Pilgrimage_A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story

by Tom Abrahams

  “Go for it,” James said. “Let’s go home.”

  PART 2

  REFUGE

  CHAPTER 23

  EVENT -5 Years, 9 Months, 1 Day, 16 Hours

  Hagerstown, Maryland

  James Rockwell couldn’t shake the thought, nor could he reconcile it.

  The coffin was too small. Coffins should not be so small.

  I can’t do this, he thought, his sweating palm flat against the casket’s red mahogany lid. A parent shouldn’t bury his child.

  His daughter was eleven years old. She’d always be eleven years old. Time, for her, had stopped.

  He moved his hand from the lid, toward her body, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers.

  She looked peaceful. Asleep. Not dead.

  Even as a tween, she already carried the grace of her mother, Leigh. She was beautiful and sweet and kind.

  James brushed her bangs away from her forehead and choked back the thick knot in his throat. He was dry of tears.

  In the past week, he’d buried his parents and his mother-in-law. Now he was interring his eldest child.

  It was the lot for so many families in the aftermath of what could best be described as a global plague. The Jakarta Pandemic, they called it.

  A flu so virulent, so contagious, it killed countless people around the world. Combined with a nasty winter storm that knocked out power across much of the Mid-Atlantic and New England, panic doubled the chaos.

  His daughter Nora was always small for her age. She’d struggled from birth. Her lungs were undeveloped, her heart had a hole, and her muscles were weak.

  But she was a fighter and had overcome so much. Her younger siblings, Max and Sloane, were healthier. They were strong and their immune systems healthy.

  Despite everyone in the family taking a preventative dose of TerraFlu, Nora got sick during the second week of the epidemic. It started with a cough and slight fever. Ten days later, she died in her parents’ bed. By that time, three of her four grandparents had fallen ill and died. James’s parents were in Philadelphia as was his wife’s mother. They’d not taken any medication, unable to score the drug before supplies ran out.

  Their bodies were cremated before James or Leigh could find a way north to Philadelphia. The health department sent them an email. That was as much of a eulogy as they were afforded.

  So many had died, James was fortunate to be friends with the owner of the local funeral home. Otherwise, Nora would have shared the same fate or been dumped into one of FEMA’s mass graves.

  Instead, he was fortunate, neighbors said, to be able to say goodbye. He was blessed, others had told him, to have a service and a funeral.

  He didn’t feel blessed or fortunate.

  He felt empty.

  “Do you want the casket open or closed?” A man approached James from the rear of the chapel. “It’s up to you.”

  James turned to see his friend, Bob Stumps, the funeral director. Bob was forty-five years old, but he looked sixty-five, much of the aging happening in the preceding weeks. He was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. His spit-shined shoes squeaked as he walked.

  “I think closed,” James said, turning back to his daughter. “I don’t think her mother wants to see her.”

  “Is the makeup okay?” asked Bob. “It’s always a tricky balance with a child.”

  Child. The word stabbed at James. Child.

  “The makeup is fine, Bob,” he said. “You did a wonderful job, thank you.” What else could he say?

  “Is there anyone else who’d like to see her before we begin the service?” Bob put his hand on James’s shoulder. “If not, I’ll close the casket and prepare to welcome the attendees.”

  “There won’t be many people here,” James admitted. “The flu still has everyone nervous. Even if the worst has passed. Nobody wants to be in large groups.”

  “I assumed as much,” said Bob. “We haven’t had a service with more than a dozen people since this happened.”

  “I just need a minute, okay?” James asked his friend.

  Bob nodded and walked past the casket and through a door at the front of the chapel.

  James leaned over to kiss his daughter on her forehead. He held her hand and whispered in her ear.

  “I am so sorry I didn’t protect you,” he whispered. “I am so sorry I couldn’t save you. I love you, Noodle.”

