The only thing we could do now was follow Graves Creek downstream and look for something we could use to float the creek.
If nothing else, a change in direction might throw off our pursuers for a while. I thought they might give up once they realized that there were no females with me. But, I’d killed some of their men. Would they seek to make a lesson of me so no one else would dare attack them? I didn’t know. Me and Sackett had to get away from them, whether they were chasing us or not. My dad used to say that discretion is the better part of valor. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I interpreted it to mean get the hell out of Dodge.
About four miles downstream we found an old log cabin hidden in the woods. It was in good shape but looked old. Poachers? King told me that no one was allowed to build in the national forest, not legally. Of course, that didn’t seem to stop the Kingcades.
I watched the cabin for a while. There was no movement so Sackett and I walked up to the front door. It was locked. I wondered if it was a ranger station or something. I tried to peer through the windows, but couldn’t see much for the dirt on them. So I broke in.
It was easier to smash a window than the lock on the door. Once inside, I realized this wasn’t a ranger station, nor was I sure it was a poacher’s cabin. Maybe it had belonged to a hermit?
The inside was sparsely furnished with homemade furniture. A table, a chair, a bed, and a bookcase full of classics like they made us read in school.
On the wall was an old rifle. I took it down, and, using an oilcan and a rag, cleaned it. Then I crawled back out of the window and cut a long thin stick. Once back inside, I used the stick and a bit of oily rag to swab the barrel. I also cleaned and oiled both of my pistols, giving them a better cleaning than was possible with leaves.
I looked around the dark cabin for cartridges for the rifle. There were a dozen cartridges in a small wooden box on the log mantle. The rifle was a single shot .45-70. I’d never heard of the maker. It looked old, but well cared for. I wondered if whoever owned the cabin had passed away and the cabin had been forgotten?
It was time to be moving on. I rigged a sling for the rifle and headed out, the cartridges heavy against my leg in my pocket. Normally, I’d be stoked at finding the rifle. At the moment I just wanted to put more distance between us and Tolliver's men.
Sackett and I quickly prowled around outside the cabin and found a canoe hidden in the bushes. It was an aluminum canoe, painted green and brown camo with two fiberglass paddles tied to it. I dragged it to the water, loaded Sackett, and got in. Two minutes later we were paddling downstream as fast as I could make the canoe go. I hoped we didn’t hit any rapids. This was the first time I’d been in a canoe. From the confused look on Sackett’s face, I think it was his first time too.
But he got the hang of it and soon stood in the bow with his head up, sniffing the breeze. I’d have rather he paddled.
I tried to hold us close to the north bank. I figured the men would be on the south bank if—when—they found us. We made pretty good time and it was easier than walking.
I kept my pack on my back and everything strapped to me, just in case we capsized. It made paddling more difficult, but it worked. I envied Sackett. He didn’t need to carry anything. Too bad I hadn’t been born a dog.
Just before evening, I pulled the canoe up in the bushes, and we ate some jerky. It wasn’t enough, so I dug some fishing line and a hook from a small tin I kept in my back pocket, found a couple of grubs, and set to fishing. I didn’t even get a nibble. I started to say shit, but I decided that cussing while you are on the run might be a good way to get found. Maybe my mom knew what she was talking about when she told me never to cuss? Of course, she could cuss too, mostly when she was drunk.
I dug for worms. I found a few and re-baited the hook. I was fishing with a hand line because I didn’t want some old pole sticking out into the river and giving our location away.
Before the worm sank to the bottom, I had a strike and something dang near dragged me into the water. I quickly stood and wrapped the line around a small tree. The line was heavy test. I didn’t like fishing with light-test line because it broke too easily.
Whatever was on the line was a fighter, and it stayed deep under the water. It felt like a catfish, but bigger than any I ever caught.
I kept pulling the slack when I could and let the tree take the abuse rather than my hands. An hour later, I could see the fish. It was a big-assed flathead catfish, almost three feet long.
