Pilgrimage_A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story

by Tom Abrahams

  “Did you hear that?” asked Grant. “I think I heard something.”

  “Where?” James didn’t hear it.

  “Upstairs.” Sonny pointed to the stairs with the revolver. “I heard it. I think it’s up there.”

  “All right,” said James. “Let’s check it out. You stay down here.”

  “By myself?” Grant reached for James’s arm. “I don’t—”

  “Seriously, Grant.” James was still hoarse, his voice filled with gravel. “I need you to keep an eye down here. I’ll only be a second.”

  Grant nodded and checked his grip on the revolver. He walked to the base of the stairs and then stood guard.

  James looked up the stairwell, where dark became darker. He wrapped his left hand more securely around the Bushmaster and climbed the steps one at a time, listening for any sounds coming from the second floor. Sonny was a step behind him.

  They were halfway up when James heard a creak followed by a thud. It stopped him cold and he waited, hoping he would hear it again over his intensifying pulse. He stood there, his neck throbbing with a dull ache. His lungs burned with each shallow breath and he suddenly felt an acute pain in the back of his leg and wondered if he’d reopened the wound he suffered in the rising water of the tsunami on Peaks Island. The book of Job came to mind.

  Creeeaak. Thump.

  James looked over at Sonny, who nodded, and down the stairs at Grant, but could only make out a dark shadow pacing back and forth. He turned back to the stairs ahead of him and quietly took another step. Then another. He was almost there.

  If he remembered correctly, from the one or two times he’d been upstairs in the Whistlers’ house, there were two bedrooms to the right of the stairs. The master bedroom was to the left. James took another two quick steps. He was on the landing.

  He listened for the noise again but didn’t hear it. He motioned for Sonny to work the left side of the floor. He moved to the right, toward the two secondary bedrooms, walking the hall from vague memory. He couldn’t see more than three feet in front of himself. James turned back to Sonny. It was too dark. He couldn’t see him. But he heard the noise again. It was coming from a room at the end of the hall.

  He slowly stepped heel to toe along the hallway until he came to the room. The door was cracked open, but the sliver of darkness inside revealed nothing. James pushed open the edge of the door, widening the dark expanse with the barrel of the rifle. He followed his weapon into the room, trying to adjust his eyes. As he stepped inside, he could make out the shapes of furniture. There was a twin bed to the right and a small armoire on the wall opposite. Straight back, centered on the exterior wall was a window. James walked to it and lowered the rifle to his side. Outside the window was a large oak tree. Its branches were swaying in gusts of wind, occasionally scraping against the glass.

  He stood at the window, looking past the tree into the abyss beyond. The night was a far scarier place without power. He pressed his hand against the window just as a thick oak branch, a couple of inches in diameter, slammed against the house.

  James jumped back at the noise, startled by the percussion. But at least now he knew what was causing the noise. He inhaled deeply and let it out and tried again to swallow past the ache in his throat.

  James turned and left the room, dragging his hand along the hallway wall to maintain some sense of direction. He met Sonny coming out of the master bedroom.

  “There’s nothing in here.” Sonny shook his head.

  “There’s nothing back there,” James offered. “It was a tree branch.”

  “So where is he?” Sonny wondered and they walked to the stairs.

  “I don’t know.” James shrugged. “You think he’s still in the house?”

  “I never saw him—” Sonny was interrupted by a bright flash filling the stairwell beneath them and the thunderous crack of a bolt-action rifle followed by an explosion of splintered wood.

  Pop! Pop! Grant was returning fire. He had two bullets left.

  Both men rounded the corner to the stairs, almost sledding down the steps on their heels as they raced toward the gunfire.

  James took the final couple of steps on his behind as he came to a stop next to the demolished front door. He saw Grant lying prone on the floor, covering his head with one hand while aiming the Smith & Wesson blindly with the other.

  Pop! He had one shot left.

  Pow! Another blast from the rifle shattered the sidelight glass adjacent to the door, spraying shards of glass everywhere.