  CHAPTER 24

  EVENT +72:01 Hours

  West of Back Mountain, Pennsylvania

  Leigh Rockwell was speeding. Her husband was delirious with fever and having trouble breathing. He was wrapped in a blanket, shivering in the seat next to her.

  It was a full three days since their lives were turned upside down: witnessing an atomic blast, surviving the resulting tsunami, kayaking their way off of an island, fighting off marauders and would-be militias. Leigh could hardly believe it was only three days as she recounted the events in her head.

  Her husband, James, nearly drowned on the island. He’d cut his leg badly. She didn’t know whether the fever was a result of the cut or the onset of pneumonia from nearly drowning.

  He clearly had fluid in his lungs. There was an infection somewhere, causing his fever to spike.

  James needed help. He was dying.

  Leigh took the turn on Route 118 too fast and the Ford F-150 fishtailed. She overcompensated and regained control of the truck as she headed west and south. They’d been avoiding major interstates and large cities, no small task along the East Coast. Now they were getting closer to their home in Maryland. But Leigh knew they wouldn’t make it without finding a doctor and medicine for her husband.

  In rural Pennsylvania, there wasn’t much more than mining and fracking. She’d passed one man camp near a natural gas site, but the trailers were empty. No people, no medicine.

  So she drove almost aimlessly, hoping she’d find something. Now, as the sun began to rise, she saw a possibility.

  At the intersection of Routes 118 and 29 was Pikes Creek Veterinary Hospital. There was a truck in the parking lot and lights glowing from the inside. Leigh hit the parking lot at forty-five miles per hour and screeched to a stop next to the truck.

  “Kids,” she called to twelve-year-old Max and eight-year-old Sloane in the backseat. “Hop out. Max, help me with Dad. Sloane, get the door.”

  With her son’s help, Leigh slung her husband’s arm over her shoulder. They half-guided, half-carried James into the clinic. A man greeted them as soon as they crossed the threshold.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the man, taking James’s weight from Leigh and leading him to a chair. “What’s happening?”

  Leigh was out of breath, but tried to speak as calmly as she could. “My husband has an infection. I think it might be pneumonia. He’s not doing well. I need your help. Can you help?”

  The man, wide-eyed, nodded but said nothing. He knelt in front of James and felt his pulse at his neck. It was weak and James was hot to the touch. He could hear James wheezing with each attempted breath.

  The man, still kneeling, looked up at Leigh. “I’m a veterinarian, you know,” he offered. “Your husband really should see a physician. You’re right; he’s very ill.”

  “There are no physicians,” Leigh explained. “There are no hospitals taking patients. You’re it. Please, isn’t there something you can do?”

  The man ran his hand through his thick black hair and nodded. “Okay,” he said, “let’s get him into one of my examining rooms.”

  Together, they carried James through a pair of swinging doors and into a large room in the back of the building. “I use this for larger animals,” the veterinarian explained. “Let’s lay him here.” He nodded towards a large, low-slung table intended for pigs and goats.

  James was mumbling unintelligibly. His eyes were alternately open and squeezed shut. His body went limp on the table, one leg dangling to the floor.

  “When is the last time he ate or drank anything?” the veterinarian asked
Leigh. He was busy at a cabinet, piecing together an intravenous bag. He pinched James’s thumb and checked his nailbed.

  “I don’t know,” said Leigh. “Maybe yesterday?”

  “Is Daddy going to die?” asked Sloane. She was clutching a small stuffed bear.

  “You might want to take them out into the waiting room,” said the vet. “There’s a computer out there. No Internet connection, of course, but they can play solitaire.”

  Leigh nodded and led the children out of the room. “I’ll be back,” she told the vet.

  The vet couldn’t find a viable vein in James’s arm, even after using a tourniquet. Undeterred, he took the syringe and slipped it into James’s foot. He attached it to a lead, which started pumping a mixture of saline and electrolytes into James’s dehydrated body just as Leigh returned.

