Pilgrimage_A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story

by Tom Abrahams

  “Toys.” Steve looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Things we’ll need to keep us safe.”

  “More guns?” James asked, knowing the answer as he posed the question. “Big guns?”

  “Yes.” Steve slowed his pace and lowered his voice. “And yes.”

  “Good to know,” James said.

  They crossed the parking circle and stepped to the garage. The three bay doors were already open, revealing two large F-350 trucks and a pair of four-wheeled all-terrain vehicles. To the side of the motor pool was a long workbench. Michael and Mitch were busy manipulating a machine James hadn’t seen before. It was bolted to the table with two plastic jars flipped upside down at the top. They each contained some granular material. In front of the containers was a large crank lever. Beneath the lever was a series of small red plastic tubes.

  “How’s it going?” Steve asked.

  “Good,” said Mitch. “We’ve got fifty shells reloaded so far. This gadget’s pretty handy.”

  “What is it?” asked James. “Are those shotgun shells?”

  “Yes,” explained Steve. “It’s called a reloader. You crank it here”—he pointed to a lever on the side of the machine—“and it automatically fills the empty hulls with wadding and a tungsten-and-iron-blended powder. They’re twelve gauge.”

  “Where are the guns?” James asked.

  “I’ll show you.” Steve walked toward the back of the garage. “Mitch, Mike, take a break and come look.”

  “I thought we were waiting for everybody to get here,” mentioned James.

  “Oh”—Steve laughed—“I’m not showing you everything.”

  He led them to a door at the back of the garage, pulled out a key, and unlocked it. He pressed a light switch and overhead fluorescents clinked and blinked to life.

  What they revealed was like the secret stash of a special agent.

  “Wow!” said Mitch. “It’s like Halo and Call of Duty all wrapped into one!”

  Along the wall was a series of five identical nickel-finished shotguns. Next to the shotguns were three semiautomatic rifles.

  “Wow is right.” James stepped to the wall to admire the weaponry.

  “Those rifles are super light,” explained Steve. “They’re nine pounds with twenty-round magazines. They fire thirty-oh-eight. I’ve got Versa-Pods for them too. Those scopes are good. Night vision.”

  “You’re skilled with these?” asked Mike. “I mean, you’re a good shot?”

  “Yes,” said Steve. “I’m a good shot. That is, when I don’t freeze.” He lowered his eyes and bit his lip.

  “How about your wife?” Mike asked. “Can she handle these?”

  “Kosia is okay.” Steve looked up at the wall. “But that’s why I have the shotguns. They’re easy pump action. They weigh about six pounds. And the magazine can hold five rounds. You don’t have to be accurate.”

  “Who doesn’t have to be accurate?” Kosia was leading the rest of their guests into the garage. They wove between the trucks and stood outside the gun locker.

  “I was just explaining”—Steve cleared his throat—“that you don’t have to be accurate with a shotgun. Just pump and fire. The spray will be enough to stop whoever is coming at you.”

  “So you were showing off the guns?” asked Kosia. She turned to the others who’d followed her. “We have shotguns and rifles to go around. No shortage of guns.”

  “But that’s only part of it.” Steve’s eyes widened. “We were waiting to show you all the rest of it.”

  Kosia stepped to the side and Steve walked out of the gun locker. Next to the locker was a second door. Steve unlocked and opened a treasure chest of home defense.

  CHAPTER 45

  EVENT +97:53

  Nanticoke, Pennsylvania

  “We should have heard from Vincent by now.” Dunk was spooning peas out of a can. He didn’t care they were room temperature. He was hungry. “It’s bad we haven’t heard from him.”

  “I agree.” Bruno was nursing a bottle of water.

  “So what do we do?” asked Gooz. “Should we run by his house? Maybe he got stuck with Lana.”

  “Lana.” Dunk moaned. “I can’t stand that woman.”

  “He’s whipped,” said Bruno. “No other way to explain it.” He took a sip from the bottle.

  “We should head over there,” Gooz decided. “Make sure everything’s cool.”