  James rolled over onto his stomach and crawled on his elbows, as he’d seen military recruits do in action movies and recruiting commercials. He slid next to Grant, putting himself between his neighbor and the oncoming blasts.

  Pow!

  James saw the flash of light coming from the dining area an instant before he felt the whiz of a bullet screaming past his right ear.

  He settled himself, braced the rifle, and pressed his finger into the trigger.

  Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

  A quick volley of bullets gave Grant enough time to crawl to the relative safety of the stairwell, out of the line of fire. Sonny was now at Grant’s side.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  Both of them were unloading bursts down the hallway into the dining area. James could hear the bullets shredding furniture and shattering glass.

  Thump! Thump! Thump!

  Sonny held up his hand, signaling James to withhold his fire. James nodded and listened. He didn’t hear any movement coming from the dining area. He couldn’t see anything that far away in the darkness.

  “What do you think?” he whispered to Sonny.

  “I don’t know.” Sonny shook his head. “I wish I’d bought IR scopes for these things. Big mistake.”

  “You live and you learn.” James smirked.

  “You hope to live so you can learn.” Sonny inched forward on his elbows and then pulled himself to his knees. He pulled the rifle to his chest and scanned the narrow sweep of the hallway.

  Pow! Another shot from the rifle narrowly missed James, buzzing over his head and into the drywall behind him. James couldn’t believe the shot missed Sonny. But in the flash, he saw the squatter. He was standing just outside the house, the French doors open, his feet on the threshold.

  “He’s outside!” James yelled at Sonny. “He’s outside the house!”

  James knew if they lost him, if they let him get away, the squatter would take his rifle straight to Sonny’s house, straight to Leigh and the kids.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  CHAPTER 70

  EVENT +1 Week, 3 Days, 14:32 Hours

  University Park, Maryland

  Temporary Recovery Zone 5

  Unsure if the squatter was still in the doorway, James got to his feet and bolted down the hallway toward the rear of the house. As he skirted past Sonny, he leveled the Bushmaster and pulled the trigger, paving a path with short bursts of gunfire.

  He ran into the side of an armchair and almost lost his balance, but skated to the dining room, climbing over the table and landing in the doorway. He looked to his right and saw the faintest outline of someone on the fence line.

  James pushed his way past the picnic table and ran to the right, toward the fence separating the Whistlers’ yard from Grant’s. He was feet from the fence when he tripped on an exposed root, flying helpless into the high grass, losing the rifle as he fell face first.

  James’s neck was throbbing, the back of his leg pulsing, his lungs screaming for air that wasn’t coming quickly enough. Stunned, he blindly grabbed clumps of the grass with his fists and squeezed. He was spent. But he couldn’t let the squatter make it to his family and the others before he did.

  “James.” Sonny slid into the grass beside him. “Get up. Are you okay? Get up.”

  James rolled over onto his back, seeing two Sonnys beside him and a pair of Grants standing over him. “I’m okay.” He coughed and offered his hands for his neighbors to pull him to h
is feet. Where’s my rifle?”

  “I got it.” Grant picked up the Bushmaster and handed it to James. “Here you go.”

  “We gotta go,” James wheezed. “That guy…is on…his way…to your house…Sonny.”

  Without saying anything, Sonny put his rifle on the top of the fence, climbed into Grant’s yard, and ran after the threat. Grant went next, despite his fatigue. James, using every bit of strength he could muster, heaved himself over the fence. He hit the ground and started running again, praying he wouldn’t hit another root.

  He was faster than Grant and passed him as they reached the next fence, the one leading to Sonny’s property. Sonny was already over the fence when James got there.

  James listened for a beat, but heard nothing but Grant huffing behind him, before he climbed the fence, using a loose board to propel one foot over the top. He hit the ground and grabbed his Bushmaster, running to the back porch. Grant was close behind.

