“Great, let’s grab ’em, find a car, and get out of here.”
“The sooner the better.”
They didn’t bother to check inside the truck stop. The close encounter outside was bad enough. They didn’t want anything similar inside a confined area.
A Ford Escape was found in the rear of the stop, complete with all doors, wheels, and inflated tires. Elliot smashed the passenger-side window to gain entry—that could be taped up later. Jerry had thought of many useful lot of things—including duct tape, that would fit in a backpack. Elliot thought he was a lot like Chuck in that way. The Escape had less than a quarter of a tank, so they siphoned the remaining gas from the Jeep which gave them over three-quarters.
“We’ll have to make do with that. We have to get to Portland—or as close to it as possible—before dark.”
“That’s going to put a lot of pressure on us,” Jerry said. “We said we had to be like the resistance. Going for Portland tonight would be more like Patton’s Third Army.”
“I know, but the more we travel the more I feel we have to get to Sandspit within a day, two at the most. Don’t ask me why, but I just think something is happening there. And if we don’t get there in time…”
“Well what?”
“There won’t be another time.”
Neither said a word as they drove off down the 93 toward Wells, Nevada. Both lost with their thoughts of what lay ahead.
Sandspit 27
“…and that’s about the size of it,” Bob said to everyone now gathered in the parking lot of the motel. Light drizzle fell, but the tarp pulled across between the buildings kept them dry. What dry wood there was had been put into two forty-four-gallon drums and set alight, providing some warmth. Earlier, Chess and two other former Special Forces men drove the Jeep down to the harbor just to double check—the sub was still there, as Mayer said it would be. It was.
“Are we going to have a show of hands or a secret ballot, Bob?” David asked.
“We can do either, but a show of hands would be faster.”
“Why are we in such a hurry to abandon this place?” Cindy came forward. Her voice gave away her frustration. “We spent all this time trying to find a place free of foamers, and we had to fight to achieve that. Now you just want to leave and forget about Elliot?”
That Cindy would mention Elliot once more, was expected. Bob had addressed it earlier, but in a manner that wasn’t designed to please Cindy. Everyone accepted Bob’s reasoning—that it had been too long but there were still some questions. Clinging to the hope that their companions would show up one day could mean forsaking the potential for a better future. Possibly forever.
“How do we know any of these countries are in any better shape than Canada or the US?” Smithie, who wasn’t privy to the information disclosed at the previous night’s meeting, asked.
“We don’t. No more than we knew this place would be. We trusted Tom’s judgment,” Chuck paused for a moment and took a deep breath, “just as I think we can trust the captain of the submarine.”
“I don’t care how you vote, I’m not going anywhere without Elliot. It’s that simple!” Cindy said.
“Cindy, we’ve been through this.” Kath, who stood by Cindy the whole time, said to her.
“I don’t care what you say. I’m not leaving.”
“Cindy, you have no—”
Chuck came and took Kath by the arm. “Let it go for now,” he whispered.
“I’d like to suggest we take a vote right now before it gets any colder. A show of hands will be fine,” Bob suggested.
“I’m not staying for this bullshit!”
“Cindy! You can vote either way you like, but your vote is required.” Bob said in his most presidential sounding voice. It did the job, too, as Cindy remained.
Chuck turned and gave Bob a short nod; show time.
Bob cleared his throat then raised his voice slightly as the wind whistled through the tarps above. “Those in favor of leaving with the sub, raise your hand,”
The vote was unanimous except for Cindy and James, which was expected.
“I don’t think there’s any point in asking for a vote against, as it’s obvious,” Bob said to Chuck.
“Fine then. Y’all have a wonderful trip, I’ll just wait for Elliot right here, thank you very much,” Cindy said.
“You can’t stay here by yourself, not when you’re expecting a child,” Riley told her.
