by Byron Tucker
Part II
The Winter
Chapter 12
Margaret Durant fingered the one and only piece of communication she'd received from her children since about a week after the eruption, which she'd gotten just before mail delivery stopped for good in the middle of September. Adjusting her reading glasses, she began reading it for the umpteenth time:
Dear Mom, we hope very much this letter reaches you, since there's no indication as to when the phones will work again, or when either of us will be able to make the trip down to Chicago. As you're probably already aware, the ash has crippled the power and telecommunication system across the country, which is why we haven't been able to get in contact with you. However, rest assured, we're doing fine up here in the Keweenaw, with plenty of food and supplies for the whole family. The children keep asking when Ryan or I will be able to come down and get you, so it's pretty clear they think about you a good deal, which is certainly the case with me.
I cannot began to express the level of frustration of not being able to come down and get you, or even to talk to you on the telephone, but as Ryan keeps telling me, the military just isn't allowing civilian travel on the open roads, and there's no word as to when this travel restriction will be lifted. Trust me, I'd driven down and gotten you a long time ago had it been possible. In any case, we sincerely hope that you are doing okay in the house, and that you've been able to procure enough food to eat. I have faith that your friends and neighbors have been looking out for you and making sure you have what you need.
Provided that you do get this, Ryan and I want to emphasize the importance of you staying put, since it's far too dangerous for you to attempt going anywhere on your own. As soon as conditions permit, one of us will come down and bring you back to Michigan, where you'll be kept safe with plenty of food to eat. Until then, however, it's imperative that you remain where you are. If you need help, please don't be shy about asking for it, but be extremely wary of strangers.
I can't think of much more to say, except that we all love you and are thinking of you down in Chicago, and we're hoping and praying that we can be reunited in the very near future. Love, Sam and Ryan.
Margaret folded the letter and placed it on the table in front of her, fighting back tears. It'd been three weeks since that letter was sent, and with the mail no longer running, there was no hope of receiving another. There was no telling when the lights and the phones would work again, if ever, and for the past two weeks, the neighbors had stopped bringing parcels of food they'd been picking up at the local distribution center, for the simple reason that the National Guard no longer had any food to distribute. Just yesterday, she'd eaten her last can of beans, a most unsavory meal she'd struggled to keep down, since the can was two years past its “best by” date. And that was it, with not a morsel of food to be found in the house. However, even more alarmingly, there was no water service, the already-anemic water pressure dwindling to nothing the day before when she was washing up. With just a few bottles of spring water she still had on hand, Margaret knew she'd die of thirst long before she had to worry about starving to death. She'd gone next door to ask them about what was going on, but they had vanished without a trace, their garage door standing open to the elements, and both cars gone.
Her mind was made up. Fortunate to have a full tank of gas in her late-model Lincoln, she decided she would pack a couple of suitcases and head north to Michigan. Surely the military folk wouldn't object to an older lady seeking to be with her two sons, would they? If that was the case, then she'd be having words with them, as she wasn't going to let anyone prevent her from being with her children and grandchildren.
Margaret rushed around the large, chilly house and gathered a few of her most precious belongings, such as framed photos of her dear late husband and the kids when they were little. Other than her clothes, however, there was precious little to take, which was just as well, since it was already nearing lunchtime and she wanted to make it up to Ryan's place before nightfall if possible.
Once the suitcases were loaded in the trunk of the car, she made one last check of the house, thankful she didn't have any pets to be concerned with and proceeded to open the garage door by hand. As soon as she did so, however, she was confronted by the sight of hoodlums carrying baseball bats walking down the street, with clusters of guys going from house to house. With fear rising in her throat, she hurriedly got into the car and accelerated out of the garage, nearly colliding with several of the roving men as she came out of the driveway. One of the thugs managed to smash the rear right window with a swipe of his bat. However, she put the petal to the metal and spun rubber, rocketing down the street before other gang members could halt her progress.
Consumed with a near-panic, Margaret headed directly for the Interstate heading north, not even bothering to slow down at the intersections. She barely noticed the dead and dying trees everywhere due to the gray ash that still covered everything. Much to her relief, the northbound Interstate was open and clear, and she accelerated the large car up to eighty in short order.
Her progress was unimpeded until she reached the Illinois-Wisconsin border, where she came up to a roadblock manned by the Illinois National Guard. Putting on the bravest face she could, Margaret rolled down her window and came to a stop in front of a young soldier, fully ready to make her case.
The fresh-faced guard looked at her and the car for a few moments and then said, “Where are you planning on going, ma'am?”
The man's polite tone putting her at ease a bit, she said, “Up to northern Michigan to be with my children. I got a letter from them telling me to stay put, but there's no power or water, and hoodlums are taking over my neighborhood. I have no choice to drive up to my son's.”
The soldier gave her a long, grim-faced expression before replying. “I don't know of a pleasant way of putting this to you, ma'am, but the chances of you making it through Milwaukee is slim to none, leaning toward none. It's my advice that you drive south, where they're setting up refugee camps.”