  “I’ll go around front,” Grant said. “Make sure he’s not there. That way we’re covering both entrances.”

  “Good idea.” James pulled on the screen door and inhaled as deeply as he could, suppressing a cough as he tried to regulate his breathing. As he entered the porch, he saw the door to the house was wide open.

  He crossed into the house, his rifle sweeping left to right as he entered. Past the darkness of the short hallway, he could see the yellow flicker of the candles illuminating the kitchen. He passed the door to the basement and stepped into the living area. It was empty.

  But as he looked left, on the dining table were half-eaten plates of food. One of the chairs was toppled over. He looked to his right. A July issue of People magazine was on the floor, as was a thin cotton blanket.

  Behind him, James heard a noise coming from upstairs. He spun around and placed himself between the bottom step and the hallway, his pulse quickening, when Sonny appeared at the top of the steps.

  “Nobody’s here,” James said.

  “The upstairs is empty,” Sonny said, descending the steps to the main floor. “Where’s Grant?”

  “He’s out front,” James answered, “checking the front of the house.”

  “I haven’t checked the basement,” Sonny said.

  James’s eyes widened with the sudden realization that everyone was likely downstairs. “I didn’t even think about that,” he admitted. “What am I thinking?”

  He turned to pull on the basement door and opened it. It revealed more darkness. James had grown tired of dipping into black holes, unaware of what might be waiting for him. He and Sonny stood to either side of the doorway, their backs pressed against the wall.

  “It’s us,” James called down the stairs into the basement. “Sonny and James!”

  From the darkness, he heard a collective sigh and footsteps bounding toward the stairs. Max was the first to emerge, throwing himself at his father when he reached the top of the steps.

  “Dad!” he cried, his voice muffled against James’s torso. “We thought you were all dead.” He squeezed tighter, causing James to wince against the pressure.

  James put his free hand on the back of his son’s head and tousled his hair. He stepped back, pulling Max with him as Leigh, Sloane, and Susan Gilbert climbed the steps to the hallway. Leigh’s eyes were swollen and red, and as she stepped to her husband, she collapsed into him. She wrapped her arms around him, sandwiching Max between their bodies. She put her lips to James’s ear and whispered.

  “You scared the living daylights out of me,” she said breathlessly. “We heard the gunshots. We thought…”

  They moved into the living room, standing in the space between the sitting area and dining table. Emma Wood and her children joined them, her eyes darting around the room.

  “Where’s Grant?” she asked. “He’s not…he didn’t…”

  “No, no, no,” Sonny assured her, putting his hand on her shoulder. “He’s fine. He’s in the front, looking for one of the squatters.”

  “By himself?” Her face stretched with fear. “He’s not equipped for that. I never should have bullied him into going. I just—”

  “I’m okay.” Grant walked into the living room from the hallway, joining the others. “I didn’t see him.” He looked at James as he spoke. “He must have gone back to your house.”

  James nodded and looked around the room. “Where is Stuart?” he asked.

  “He’s still in the basement,” answered Susan. “We all ran down there when we heard gunshots. We didn’t know who shot who or what happened.”

  “We had the guns ready, Dad,” explained Max. “We were all together down there. We were ready for them.”

  “What happened?” asked Emma.

  “One of them is gone,” said Sonny. “We took care of him. But the other one got away. We chased him, but lost him.”

  “And the Whistlers?” asked Stuart. He was standing behind everyone, in the hallway. His arm was draped around Susan’s shoulder. “Are they…?”

  “Yes.” Sonny lowered his head. “Both of them.”

  “James”—Leigh’s forehead shortened, her brows arched with concern—“what happened to your neck. It’s bruised. It looks horrible, even in this light.” She reached out to touch it, but stopped short.

  “It’s nothing.” James dismissed her. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine,” she said. “It looks swollen. What happened in there?”

  “Nothing,” said James. “I’m good. Grant helped me out of a jam.”