“Elliot will be here soon. He’ll look after me, and—”
“I don’t know about that, but you know I can’t leave without knowing for sure. My heart says to stay but my head, well…,” James spoke up. He had remained quiet throughout the meeting. He’d been quiet since he returned from driving the two officers from the sub back down to the harbor.
“I understand, but it’s been so long now. There’s not going to be another chance for either of you,” Chuck said.
“Ever since this whole thing started, I’ve witnessed death and great loss and the rise of unspeakable creatures on the streets. I’ve seen the undead. My son has shown many admirable qualities throughout and as a father, I’m very proud. With all that’s occurred and yet to occur, I don’t believe he will return. But he is my son and I can’t give up on him.”
“I’m not giving up on him either,” Cindy echoed.
“Cindy, you have to cut this shit and now!” Chuck had reached his limit. “You need to think of your baby as much as yourself. Now you’re coming along or—”
“Or what, Chuck? You gonna shoot me?”
“No, but I’ll throw you over my damn shoulders and carry, you that’s what.”
“I-I… just don’t know,” James muttered and sat down on a wooden bench outside of one of the rooms. He placed his head into his hands and sobbed.
“Chuck, let me—” Kath started to say before she was interrupted.
“Good morning.” Mayer walked into the parking lot from the main street. “I’m sorry, but I thought I’d check on your decision. Have you made it yet?” He was accompanied by Lieutenant Goodes. Both had their yellow rain-proof jackets on.
“Yes, Steve,” Bob answered the captain, “we’re coming along for the ride.”
“Good, good. There are a few things we’ll need to go over, and as everyone is here now’s as good a time as any. Being inside a submarine for any length of time can be quite daunting, but as we’re no longer playing hide an’ seek with other subs, we can do a lot of sailing on top of the sea. Still, there are some precautions to take. Most of us go through six months of intensive training before going off in a sub for any considerable period—you’re going to get a couple of hours of explanation at best.”
Cindy gave Mayer a cold stare then stomped off.
There probably wasn’t one among them that didn’t feel some form of guilt in one manner or another about leaving without Elliot. That’s hoe Chuck looked at it. At the same time, most had given up hope he was still alive. And now his own father had said as much, and Chuck knew that took a lot of courage. There just didn’t seem to be any other way, not if they wanted a better chance at survival.
“Of course, all the equipment you’ve set up here will have to stay, we don’t have the room. You probably won’t need it anyway,” Mayer continued as he watched Cindy walk off. It was only the second time he’d met her and both times she walked off angry.
“When do you plan on leaving, Steve?” Bob asked. A firm idea would give them time to grab their basics and be ready.
“Just after first light tomorrow will be as good a time as any.”
“We’ll be ready. Now, how about a coffee?” Chuck asked, then looked over at Kath and raised his eyebrows.
While Mayer and Goodes answered questions about the submarine, Kath went off to find Cindy.
“I’ll tag along with you if you don’t mind, Kath.”
“Sure, Riley, glad to have you,”
“Think I’ll come along too,” James said, his eyes red from tears.
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Kath would try one more time and was grateful for Riley’s company. She knew whatever she had to say to Cindy would be appropriate for James too.
If this news had arrived a few weeks ago, before the team left for DC, everyone would have been ecstatic. Rescue by a US submarine, a chance to escape to a place where foamers might not exist. But now, with several dead and the status of others unknown, the enthusiasm wasn’t there. It was like turning your back on a drowning friend.
But what choice was there?
Against All Odds 8
Elliot and Jerry made some rough calculations. The roads were bare—apart from the odd wreck or abandoned vehicle—and they could push eighty miles an hour at times without fear of an accident. They had lost valuable time when the weather closed in on them. If they had a decent vehicle then, with all the doors intact, they could have pushed on during the rain. The cans of beans, jerky and the water diet, gave both a steady case of the runs and every few miles or so, they had to stop while one—sometimes both—ran out into a field behind a tree or a shack for a liquid shit. Having to wipe their butts with grass, dried leaves, or old newspapers left the two of them suffering from an itchy and tender ass. However, the constant stops didn’t slow them too much—not when doing eighty or more.
