“We plan to go to Chena Hot Springs each week to check in on the community, but selfishly, to partake of the comforts of a normal world. They have power. And heat. And a chef! And we’ll go swimming, but the dogs don’t like the pool.” We smiled. We would take a vacation each week, but we needed to bring things to the community to share. If we could find another snow machine, Colleen could go with us. She wouldn’t stay at the Hot Springs because of her horses – they were her family, just like Phyllis and Husky were ours.
“Do any of your neighbors have a snow machine that you could borrow?” I asked while topping off the quad’s gas tank.
She thought for a second and said, “I think all of them do.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll go back with you now and we’ll see if we can find one that’s ready to go.” Then I added, “Do any of your neighbors use a pellet stove?”
Looking for More Survivors
It didn’t take us long to find a house with a newer snow machine in perfect condition. Colleen showed me to one of the neighbors who had both a sled and a pellet stove. I broke the lock on the shed and could see how uncomfortable Colleen was.
“I keep a list of what I take and from whom. If they return, I will pay them back. Right now? It’s all for one and one for all. Anything everyone has is necessary to help us survive. After that, we can figure things out, but I don’t think an insurance company expects anything to be intact. And I don’t really care. The insurance companies and bureaucrats aren’t here. No one has stepped up to even look for us, let alone help us.
“I feel bad for the people who used to live here. All of them have their stories. All of them meant something. I don’t know if they were away or if they were in the city. In either case, none of them are here. If I wasn’t here and somebody needed something I had to survive, they would be welcome to it.” I looked at her. Despite my bold proclamation, I still felt badly digging around in other people’s stuff.
“All right. I feel bad about it, but we’re going to run out of pellets before we run out of cold. We haven’t seen an airplane in a month. Besides you and the community of Chena Hot Springs, we haven’t seen other people around here either. And I still feel bad, but we have little choice.” I didn’t tell her about the Dog Musher. His death might bother me forever. Unfortunately, I had to go back there within a month in order to get some dog food. I’m sure he would be okay with me taking it. I’d tried to save him.
I tried.
I pulled the shed door open. A high stack of pellets was on one side and a newer snow machine was on the other side, right in front of the double door. It was facing out and ready to go. I checked the gas – a full tank. I opened the doors to the shed, looking over the snow machine. They were all similar in how they started. Check the engine. Check the gas. Give the throttle a number of pushes. Choke it. And try to start it, whether a pull start or electric start. When it’s cold, let it warm up plenty before revving it.
This was an electric start and it was ready to go. It seemed like it came to life with the second turn of the engine. It idled roughly at first, but it smoothed out. While letting it warm up, I started carrying bags of pellets to the sleigh. I figured I could drag maybe twenty bags, eight hundred pounds, behind my sled, my snow machine, without a problem. I was not going far and I wasn’t going fast.
Once the bags were loaded and Colleen’s neighbor’s snow machine was idling smoothly, we were ready to leave. I shook her hand. “On Saturday morning, come by the house before sun up. We’ll push off as soon as it gets light to make the travel easier. I think you’ll enjoy it there. The young people have a lot of energy and the chef is magnificent!” She looked a bit down. “You can stop by our house anytime. I’m sure the twins will enjoy your company. But be prepared to teach them something. They get a few lessons every day.” She brightened at that and nodded.
Colleen took the snow machine to her house and put it in the shed. She would hike back to pick up her tracked quad and bring that to her home, too. I pulled out, spinning a little until the sleigh started moving. It was nice to add the extra twenty bags to our stock. Our search for pellets had come to an end.
Today had not been a bad day. Colleen showed a spark of life, and we had gotten something we needed.
The chance to help someone else. It felt good.