Once it was on the bank, I put an arrow through its head. Me and Sackett were ready for supper number two. There was nobody around to tell us we couldn’t eat twice.
I kept the fire small but it cooked catfish strips well enough. A frying pan would have been easier to cook in, but you don’t have to wash a rock. Just find another one.
It was a moonless night, too dark to float the river. I slept fitfully, waking up every hour or so, thinking I heard something. But worst were the nightmares involving the accusing faces of the men I’d killed. Shit, I hadn’t even seen some of their faces, but they sure had faces in my dreams.
After a breakfast of catfish, we were back on the water. The creek was starting to flow south now. Maybe today we’d make it out of the national forest.
Well, that’s what I thought anyway, until a bullet splashed water close to us. I looked toward the sound and saw two men on the bank. They were out of arrow shot.
One man was pointing his rifle in our direction and working the bolt. I slipped the old .45-70 off of my back, opened the action, and pushed a big old cartridge into the chamber. Then I propped the rifle over the gunwale of the canoe—hey, now I knew why they called it a gunwale. Taking aim, I pulled the trigger and the big old rifle boomed and attacked my shoulder. Shit, that hurt.
When I looked at the men, one was lying on the ground and the other was scrabbling to get back into the bushes and out of sight. I wasn’t sure if I hit the man on the ground or he just ducked. He wasn’t moving though.
I reloaded the rifle and then paddled us to the opposite bank as quickly as I could. Sackett and I hit the ground running.
The creek here was over a hundred feet wide, but I figured the man, or men, would be across it and after us in no time. We ran due east.
Sackett did better this time. Maybe he was getting used to running. I guessed we stopped almost ten miles from where we were shot at. I sure was glad the guy was a bad shot.
We kept walking. I held the rifle at ready even though I wasn’t sure why. When we came to a paved road, we turned north and ran again. The pavement would make it much more difficult for the men to track us.
Two days later we were maybe thirty or forty miles farther away. I turned one way or another at each intersection, always trending north. We only saw one person on the road, but we ducked into the bushes before he saw us. We watched him pass, a thin man wearing jeans and a red plaid shirt. He was carrying a lever-action rifle and a pack. Maybe he was a traveler like us?
We waited until he was out of sight and resumed our run 100 steps and walk 100 steps pace. I read about that on the Internet. It worked pretty good.
We camped that night in an abandoned house. I found a can of beef stew that had been overlooked in the back of a lower kitchen cabinet. We ate it cold. It was too salty. I preferred venison or fish.
I didn’t know what I was gonna do now. The smart thing would be to keep going and get as far away from those men as possible, but the thought nagged me that, if I could kill them, I could avenge both of my families and move back into my favorite stomping grounds in the national forest.
I was happier in the forest than I’d ever been in town. Sackett loved it too. I didn’t miss other people much at all. But I wasn’t sure if going back to the forest was worth dying for?
I decided to sleep on it.
Sunlight woke me later than usual. I’d forgotten how houses cling to the dark and fight off daylight.
I went outside and sat on the porch in the sunlight
. Sackett showed up with a rabbit. I reckoned he didn’t like the stew either.
The rabbit tasted way better.
Back on the road, I pondered what I should do. There was no need for me to make a decision yet. Besides, if I did decide to go after them it would be much better to let them wait and relax their guard.
Sackett and I relaxed a bit as we walked. It wasn’t until an hour had passed that I realized we were still walking north. Oh well, one direction was as good as another right now.
Three lazy days on the road later, we came to a house where a man was hoeing in a garden. The plants were bursting out of the ground and I didn’t see any weeds at all.
The man turned and saw me and Sackett.
“Come on over and set a spell. I could use a break. How about you?” He said.
“Yes Sir.”
Me and Sackett walked over to the man. “My name is Lonnie, Lonnie Sprague.” The man’s speech was slow, as if he was searching for words.
“I’m Trevor, Trevor Kingcade,” I said. “And this is Sackett.”