Margaret shook her head valiantly. “I'll be caught dead before I went to a refugee camp. I'm going to my sons' place, and that's that. I've got no other place to go.”
The soldier placed his hands on the lip of the door, making a point to have direct eye contact with her. “While we've recently been ordered to allow passage for those who desire to do so, I must tell you that you'd be placing yourself in grave danger. The whole of eastern Wisconsin has been abandoned by the Wisconsin National Guard, and the place is overrun by the lawless. Just two days ago, we were involved in a deadly gun battle with a gang of about two hundred trying to make their way south. We were able to force them to turn back, but I'm sure they're lying in wait somewhere up the road a bit.”
“Well, then, I'll just take back roads, if you think the Interstates are too dangerous.”
The soldier shook his head slowly. “There is no safe passage going north. The only sensible thing for you to do is to head south, preferably at least to St Louis. The national military is still maintaining order there, and things will be much safer than up here.”
Despite what the man was telling her, Margaret refused to budge. She'd just run over those hoodlums if it came to that. Nothing in the world was going to stop her from being with her children. Nothing.
Looking at the soldier with a hard-nosed stare, she said, “My mind is made up. I'm going to Michigan, and there's nobody that's going to stand in my way. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get going now.”
The guard stepped back, motioning to a couple other men manning a gate up ahead. “She insists. Let her through.”
Smiling to herself that she'd been able to talk her way through the roadblock, Margaret proceeded on through, quickly pushing the heavy sedan back up to eighty on the open, unobstructed highway.
For twenty miles, she drove at speed, not even minding the chill wind blowing through the shattered rear window. In a few short hours, she would be with her dear sons and grand
children, and that was all that mattered. Completely lost in thought, she didn't even see the spike strips that'd been stretched across the highway. Within a blink of an eye, she went from a steady smooth cruise to fishtailing madly on the pavement, all four tires shredded into ruin. Unable to maintain control of the car, she spun out into the median, scraping along the guardrail for a few dozen yards before finally coming to a stop.
Dazed, and not yet understanding what had just happened, Margaret opened her door and slowly got out of the car, getting a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach once she glimpsed the ruined tires. In the midst of pondering her predicament, a pointed object poked into her side.
Turning around to see what it was, she saw a masked individual holding an M-16, with a cluster of other men rushing up to his side.
“What have we here?” One of the men said as he came up to look inside the car. “Just an old lady, it seems. I sure hope she has some food with her.”
Barely able to speak, Margaret said, “I have nothing but a few clothes. But if you'll help me get going again, I'll give you whatever cash I have with me, which is a few hundred dollars.”
The man broke out into laughter as the first one said, “We're not here to help you. We're here to maintain our survival, and if you have nothing of substance, then we have no use for you.”
Margaret looked at each of the men in turn as she tried making sense of what the first one was saying. “But...but you've got to help me. I'm trying to get to my sons up north, and my tires are flattened. Please, you have to help me.”
One of the hooded men said to the other, “Let's off this bitch, so we can see what's in the car. I'm gonna be a pissed-off mo-fo if she doesn't have food.”
Margaret opened and closed her mouth as her body became consumed with raw terror. Oh God, please don't let me die. I just want to be with my children. Oh God...
She heard a series of loud pops, followed by white-hot pain blossoming in her midsection. Looking down, she saw the front of her white blouse soaked with blood, unable to fully comprehend what had just happened to her. As the strength ebbed out of her and she fell to the pavement, she distantly heard two more pops, although there was no more pain. An inky blackness overcame her as the world faded into silence, and then Margaret Durant, aged 79, was no more.
Chapter 13
Ryan, wanting to be alone and have a few moments to himself, walked into the woods behind the shop, his boots crunching on the ash-covered ground. They'd been lucky in Upper Michigan, the ash fall only amounting to three or four inches. Subsequent rains had washed it off the trees and vegetation onto the ground, where it solidified into a brittle, concrete-like substance that looked like dirty snow.
He came to a stop and toed the dried green-brown leaves on the ground that had fallen off the oaks and maples lining the trail and looked up at the bare skeletons of the trees. Although it was barely mid-October, it was for all practical purposes, winter. A wave of severe frosts had hit the week after Labor Day, putting an end to the growing season, not just for this year, but possibly for years to come. In all likelihood, there wouldn't be any kind of spring or summer for at least two years, possibly longer. There hadn't been much snow yet, but there was little doubt that it would be arriving soon and, when it did, it wouldn't be going away for a very long time.
Ryan took a few additional steps and decided to have himself a smoke. He smoked about three-quarters a pack per day now, slowly draining his stores of cigarettes. Not that he needed to worry quite yet, as he still had fifteen cartons or so to smoke his way through before he was forced to become a non-smoker again. He sparked his lighter and took a drag on his Marlboro, savoring the taste of chemically-modified tobacco. Not like these are worth anything for trade, he thought wistfully.