  “I’m getting him hydrated,” explained the vet. “I’m going to run a second line with an antibiotic. It’s amoxicillin. It’s a broad-spectrum treatment for pets. It’ll work fine on your husband and should help with the infection.”

  “What about his breathing?” Leigh sat in the only chair in the room. Her hands were covering her mouth as she spoke. Her eyes were sunken, the lids swollen from lack of sleep. “Can you do anything for that?”

  The vet crossed his arms and rubbed his chin with one hand. “I’ve got prednisone. It’s a steroid. It could help open his breathing. But I don’t think it’s good to give him that as an injection. It’ll stay too localized. I’ve got some pills he can take once he’s lucid.”

  “Thank you,” Leigh said, blinking back tears. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome,” said the vet, offering his hand to Leigh. “I’m Dr. Driggers. You can call me Steve.”

  “I’m Leigh Rockwell.” She took his hand and shook it firmly, looking him in the eyes. “My husband is James. My children are Max and Sloane.”

  Steve Driggers nodded and smiled. “I’ll take care of him,” he assured her. “It’s just lucky I was here. I don’t know how much farther he’d have made it.”

  “I know.” Leigh dropped her head, her hair falling around her face as she stared at her feet. “We’re in so much trouble.”

  “How so?” Steve asked.

  “We’re trying to get home,” she explained without looking up. “James is sick. My kids are terrified. We have food and gas, but not enough to make it to Maryland. It’s just—”

  “These are difficult days,” empathized Steve, “for everyone.”

  “Oh, I know!” Leigh suddenly felt flush, embarrassed by her myopia. “I don’t mean to diminish what everyone else is suffering. We’re just one family of so many who are out of sorts. I’m sorry if I sounded…”

  “No apologies needed,” Steve said, moving to check the flow of liquid into James’s foot. He could see the color returning to his patient’s face and limbs. “These are confusing times. Four days ago the world was normal. Now, who knows?”

  “Have you heard anything about what happened?” Leigh asked, realizing Steve might have some valuable information. “Was it a bomb?”

  “It’s still too early for anyone to know anything for certain,” he said. “With the lack of television or radio transmissions, with the Internet spotty and cell service nonexistent, much of what we hear is rumor and speculation.”

  “What have you heard?” Leigh leaned back in the chair, pulling her hair from her face.

  “We know some sort of bomb was detonated,” he answered, his back to her as he looked at James’s eyes and ears. “Everyone seems to think it was the Chinese.”

  “We heard that rumor,” Leigh said.

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “It could be something else. But that’s just campfire speculation. We talk about it at the farm.”

  “You and your wife?” Leigh asked, wondering why the vet would be here if he had family at home.

  “My wife”—he turned and smiled—“my thirteen-year-old son, Connor, and some of our likeminded friends. We’re surviving this together.”

  “It’s good to have that support system,” Leigh said. She rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefingers. “It’s good to be home, I imagine.”

  “It is.” Steve turned and put his hands on his hips. He pursed his lips and sighed, drawing Leigh’s attention. “Look, the truth is, your husband is going to need time to recuperate. The steroids and antibiotics aren’t going to make him well enough to travel for another forty-eight hours, if not longer.”

  “Oh,” Leigh said, shrinking in the chair and immediately considering her next move. “I understand. We couldn’t expect any more than what you’ve already done. I’m so grateful.”

  “You misunderstand me.” Steve shook his head. “I can’t in good conscience let you leave with him like this. I’m offering you and your family a place to stay for the next few days.”

  Leigh stood and stepped to Steve, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you so much!”

  Steve patted Leigh on the shoulders and then held her at arm’s distance. “It’s what any good person would do,” he said, taking a step back.

  “This is so nice,” she said. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just…”

  “I get it.” He nodded. “No problem. Once this bag empties, I’m going to replace the line with the antibiotics. That’ll take a couple of hours to drip.”

  “Okay.” Leigh looked over at her husband. He was looking better.