Extending Our Search
I spent the next day at the house. I had been gone too much lately. We were in a good place with our supplies. I had filled some of our neighbors’ five-hundred-gallon fuel oil tanks with gasoline. The fuel oil was drained into two water carriers people had for their trucks. Most people in our neighborhood had those. You used to be able to pick up water from town and refill your own tank. We had water delivered. Since the detonation, we’d been siphoning water from our own tank as the pump needed direct-wired 220-volt power. Plus, we cut our water usage way back. It’s surprising how little water you need when you don’t have flush toilets, a shower, a washing machine, or a dishwasher. We had plenty of water and there was always snow that could be melted if need be.
We had food and we had heat. I ran the generator a couple times a day and stayed inside, reading with the twins, or building with Legos, or any number of other constructive things.
Colleen didn’t show up that day, but just after sun up on the second day, she rode in on her neighbor’s snow machine. She knocked gently on the door to the garage. We welcomed her in. She carried a book bag. We looked at each other.
She smiled warmly at the twins. “My son had these books. He outgrew them, but I think you might like them.” She opened the bag and pulled out a number of Dr. Seuss books. We had a few of them, but many we didn’t.
“Thank you!” the twins cried in unison.
“I like this one!” Aeryn was quite articulate for a two-year-old.
“If Miss Colleen would like, maybe she can read a story that you have not heard before.” I smiled at them.
She proceeded to show each book, looking first to the twins and then to us. Madison nodded at One Fish Two Fish. Colleen put the other books down and started to read. The twins paid rapt attention as Colleen worked the rhymes and the rhythm of the prose. When she finished, they wanted her to read it again.
So she started over.
We wouldn’t let the twins get a third reading. It was time for them to go outside and play. So we all bundled up and went outside. I asked Madison if she’d like to take Colleen on the snow machine to the gas station and look around. Madison had only been there once, so she liked the idea.
They headed out and I took care of the twins. It was too cold to make a snowman, but we followed our trail into the woods with the dogs. Everyone enjoyed being outside with the beauty of the snow frozen onto the trees. The sky was nothing but light pastels. The snow was pure white and sparkled.
When everyone was sufficiently cold, we went inside. Madison and Colleen returned with some little things. It appeared that Colleen had a sweet tooth by the bulge of candy bars in her pocket. We wished her well as she took her leave of us, thanking her profusely for her gift of the books and her time in reading to the twins.
And that’s when we committed to seeing who else was out there.
Goldstream
On the day we last drove Goldstream we had seen an older lady in her yard. It was time to go back and see if she was still there, and who else may be around. I didn’t want Madison and the twins to go. I wanted this to be as quick as possible. Maybe I was being overly protective, but I noticed that when Madison went to the gas station, she hadn’t taken the pistol. She knew that since we had seen the wolves, we were supposed to be armed while outside. I thought we were supposed to. I thought we had agreed. Maybe I was too protective. That would probably change the longer this went on.
When would help come?
This could be a long trip if I ran into a number of people. I had the road map out of the phone book and dutifully put two numbers on the locations where the known survivors lived. 1 was for us. 2 was
for Colleen.
I started a journal to keep track of the people. Maybe I’d consider myself the unofficial census taker. When help came, this resource would be helpful and save a great deal of time. In the interim, maybe we could save a few lives.
I took off right before sunrise. It was overcast, but still cold, so I didn’t think it would snow. If it did, it wouldn’t snow much. It usually warmed up above zero for the big snows.
I had the sleigh behind my sled with some things that people might need: a can of gas, some frozen moose meat, a small propane tank, a sleeping bag. Things like that. I had the high-powered rifle, just in case. I wore my shoulder holster with the .45 nestled under my arm. And I had my “shopping” tools, too.
I had to go around ten miles before getting to the house where we had seen the old lady. The ride was uneventful, as I took Bennet to steer as far away from the city as I could get before reaching the Steese Highway.
There were numerous moose tracks crossing the Steese Highway heading toward Fox. The woods on either side of the road here were extensive. As I approached Goldstream, I noted a number of snow machine tracks. They ranged east, west, and north. It looked like many had used these roads. I was happy to see that we were not alone. Far from it, it seemed.