  “What if he’s not there?” Dunk asked, spooning the last pea into his mouth. “What do we do then?”

  “We cross that bridge when we get there,” answered Gooz.

  The three piled into Gooz’s truck and drove the short distance to Vincent’s house. The roads were empty. None of the men said anything until Gooz pulled into the driveway.

  “That’s a good sign,” said Dunk. “Vincent’s truck is here.”

  “That is good!” echoed Bruno.

  They hopped out of the truck and walked up the path to the front door. Dunk looked through the sidelight. It was dark inside, and the early morning sunlight wasn’t enough to reveal much. He knocked on the door.

  “Maybe they’re asleep,” Bruno suggested.

  “Maybe.” Dunk cupped his hands around his face and pressed it to the glass again. “I can’t really see anything.” He knocked again.

  “Let’s just go inside,” suggested Gooz. “Try the door.”

  Dunk nodded and gripped the doorknob, spinning it. He pushed against the door and it swung open. “It’s unlocked.”

  “Hey, Vince!” Gooz called as the men stepped into the foyer. “You here?”

  Out of habit, Bruno turned to the right and walked into the kitchen. Dunk stepped left and into the living room.

  Gooz walked forward, down the hallway toward the bedroom. He’d taken four steps when he saw them. Backlit by the light coming from a bedroom window, it was hard to make out what it was at first. Gooz thought it was a pile of clothing until he took another step. His mind couldn’t rationalize what he was seeing. It was too horrible to process.

  “Guys,” he called, “I found him.” It was all he could bring himself to say, blankly stepping to the bedroom doorway.

  “Where is—” Dunk was speechless when he saw the blood leaching its way along the carpet. His eyes followed it past Gooz to the heap in the doorway.

  “That’s good, isn’t—” Bruno peeked his head into the hallway from the kitchen. He couldn’t see what lay at the end of the hallway. His friends were blocking it. “What’s going on?” He stepped into the hall, craning his neck to look around Dunk.

  Gooz was at the doorway, looking back at them. His face was sallow, his lips quivering. His hands were at his sides, balled into fists.

  In the doorway, facedown on the floor, was Vincent. He had a gunshot to his left shoulder and another in the back of his head, behind his left ear. His eyes were open and fixed. His mouth was open. Just beyond his body, propped like a rag doll against the end of the bed, was Lana. Her legs were splayed open, arms limp at her sides. Her face was racked with pain and fear. The bullet hole in her chest was the centerpiece to a dark, circular stain spreading outward on her tank top.

  “How the—” Gooz tried to contain himself, but he screamed and cursed at the top of his lungs. “This makes no sense,” he growled.

  “It makes sense,” said Bruno. “His gun is on his back. I don’t see the bag of food anywhere.”

  “So?” asked Dunk. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying the veterinarian followed him here and killed him,” theorized Bruno. “Then he took his food back.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Dunk. “It makes sense. Who else would leave the truck and kill both of them before taking off with the food. Nobody else knew what we were doing.”

  “We need to go back,” Gooz said, kneeling down to pick up the gun.

  “Back where?” Dunk asked.

  “That camp.” Gooz wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “We need payback.”

  “What are
we gonna do, Gooz?” Bruno stuffed his hands into his pockets. “What’s your plan?”

  “We’re gonna go kill every last one of those people,” said Gooz. “Then we’re gonna move in and make the camp our own.”

  “Seriously?” Dunk laughed nervously. “How are we going to do that?”

  “Vincent’s got some guns in his office.” Gooz nodded toward the room halfway down the hall. “We’ll take those. We’ll go tonight. We’ll surprise them again. They won’t know what to do.”

  “I don’t know—” Dunk hedged.

  “You’re in or you’re out.” Gooz stood and stepped aggressively to Dunk, stopping two inches from his face. “Which is it, Dunk? Make a decision now!”

  “I’m in.” Dunk backed up, raising his hands. “I’m in, okay?”