  “I’m going to run home and give everyone advance notice of your arrival,” he explained. “Then I’ll come back here. We’ll assess James’s condition and get all four of you to our place. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  CHAPTER 25

  EVENT +75:13 Hours

  Sweet Valley, Pennsylvania

  Steve Driggers’ home was more like a compound. His six acres were surrounded on all sides by electrified, razor-wire-topped cattle fencing. There was just one wide, automatic entry gate off Route 4024. It was guarded by a security camera and key panel entry.

  Inside the fence there was a long asphalt drive to the center of the pie-shaped lot, which ended at a circular roundabout providing access to three large buildings.

  At the center was a five-thousand-square-foot, two-story house. It was built with five bedrooms, a small basement, and a natural-gas generator powerful enough to run the home at its normal electrical usage.

  To the right of the circular drive was a long four-car garage. Inside were two pickup trucks and two all-terrain vehicles. To the left of the drive, set back next to the house, was a one-bedroom, single-story cottage. It had its own gas generator and full kitchen.

  A crushed granite walking path wound between the house and cottage, leading to a swimming pool and a large barn. The barn was equipped with its own generator, cedar-lined dry storage, and twin freezers. At the far southwestern corner of the property, backing up to Pennsylvania state game land, was a large tree house.

  There were seven cameras on the six acres, each of them wide-angle and full color with infrared night vision. Each building also had its own series of cameras. The security system was wired underground to the barn, controlled remotely via computer, and recorded on a pair of five terabyte hard drives.

  Since the event, when his gas generators rumbled to life and his alarm system triggered a power loss alert, Steve Driggers had left his compound twice. The first was to gather the two other families who would hunker down with his until they figured out a long-term survival plan.

  The second was to raid his veterinary clinic of as many first aid supplies as he could carry in his truck. Despite his years of planning, he neglected to stock enough ointments and antibiotics. The basics used on animals could apply to humans in a pinch. His wife, Kosia, wanted him to wait.

  “There’s plenty of time for this,” she’d told him. “We’re fine for the next couple of weeks.”

  “The world won’t be fine in a couple of weeks,” Steve had suggested ominously. “The longer this drags on, the wor
se it gets. Better for me to make my trips now amidst the confusion of these early hours.”

  Kosia relented and Steve left the compound. He drove the short distance to the clinic as the sun was peeking through the thick late-summer foliage of keystone trees. He kicked on the generator and opened up his business. He was taking inventory when the Rockwells burst through the door.

  Now they were in his home. Kosia, skeptical but understanding of her husband’s desire to help, helped Leigh herd the children upstairs to their room.

  “There are two beds in your room,” Kosia explained, leading three of the Rockwells down a long, open hallway. “There’s a bathroom en suite, so you’ll have plenty of privacy.”

  “You’re too kind,” Leigh told her hostess as they stopped outside one of the rooms. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Oh”—Kosia laughed and flipped the light switch in the Rockwells’ room—“we have plenty of room. We planned on taking in strays at some point. I’m glad we could help you.”

  “Strays?” Max asked as he bounded through the doorway into the room. He wasn’t one for tact.

  “I’m sorry.” Kosia laughed again and covered her mouth, her cheeks reddening. “I didn’t mean it that way. Given that Steve is a vet, we just…”

  “It’s okay.” Leigh put her hand on Kosia’s arm. “It was funny. And, in truth, we are strays.”

  Kosia’s lips spread into a genuine smile. “There are plenty of linens and towels in the closet. We’ll be eating lunch in a couple of hours. I’ll let you know.”

  “And James?” Leigh asked. “Where is he for now?”

  “Steve has him in the cottage next to the house,” Kosia answered, stepping back into the hallway. “It’s better he’s separated in a quiet place until he’s healthier. But you can go there whenever you want. The door’s unlocked.” Kosia pulled the door closed and left the Rockwells alone.