For the one thing that everyone needed and didn't have enough of was food. If you didn't have food, you were simply out of luck. It didn't matter how much cash you had, or gold or silver, or ammo, or any other material goods, as useful as it may be, it still wasn't enough to get you food. Food and access to fresh water were the two things that people needed on an ongoing basis and judging from what he'd heard lately, a whole lot of people had been going without food for quite some time. Not just in the big cities like Chicago, but locally as well.
There was no news on the TV anymore, since the cable no longer worked, and the station from Marquette had gone off the air for some reason. He could no longer get Internet. There was no grid power, either. Just what he could get from solar and wind, neither of which was yielding much juice, due to the perpetual overcast and lack of wind. As for communication with the outside world, he had his ham radio set in the shop along with his forty-foot antenna, as well as the shortwave radio in the house, which Jimmy spent far too much time listening to. But then again, that poor boy had little else to do but listen to the voices of a dying civilization.
But if Jimmy was merely bored, it was Sam who was suffering the most. Once it became clear that they wouldn't be going back home for a very long time, if ever, Sam pretty much went off into the deep end of depression. He spent the days sitting in the easy chair, mindlessly flipping through Ryan's collection of National Geographic. Ryan did have some success in getting him to split wood with him in the shop, but the problem with that was that Jimmy always wanted to help, so it didn't take long to get piles of it split and stacked, almost getting to the point of not having enough wood on hand to be split. He knew it would soon be time to do some cutting in the woods with the chainsaw, but he wasn't ready to take that risk. Not yet.
Ryan took a long drag on the cigarette. We've got to supplement our food supply, and soon. But he was loath to go hunting with his guns, recognizing the importance of not drawing attention. There had been a bit of radio chatter about gang ambushes, even in the remote Keweenaw, with the attackers going after people with guns and food. Thankfully, none had strayed onto his property despite the lack of fencing, or perhaps because of it. People couldn't see the house from the road, which was hardly used anyhow, and there was little indication that anyone was even living out here. He just had to hope that would be enough to keep the family safe from marauders, since he sure wasn't going to be able to perform a Custer's Last Stand, not with a family of non-shooters with him.
He heard the sound of footsteps coming up the trail behind him. Turning around in a panic, he let out a sharp huff when he saw that it was just his nephew. He was wearing a too-thin jacket, the only one he had, and it was easy to see that he was shivering from the cold. He had an idea. Pointing the way back to the shop, he said, “Jimmy, there's something in the shop I want to show you.”
Rubbing his hands together for warmth, Jimmy said, “I just had to get out of the house. Mom and Eliza are doing their thing in the kitchen, and Dad's being all grumpy. He's saying I'm a useless slug and he told me to come out and help you with whatever chores you need to have doing.”
Ryan let out a small sigh, hoping that Jimmy wouldn't notice his sour mood. We've got to do something about my brother, and soon. However, he realized he really needed to teach Jimmy some rudimentary survival skills, as he wasn't going to be able to feed five people over the long haul with just his own efforts. Once they got to the shop and stepped inside its gloomy interior, Ryan turned on a battery-powered LED light and made his way over to a set of closets. He fished out his keys and undid a fat padlock, allowing him to slide the door to one of them aside, unleashing the smell of musty leather.
“What's in here?” Jimmy asked, leaning his head next to him in the dim light.
“My old motorcycle and snowmobile suits. You need to have something warmer to wear, and since you're about as big as I am, I'm going to let you have my collection of riding gear.”
Jimmy fingered a folded pair of chaps on the shelf in front of them. “Will this keep me warm this winter?”
Ryan laughed, tugging the pathetic jacket Jimmy wore. “It'll be a hell of a lot warmer than what you've got on right now. I've also got some thermals in the hou
se you can have too, but you need some good outer wear. Go ahead, try putting those on.”
Jimmy pointed at the pair of tall-shaft boots sitting on the floor nearby. “Those look pretty rad. Mind if I put those on too?”
Ryan waved his hand at the contents of the entire closet. “All of this is yours. If you'd like, I'll help you take all of this over to the motorhome, and you can just keep it in there.”
Jimmy seemed puzzled. “What do I need all this for, though? It's not like anybody's letting me do anything outside.”
He smiled. “Actually, I do have something we'll be doing outside in a few moments. You're about to get your first crossbow lesson.”
Jimmy's eyes twinkled with delight. “Awesome! I was wondering if you'd ever take me hunting. Are you not using your guns because of Mom?”
Ryan hesitated. He didn't want this to get back to Jimmy's parents, who would surely keep him imprisoned inside the house. “Don't say this to anyone, but when I've been able to listen to reports on the ham radio, I've been hearing reports of houses being ambushed by people looking for food. It's extremely important that we don't make any kind of loud noise around here, which is why I haven't used my guns, or done any cutting with the chainsaw.”
“And that's why you've been heating the house with propane, too, so people won't see the smoke from the wood burners.”