“He’s a fine-looking dog.”
Sackett warmed right up to that fella. I think he was a sucker for complements. We moved to his back porch and sat down.
“Where are your parents?”
“Dead.”
“Mine too.”
I thought that was a funny thing for a middle-aged man to say, but I kept my mouth shut.”
“They died of starvation after the lights went out.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Yours?”
“Murdered.” That was enough. I wasn’t gonna talk about it. Luckily Lonnie didn’t ask any more questions.
“I used to know a Kingcade south of here. Nice guy. I liked him.”
I wondered if Lonnie knew King, but I didn’t ask. Anything I said now would probably lead to more questions.
Then Lonnie started talking. I think he was one of those people who needed somebody to talk to. He told me much of what he saw after the lights went out. It was horrid.
His slow tales of the nearest town where he had lived with his parents were the worst, of gangs roaming the streets, of rapes, of murders. By the time he was telling me about happenings closer to his current home, which he had moved to after the deaths of his parents, I was ashamed to be a member of the human race.
But Lonnie wasn’t all about bad news. He also wanted to hear any good news that I’d heard. Other than a little bit about the Johns and their neighborhood, I didn't have any.
I could tell Lonnie was disappointed and wanted to hear that things were on the mend because he started talking about what he thought would happen.
“Well,” he said, “I think by next spring, they’ll be getting the electricity back on. The power company has always been good about that. I suppose they may have a big problem this time, cause even my dad’s car quit working.”
“Do you know what happened?” I asked.
“No. I just assumed it’s a longer than usual power outage.”
“It is, Mr. Sprague. It is.”
“Do you know what happened, Trevor?”
“Yes Sir, I do.” I thought about what I was gonna say before I spoke. Lonnie seemed sort of simple-minded, but in Arkansas sometimes it was hard to tell. Some folks just put on an act. I think that why many people in the big cities thought everyone in the South was stupid. But then what did I know? I’d been pretty stupid myself lately.
I figured I’d test Lonnie with an old joke.
“Mr. Sprague, did you hear the one about the big city counterfeiters who passed through Mississippi a while back?”
“No, I didn't hear nothing about them.”
“Well, as it turned out, they made up a bunch of eighteen-dollar counterfeit bills and thought folks down South would be dumb enough to accept them.”
“Go on.”
“Well, these two counterfeiters stopped in a little country store over Hot Coffee way and asked the proprietor if he had change for an eighteen dollar bill.”
“Uh huh.”
“The proprietor said sure, how would you like the change, boys? Two nines or three sixes?” I paused after the punch line.
“Yeah,” Lonnie said. “Then what?”
Damn, Mr. Sprague was slow. Too bad. “That was the whole story,” I said.
“Okay…”
“Yes, Mr Sprague, I heard the power will be back on by spring.”
“That’s good,” Lonnie said. “I miss the TV.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Sometimes I just set there and pretend it's still working. I used to fall asleep in front of the TV almost every night. Still do sometimes.”
I wondered if Lonnie’s mind had been stronger before the lights went out. King told me that some folks went plumb crazy after. I wondered if Lonnie was one of them.
In any event, sitting on a porch talking so someone who didn’t want to kill me was a relief. I wondered if Tolliver was back at that house in town thinking the same thing.
Because I wasn’t sure what I should do, I hung around Lonnie’s place. Me and Sackett found a good camp in the woods. Even though we were no longer in the national forest, it was peaceful here. There were people sounds, the ring of an axe splitting wood, the sound of a horse, and the moo of a cow. After listening for a while, I knew where most of Lonnie’s neighbors were.
Maybe things were approaching a new normal, a normal where violence wasn’t as prevalent as it had been lately? But I knew that, until men like Tolliver were gone, the violence would never cease.
It was a dilemma. I still didn’t know what I should do. I thought about what my dad would have done. That was easy. He’d have run. My mom wouldn’t have even thought to run. She’d never leave her house, the shotgun shack with the too-small garage she was so proud of. And she had died there.