  “They’re gonna regret this,” said Gooz. “They should have just let the food go. Now they’re gonna lose everything.”

  CHAPTER 46

  EVENT +98:07

  Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania

  “You’re late,” Malcolm Kepler snarled as he strode across the tennis court parking lot. He was holding a Glock sideways, pointing it at Reggie’s face. “I told you not to be late.”

  Reggie was parked on the far side of the lot. He’d gotten out of his truck and started walking toward Kepler and his bodyguard, Berger. He was carrying a pillowcase.

  “Seven minutes might as well be an hour, Reggie,” Kepler said, his arm fully extended. “Why should I not kill you right now, just on principle?”

  “I was busy, Malcolm,” Reggie said. “And those bridges across the Susquehanna River are all messed up. I had to go—”

  “I don’t care why you were late,” said Kepler. “I only care that you were. Tell me, again, why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

  “Two reasons.” Reggie was smug, full of confidence. “One, I got your money.” He pulled the envelope from his pocket and tossed it at Berger, who caught it with both hands against his chest. “It’s all there.”

  “You were supposed to have the money,” Kepler said, “seven minutes ago.”

  “I also have this.” Reggie offered the pillowcase to Kepler. “Look inside.”

  Kepler hesitated before lowering the gun and tucking it in his waistband. His eyes narrowed and he took the pillowcase from Reggie. He looked inside and shrugged. “What’s this?”

  “Food. Medicine. Supplies.”

  “So?”

  “You said food and medicine were like gold, right?” Reggie was disappointed he had to explain. It lessened the impact. “You said we’re gonna start running this stuff. There’s a ton to make off the necessities, right?”

  “This isn’t enough for a week.” Kepler tossed the pillowcase on the pavement. “I can’t make anything off of that.”

  “I know where it came from,” Reggie revealed. “I can get months’ worth of this, a barn full of it.”

  “Where?” Kepler folded his arms and tucked his hands under his pits.

  “Sweet Valley,” Reggie said. “Maybe two hours from here. There’s some camp. They’ve got tons of that stuff.”

  “How’d you find it?” Kepler nodded at the pillowcase on the ground. “Anybody else know about it?”

  “Guy who told me is dead.”

  Kepler nodded and licked his teeth. “How many people at this camp?”

  “Can’t be many,” said Reggie. “It’s a house. They call it a camp.”

  Kepler turned to Berger. “The money there?”

  Berger nodded and handed over the envelope. Kepler counted out three thousand dollars and handed it to Reggie.

  “We good, then?” Reggie asked, folding the bills and stuffing them in his pocket.

  “We will be after we hit Sweet Valley,” Kepler said. “I got seven or eight guys I can use, plus you, Berger, and me. That should be enough, right?”

  Reggie nodded.

  “They armed?” asked Kepler. “The people in the house?”

  “I think so,” said Reggie. “The dude who’s dead had a bullet wound.”

  “So these people killed him?” Kepler raised an eyebrow.

  “No.” Reggie shook his head. “I did.”

  Kepler sniffed and rubbed the four-day scruff on his chin. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “We’ll head out in a couple of hours.” He craned his neck to the right, cracking it. “We’ll hit the place at night. In and out. Anybody tries to stop us, we take care of it.”

  “All right.” Reggie smirked. “I’m in.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” Kepler wagged his finger. “This goes wrong, you’re there when it happens. And you pay for it. Understand?”

  Reggie nodded. “I got it.” He reached out to shake Kepler’s hand. “But nothing’s going to go wrong. This is a sure thing.”

  CHAPTER 47

  EVENT +104:00 Hours

  Sweet Valley, Pennsylvania

  James buried the paint can in the dirt, just inside the main gate. With a lighter, he softened the bottom of one of Kosia’s homemade candles and affixed it to the inside bottom of the can.

  “How long will it stay lit?” he asked Steve, who was attempting a similar project just ten feet from him.

  “We tested it,” he answered, “and even with the lid closed and limited air, it burned for thirteen hours. That’s one of the large candles.”