“Next general store we see, we get some toilet rolls,”
“And some cream for my ass!” Elliot added, then laughed.
It wasn’t a laughing matter but they did so anyway. It was a pain in the ass, literally and figuratively.
“We’ll have to get gas when we hit Wells or just before. If we can fill up, we’ll get over a thousand miles without stopping.” Jerry looked across to Elliot, who now sat alongside him in the passenger seat of the bigger Ford Escape. “Well, except for—”
“Don’t mention it, damn you!” Elliot waved an authoritative finger. The two laughed again—they were like two teenagers on their first interstate trip. Elliot was glad for it too, it helped with the pain.
Elliot went back to the map. “There’s quite a few small towns before Wells. We can either take the roads around them or go straight through.”
“What’s your take? You have more experience traveling through towns.”
Elliot took a moment to weigh the pros, cons, and the time factor—always the time factor. “We go straight through.”
“Now the big question how do we get to these islands off the Canadian coast?”
“I don’t suppose you can fly a plane at all?”
“Well…”
“You can?”
“Sort of. I took some lessons before this catastrophe happened,”
“Really?” Elliot’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree on a December night. “Then all we need to do is—”
“Not so fast, hot shot.” Jerry held up an open hand. “I only made it half-way through stage one.”
“And what level of ability does that give you?”
“Pre-solo, Elliot. That means understanding your aircraft. I trained on a Cessna single-engine. You learn how to start it, taxi, fly in a straight line, and perform some basic turns, all with your instructor present. Takeoffs and landings are next, and then you finish up stage one with your first solo flight.”
“All right! You can takeoff, land, and fly in a straight line.” Elliot pumped his right fist in front of his chest. “What more do we want?”
“I’d only just started with the takeoffs—I hadn’t got around to the landings.”
Elliot’s excitement died, his hopes of flying back to Sandspit dashed. He dropped his head and stared at the canvas, rubber-soled shoes he was given at Mountain Home airbase, he searched his mind for an answer.
“I’m sorry, Elliot, I—”
“It’s not your fault, Jerry.” Elliot grabbed his companion’s arm and squeezed to show he understood.
It didn’t look good. Getting to the Haida Gwaii peninsula would be more of a challenge than first thought. The time factor presented a real obstacle. A plane would get them there in no time, but with Jerry’s questionable aviation skills, they’d be safer if they took a magic carpet ride.
“How about this,” Elliot had an idea, “we head to a smaller town on the coast, away from Portland. I’m sure we could find a high-performance boat there, stick to a hundred or so yards from the coastline until we have to make our trek across the ocean to Sandspit. As I see it, it’s our only choice.”
“Sounds like a plan. What do you know about boats? I must confess I know very little.”
“Not that much, either, but at least we won’t have to worry about falling out of the sky.” Elliot winked at Jerry. It was good-natured banter.
“Sticking close to the coast is a good idea, but it will still be close to a hundred miles from the mainland to Sandspit won’t, it?”
“Yeah, give or take a few. But what else can we do?”
“Nothing, I guess. But if the sea is real rough—”
“We still have to try!” Elliot told him in a much firmer voice this time.
Jerry stomped on the brakes and put the SUV in neutral, then turned to face Elliot. “If we capsize in that water, we’ll freeze to death in no time. You know that, right?”
“I do, but if we don’t get to Sandspit and soon, we’ll die anyway.”
Elliot’s tone said all that needed to be said. It was a one-way mission and there were no choices. With the urgency to get back they were no longer the resistance behind enemy lines, they were now a rogue tank about to burst through. They either succeed or they don’t. Jerry put the Escape into drive and moved on again as Elliot studied the map.