  Leigh looked at her husband in such a way that James knew they’d be talking about it later. She wasn’t going to take his answer at face value. He also knew she understood there were more pressing issues at hand. She dropped it.

  “So what now?” Stuart asked, closing his eyes. “What do we do now?”

  “The plan hasn’t changed,” James said. “We’re getting rid of these people. And it’s happening tonight.”

  CHAPTER 71

  EVENT +1 Week, 3 Days, 15:01 Hours

  University Park, Maryland

  Temporary Recovery Zone

  “We can’t wait for him to come back,” argued James. “If we do, we’re at a huge disadvantage. We need to take the fight to them.”

  The seven adults sat around the kitchen table, with James standing behind Leigh with his hands on her shoulders. The five children were feet away in the living room, playing with Albert. James knew Max was listening to the adult conversation, even if he was pretending to focus on the dog.

  “I’m not so sure.” Stuart, whose fog had lifted, shook his head. “From what you just told us, you almost got yourselves killed at the Whistlers’ house. Aren’t we better off defending ourselves here? We have the weapons to do it. And it’s just one man now.”

  “I agree,” echoed Grant. “We’re pressing our luck every time we try to engage them.”

  “We can sleep in shifts,” Stuart added. “Like we originally planned. There are seven adults. Three can sleep, four can stay awake. Then we can swap. We’ll always have him outnumbered.”

  “I disagree,” said James, trying to maintain his cool. He felt Leigh reach up to grab the fingers on his left hand. She squeezed gently. “And here’s why,” James responded, slowing the cadence of his speech. “We need the element of surprise. He will not be expecting us to come after him right now. He’s back at my house telling that woman what happened. They’re getting more incensed by the minute. The longer we give them, the more time they have to plan an attack on us.”

  “I don’t—” Grant started.

  “Let him finish,” Sonny interrupted.

  “You’re right,” James acknowledged, “when you say we have them outnumbered. We have seven adults. They have two. But we also have five children sitting over there.”

  “I’m not a child,” Max called from the sofa, confirming James’s suspicion.

  “We have four children and a young man,” James obliged his son. “And if they come here, if we allow them to attack us, we put
our children at risk. I’m not willing to do that.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Sonny, looking at Grant and then at Stuart. Both men averted their eyes.

  “I think he’s right,” said Emma, drawing an explosive glare from Grant. “I don’t want our kids in danger.”

  “I agree,” said Susan. “We can’t let them gain the upper hand.”

  “Who’s to say they don’t have the upper hand now?” Grant snapped. “They’ve already killed four of our friends. They’re in your house.” He pointed at James and Leigh. “They’ve got the upper hand.”

  “Not right now,” Sonny disagreed. “They’re panicked. I’m telling you. We killed one of them. The other two are grieving and coping with the shock of it. If anything, they’re blinded by anger and aren’t thinking clearly.”

  “Which is dangerous for us,” countered Stuart, not realizing he was bolstering Sonny’s argument.

  “And exactly why we need to attack them now!” James said. He polled the table with his eyes. Some nodded. Others didn’t.

  “I guess I’m in, then.” Grant rolled his eyes and relented. “It’s better that you have three.” He dropped his elbows onto the table and ran his hands across the top of his head.

  “Thank you, Grant,” James said. “Stuart, you stay here. That way—”

  “Don’t even say it,” Emma Wood interrupted. “Just don’t say it.”

  A pall swept across the table. James knew each person was meditating on what this meant, on what could happen. As dangerous as the last venture was, this was worse. They were tempting fate.

  But James rationalized, as a man of science and of faith, that the odds were always mathematically better when one accepted God’s will, while at the same time forging a path of self-determination.

  As he looked at the faces of the men and women considering their own fates, James knew his family would not have survived everything they had in the last ten days only to die at the hands of a backwoods, meth-addicted squatter. He had faith God had bigger plans for him. And while killing was not among the sins easily forgiven, he also knew all sins were the same. And the people who stole and coveted and lied were no more likely to find heavenly favor than he.