  James adjusted the clear plastic tubing inserted at the base of the can. The tubing ran from the can, along its side, and above ground. He then took a metal can filled with dry corn flour. He carefully poured the flour, filling the can halfway up the length of the candle.

  “How many of these do we have?” James asked. “And where did you put them?”

  “We have ten of them,” Steve answered. “We’ll put five of them here by the entrance. The other five will be at the entrances to the buildings. All of the tubing, and we probably have one thousand yards of it, will run to the air compressors we have set up in the garage. I’ll be able to activate the power on those compressors remotely.”

  “How?” asked James. “There’s no Wi-Fi.”

  “I’ve got a closed system on the property that operates like a low-power radio transmitter,” he explained. “It’s not good for web surfing, but it allows me to access the security app on my tablet. I can turn on and off certain power switches through the app.”

  “You thought of everything.” James admired the ingenuity.

  “Almost,” Steve said. “There’s always something one forgets.”

  “You know exactly where all of them are so we can relight them if needed, right?” James asked.

  “Yep.” Steve looked at his guest and smiled. “Got it on a grid. We’re good.”

  James took a small container of ball bearings and poured them into the corn flour. He lit the candle and carefully affixed the lid to the can, making sure it was tight. He covered the lid, painted brown, with a light dusting of dirt.

  “That’s it for me,” said James. “I’ve done three here.”

  “Good,” said Steve. “Why don’t you check on Felix?”

  “Will do.” James stood and dusted himself off. He walked toward the cottage. It was getting warmer, more humid, and James was feeling it. His lungs were better, but not healed. Steve told him that would take at least a week. He cleared the phlegm from his throat as he walked between the cottage and the main house. Felix was there, working with tangled fishing line and cursing under his breath.

  “Can I help you, Felix?” asked James, putting his hands on his hips to catch his breath.

  “This is overkill,” he grumbled. “I’m the radical, paranoid nut job, but Steve has us acting like the Viet Cong.”

  “It’s just a precaution,” James said. “Better safe than sorry.”

  “They were common thieves,” said Felix. “They weren’t armed that we know of, and they bungled the job at that.”

  “They could be back,” James cautioned.

  “I suppose,” said Felix, struggling with the lin
e. “But this is just too much. We have guns. Why do we need tripwires or whatever the heck this is?”

  “None of us are crack shots,” reasoned James, kneeling to help Felix with two tangled lines. “So any way we can delay or confuse the intruders, the better off we are.”

  “I still think this is our government at work.” Felix threaded a large dual-pronged fishing hook onto one of the lines. “They want us begging for their help, their control. I’m telling you that’s what this is. Nobody wants to hear it. But it’s the truth.”

  “Maybe so,” agreed James. “We can’t say it’s not what happened, right? I mean, nobody knows for sure.” He was placating Felix so they could get the job done.

  “That’s all I’m saying.” Felix’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell my wife this, James, but I was listening to that radio again.”

  “I won’t say anything.” James picked a small hook from a box and threaded it onto a long clear filament.

  “They were saying that right before the big explosion and the electromagnetic pulse shut us down, there were streaks across the sky.” He spoke just above a whisper. “They’ve got witnesses up and down the East Coast who saw these fireballs. They were fast and didn’t last long. But they were there.”

  “So what does that mean?” James wondered if it meant his guess about an asteroid was right after all. But he wasn’t about to share the theory with Felix.

  “It means the government timed it out,” he said, his eyes wild with excitement. His hands moved in front of his face as if he were performing a magic trick. “They launched two different attacks at the same time. One of them was hidden. They used the EMP as a distraction.”

  “Why would they do that?” James asked, slipping another hook onto the line.

  “Who knows?!” said Felix. “It’s the government. They’ve got their reasons. Maybe that second explosion, the fireballs were burning chemtrails. You know, the stuff they put in the air to keep us docile and compliant?”

  “Hadn’t thought about that,” said James. “It’s certainly a theory.” He worked a hook onto the thin clear line and slid it a few inches before tying a knot to keep it in place.