roads and acres of cropland dropped precipitously. The rocky soil in the hills of Tennessee made poor farmland, even in the valleys. Nothing like the lush growing conditions along the Mississippi River or the Coastal Plain.

  We were traveling through the highlands region of Tennessee transitioning to the Cumberland Plateau. At 12:00, Allie estimated we were 20 miles out of Celina. The rain was still falling but not as heavily. The wind was still from the sout
h, and the temperature remained a warm 45 degrees.

  At 12:40, we passed the turnoff where we spent our first outbound night on the road, after crossing the Celina bridge.

  The plan was simple, I'd drive up and through the roadblock to the far side of the bridge. If all looked well. I'd radio for the rest of the group to join me. Once the bus was over the bridge, we would all speed through Celina streets. We would follow our earlier route and get back onto the highway. Hopefully, without encountering anyone.

  It worked. No one attempted to stop us, no one shot at us, and no ambush. The next leg was TN 52 to just before Jamestown where we planned to leave TN 52 to bypass that town.