I picked up the pace as the sun peeked out over the southern horizon. I pulled into the driveway of the A-frame where we had seen the old lady. It didn’t look like anyone was home. No tracks. No smoke. Windows frosted over. I got off the snow machine and went to the front door. I knocked. Nothing.
In the back, the door stood open. Something was under a foot of snow, partially blocking the bottom step. Probably a bag of trash. I stepped on it. It was solid. I continued into the house. No one had been home for quite some time. Logs were piled beside the wood burning stove, but it was cold. A pot was on the stove, a meal frozen within.
Whoever had lived here had left in a hurry, but after the power was out, unless they routinely used their wood stove for cooking. Many did that around here.
I checked the cupboards for food we could use. There was a small pile of vacuum-sealed meat that looked like moose jerky. I pocketed it.
When I went back outside, where I had stepped on the lump at the bottom of the steps, I could see what looked like a coat. I brushed off the snow. It was the old lady, long dead and frozen solid. I wondered if she had fallen down the steps or maybe even had a heart attack. It didn’t matter. I said a prayer over her. One more victim of the calamity that had befallen Fairbanks.
I continued up the road on the sled, much slower this time as I looked for any signs that people were alive. The snow machine tracks looked like they came from one home up ahead. I pulled into the driveway. A slight curl of smoke came from a chimney at the back of the house. “Hello!” I yelled, with my hands up as I walked toward the house.
The front door opened and a man with a shotgun stepped out. I started to give my prepared speech on looking for survivors when he raised the gun and fired.
My face stung and I threw myself to the ground. It felt like I had been hit by a baseball bat. “Wait! Wait!” I yelled, as he calmly pumped another round into the chamber. I rolled away from that spot and jumped to my feet, turning back to my sled. He fired again.
I was thrown on my face as if a moose ran into me from behind. Pain!
I scrambled to my sled as he slowly came down the steps. I hit the starter and the warm snow machine burst to life. I gave it some gas while lying across the seat and did a partial donut as I sped away from the house. The snow machine bounced into the air as I clipped the ditch on the way toward the main road. The sleigh was still attached. I couldn’t see if anything had fallen off. I wasn’t going to stop and look. I raced back along Goldstream toward Steese. I slowed to take an inventory of myself. My face was bleeding where some pellets had hit me. The wounds were small. He must have used a light birdshot.
I looked back. Two snow machines were following me.
And they were gaining on me. With the sleigh attached, I couldn’t outrun them. And even if I did, my tracks would lead these people back to my home. I couldn’t have that.
This guy just shot me and now there were two of them chasing me. I could feel my anger rising. I could feel my fear that if I failed, I would be abandoning my family. Trying to be the big man, helping other people out, and I had put that which I held most dear in jeopardy.
Time to stop the madness.
I pulled into a driveway where a truck was parked and slid sideways to a stop, jumping from the snow machine and ripping off my glove at the same time. I pulled my pistol as I got behind the truck. One sled entered the driveway behind me, but slowly. The other stopped on the road. Their weapons were slung on their backs, their gloved hands on the handlebars of their sleds.
I leaned around the truck and took aim at the man on the road and fired once, re-aimed and fired again. A double tap. He rolled off his sled. The closer man accelerated directly at me. My breath froze in my chest. I tried to take a quick full breath so that I could aim, but no, my asthma was trying to take over.
I backed further behind the sled as he pulled a donut right in front of me. My head started to swim from lack of air. I fired at his back, and again, and a third time.
He leaned into his handlebars, starting to accelerate. I dropped to a knee and fired again, my aim still unsteady. As the snow machine jumped forward he rolled backward onto the ground.
I staggered up to him and put a round through his face. I kept going, aiming the pistol at the man in the road. He was trying to get his hand into his coat. I put my foot on his chest and shoved the pistol into his mouth. “Why?” I gasped.