Now Al, he fought back. Not well, but he fought back. So the question became what would King have done if he hadn’t been shot in the back by Tolliver? The answer was easy. He’d have fought back and he would have used his brain first, the same way he taught me that my brain was the most important tool I owned.
I went over my previous plan and realized I hadn’t thought things out very well. I’d made assumptions, and, as King would say, they bit my ass.
I vowed the next time would be different. That’s when I realized that I could never forgive Tolliver and the other man for killing my families. I had no choice. I had to kill them or die trying.
For the first time in my life I understood the phrase, die trying. The thought gave me a bellyache.
I remembered an old movie I watched where some bad cops busted a guy’s door down and shot him. They had wrong address. Rather than admit their mistake, they planted drugs and a gun on him and railroaded him into prison. In prison, he had to toughen up and kill a man. And when he got out of prison, he got even with the two bad cops. I felt I was sort of like the guy who went to prison. I needed to toughen up and do what needed to be done.
So I thought about that for a few days, in between catching some fish and sharing them with Lonnie. I came to the conclusion that I needed to learn how to shoot a gun much better. The old single-shot, .45-70 with the eleven bullets I had for it wasn’t going to do. I needed me one of those rapid-fire black rifles, like Tolliver had.
I rode that high for an entire week, daydreaming about what I’d do to Tolliver after I found me a rifle and learned to shoot. Late one afternoon, it came to me. If I was close enough to shoot Tolliver, he was close enough to shoot me. The more I thought about it, the less I liked those odds.
No, I should learn to shoot. But relying on a gun was the easy, and most predictable, approach. I needed a smarter way.
It was a good thing I wasn’t in a hurry, because it took me a month to figure it out. But it was a good month. I got to meet Lonnie’s neighbors. They were mostly good people and were struggling to take care of their families and survive. I enjoyed talking to them, but had to keep declining offers to j
oin their families. All the women wanted to adopt me and Sackett, just like most of them had adopted other kids.
I wasn’t surprised to find out that some of the adults had been married to other people when the lights went out. In fact, Lonnie’s nearest neighbors, the Walkers, had all been members of other families before the EMP.
There were good folks left, lots of them. They were just scattered. That made me feel a lot better. I loved the forest, but living there made me feel kinda like I was the last boy on Earth sometimes, even though of late the forest was pretty darn crowded.
But the forest was a good place to think and I needed to think some more. I decided that’s where me and Sackett would wait before I implemented my plan. We just wouldn’t wait anywhere that Tolliver or his men knew about.
Chapter 24
Once me and Sackett were back in our old stomping grounds, we headed northwest. I was careful not to pass close to any of my old campsites just in case Tolliver or his men were waiting there.
I was well-equipped for a change. I’d traded fish, rabbits, and deer meat, as well as a few lessons on trapping for a crap-ton of stuff I needed, or thought I needed.
I had a real sleeping bag and two real wool blankets, twenty-seven more cartridges for the rifle, clothes that fit better, a Swiss Army knife, and a host of other small items, including a real cook kit made for camping.
Our travel was slower than I wanted, but we still made good time. Soon enough we were in new territory. Sackett and I slowed down and explored.
It was good to be back in the forest. I listened to the birds sing and watched the yellow and brown butterflies dance among the white, yellow, and blue spring flowers in the meadows. The leaves were on the trees now and life in the forest was at full tilt. I saw beaver playing on their dams and woodchucks sitting and taking in the smells and warm weather. Deer frolicked in the meadows, chasing each other in some game I didn’t understand. Rabbits hopped over one another. It seemed like everything in the forest was smiling.
I remembered how it was when I first came to the forest, how unsure of everything I was, even though I tried to hide it from Sackett. But I learned, and from learning, and experience, come real confidence. Thanks to King, I was home now, confident and sure of myself and my environment. It was a wonderful feeling, until the dog pack showed up anyway.
EMP (Book 3): 12 Years Old and Alone Page 18