“Okay, once on the 95 we head north and take the fork left to the 78 which will bring us to a place called Burns, Oregon. From there to Bend, then we take the 20 over toward Albany and—” Elliot stopped and did a quick scan over the map again. “Man, there’s a shitload of small towns everywhere once we pass Burns.”
“We’re getting closer to larger city centers, that’s why.”
“Yeah, we’ll be lucky to get through unscathed. But we have to keep at it, all through the night.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to find a safe—”
“There’s no time, Jerry!” Elliot rubbed the handle of his Dan Wesson without thought. “Besides, we’ll be better off if we keep moving than trying to hole up in one spot and hope we don’t get discovered.”
“Yeah, I guess so. So, what’s after Albany?”
Elliot consulted the map once more. “If we stay on the 20, it will take us to a lot of little towns on the coast. Newport is a town that’s on Yaquina Bay, there’s bound to be a lot of boats moored around this place.”
“Let’s hope the weather is good to us, that’s all I can say.”
As long as they stayed on the Great Basin Highway or the 93, they could make it to Wells, Nevada in just over two hours. With no traffic, very few abandoned vehicles, and most importantly, the diarrhea situation having settled—at least for the moment—they could travel non-stop.
From the 93, they got on the access ramp just outside of Wells and straight onto Interstate 80. This highway also had little in the way of abandoned cars, but there was more debris—boxes, suitcases, containers and the like—to slow their progress in parts. They were still able to get to Winnemucca in less than three hours without incident—they’d made good time. If they could only keep it up, then there might be a chance.
“So, this is the famous winnie-what-the-fucca, eh?” Jerry said as they approached the town.
Elliot chuckled. “Yeah, though I’m not sure about the famous part.”
“We’ll need to get gas and some toilet rolls, though—”
“Don’t mention it!” Elliot held up his finger again at Jerry. They had traveled for hours without the need for an emergency stop. Elliot was sure mere mention of it would only jinx them.
The size of Winnemucca became apparent the closer they got.
“This town’s a lot bigger than Wells. We might be able to get some supplies here,
” Jerry said.
“We don’t have time for much more than some water and a few cans of food maybe—but no jerky. I’m done with the turkey jerky for a while!”
“How about we find a store for some underwear?”
“There ya go, you had to keep on about it, didn’t you?” Elliot lifted one cheek of his rear end and let off a bubbly sounding fart.
“Oh, fuck!” Jerry screwed his face up. “Did a foamer crawl inside your ass and die or something?”
“We might need to find a store with more than just underwear. Maybe some plastic liners for you?”
The laughter and merriment continued as they rolled down the windows for some fresh air, but the smell from outside was worse and put them on instant alert.
Foamers.
And close.
“I’m sure we can put up with our shit-caked jeans a bit longer if we have to, but we won’t go far without any gas. We’ll have to get some soon, or we’ll be fucked,” Jerry said.
The more he spent on the road with Elliot, the more straightforward Jerry became. Though honest from the start he was a doctor and had a natural guarded manner—common for people in that profession. With Elliot, it wasn’t necessary.
He even had to guard his words with fellow survivalists—he preferred that name over preppers—he’d shared camping trips with. Probably more so in fact, as these people were well armed. Should any opinions challenge their egos, belief systems, or morals, you could wind up dead; that’s how unstable some of these people were. Jerry was fascinated by the number of survivalists who were certain that economic factors would lead to civil unrest and eventually result in collapse because of the failings of politicians—their politicians. But mention anything negative about the American government or how its policies catered to only a handful of individual and the corporations they control, and you’d be looked upon as a traitor or worse—a commie. None of them seemed to understand the very beast they needed to prepare against was the tyranny of extreme wealth and the puppets in high places that protected them. Jerry never considered himself a communist, not by any means. You don’t need to be to recognize the concentration of the world’s wealth in the hands of a very few wasn’t in the best interests of long term survival.
Beyond the Brink_Toward the Brink IV Page 24