He mumbled something. He couldn’t speak with my pistol barrel in his mouth. He struggled weakly, trying to free his arm. I rolled him, then twisted his arm violently behind his back. Using my foot for leverage, I twisted his arm around at the elbow. Something snapped.
I rolled him back over. I grabbed his left hand and twisted it backwards. My movements were jerky from the lack of oxygen. I fell to my knees.
He contorted his body as he tried to get away from me. He was bleeding from somewhere, but with the snowsuit it was hard to see where.
“Why?” I yelled into his face.
“It’s our world for the taking,” he managed to say. I swung my pistol and hit him in the head, knocking him sideways. Fifty thousand people die and that was how he was determined to survive. His breathing grew shallow. I left him there as the pool of blood grew.
I felt bad about the Dog Musher. I did not feel bad about these two. Were there any more where they came from? Once my breathing calmed and I started to get enough air, I muscled my snow machine around to get it facing back toward the road. My head throbbed as it always did after an asthma attack. I thought for a second, then checked the two men. I put their weapons, ammunition, and snow machine keys into my sleigh. It was a small gesture, but hopefully it would send a message to anyone who saw the crisis as an opportunity.
Cleaning out the Rat’s Nest
I drove back toward the men’s home. I stopped some distance away and watched it closely, using the scope of my rifle. I took out a piece of my newly found moose jerky. It was good.
I knew that I should have felt something. I had just killed one man and left another for dead. But I didn’t feel remorse over the killing. I was upset, but not about shooting the men. It was clear how far I would go for my family, if I was forced to defend myself.
If possible, I was even angrier now. How dare they put me in a position where I had to fight them! It was the survivors against the weather, against the animals. Not us against each other.
Was that a movement in the window? There was at least one more person in there. It looked like a younger woman, but it was hard to tell. The curtains were mostly closed. I took aim, thinking that I could shoot her through the window if she stopped to look out.
Which she did, but I couldn’t pull the trigger. She looked afraid, not like a normal person wh
o looked eagerly for their spouse to return. I’m not sure how stupid I had to be to continue to risk everything for others, but I started the snow machine and headed down the road.
I pulled in and turned sharply, facing mostly away from the house. I would be in a better position to leave quickly if needed. I kept the snow machine idling, while I got down behind it. “Hey!” I yelled. “Hey! Get out here!” My Marine voice echoed off the house. A young woman opened the door and stepped halfway out.
“Where are they?” she asked.
“They won’t be coming back.” I had my pistol out and pointed in her direction.
“Thank God,” she whispered and turned to head back into the house.
I put a round into the door frame. “Stop, stop,” she cried as she collapsed into a ball and covered her head. “I just want to get my coat and get the hell out of here.”
“Hang on. I’m coming up. Keep your hands where I can see them, please.” I moved toward her, keeping my pistol trained center mass, aimed at her body. She tentatively pulled herself upright. I waved at her with the pistol to go inside. I followed her into a filthy mess. “Tell me,” I said as I kept my pistol pointed at her. “Are you with them?” I watched her face closely. She was afraid, but then she was angry.
“No! I’m not with them!” she barked. Her eyes said she was telling the truth. She looked away from me and then down at the ground. Her shoulders were slumped. Her posture submissive. I thought I knew what had happened, but wanted her to tell me.
“Is there anyone else here?” She shook her head. I put my pistol away. “Sit down,” I told her. I cleaned off a place on an armchair for her, while I leaned against the couch. “Tell me what happened.”
She began a convoluted story about her boyfriend, the younger of the two men and his brother. How they had spent the night before the event in the city stealing car parts. They were sleeping in after their spree, so they weren’t in the city when they should have been at work. They survived the detonation because they were criminals. She was with them because she had dropped out of school and didn’t have any other prospects. At least she didn’t have to live with her parents, although as she told this part of her story, her eyes misted over.
Endure (End Times Alaska Book 1) Page 10