The World Hungers: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 3)

by Boyd Craven III

  “I’m sorry Patty,” He told her quietly.

  “No, it isn’t you who should be sorry. I’m not being fair to you. I just got so caught up in the moment…”

  “Patty, other than my mom, you’re the only girl that I’ve ever been comfortable around. You’re my best friend and I don’t want to lose that.”

  “You won’t. I’ll try not to make you uncomfortable. Will you come back inside with me and finish dinner?”

  “Sure, just give me a couple minutes. I’m sorting things out.” He told her.

  She nodded and left. Lately he’d said that phrase a lot, “I’m sorting things out,’ she’d come to understand that Neal’s mind hadn’t been prepared as well as some people for the change that had overcome the world and it was his way of coping. In truth, Neal was fighting his own anxieties, insecurities and feelings. He could compartmentalize all day long but at some point, he needed to sit down and analyze things, in his own mind. She got that and left him to sort things out. He tried to focus on his feelings, the pain. Instead, the documents from the Islamist kept coming back into his head.

  It detailed a broad reaching plan that had been ongoing for the last twenty years. Sleepers were sent in and told to wait until a good opportunity presented itself. Of course, it hadn’t for twenty years with only some of them being activated for random acts or espionage. The easiest way they were able to infiltrate was through the student Visa program. Other popular methods were to come across one of the borders. Drug smugglers had taken advantage of the open borders of the United States for decades and illegal immigrants and Islamists had followed suit. From both the Mexico side and the Canadian side. The student that had died by Neal’s hands had been a recent immigrant and had come knowing the end game was upon them.

  He was to have ignited Ann Arbor’s Muslim population to rise up. They knew that even non believers would rise up as well as evidenced by Ferguson Missouri, the Rodney King riots in LA and even Detroit back in the sixties. Small race fights and protests had always peppered American history for the last hundred years. The general plan was to destabilize the major population centers and allow the American culture to implode upon itself. They estimated that taking the power out would alone cause a ninety percent mortality to the general population in the first month. Three weeks to a month later would knock out another one to two percent as supplies ran out. Sickness and violence would take out all but one percent of the population after a year.

  The numbers were painted using a broad brush, but it was terrifying. In the two weeks that they’d stayed in Ann Arbor, they’d witnessed the way things were breaking down, had seen the fires in the distance. Patty had heard rumors that large gangs roamed freely, preaching the convert or die mantra. They’d avoided that as long as they could, and when attacked, they fled. Only by hiding and using the railways, were they able to avoid people. Time was getting fuzzy for Neal, but he knew that they were approaching the one month mark more or less. They’d survived better than ninety percent, but it was what to have happened in the third month that he was worried about.

  The plans were vague, and probably because the Islamist carrying it was only a mid level stooge, but it outlined an invasion force. It would start on both coasts, capturing strategic assets. Those who lived in the Midwest and heartlands were to link up with those forces after causing as much havoc and destruction as they could.

  Neal saw the plan for what it was, a brilliant but ugly way to win a war with a super power without causing a lot of losses for the opposition. The first part already accomplished, Neal wondered what happened once the invaders came, and the state of the military that was overseas or the Navy who had technology that was hardened off from the effects of an EMP. He kept trying to refocus his attention at his almost break through on his feelings, but gave up. He would just have to be careful around Patty for now, to make sure he didn’t hurt her or her feelings.

  He stood, and his joints popped. He stretched to get the cold out of his bones and his stomach rumbled at the smell of food. Neal marveled at how hunger made almost everything smell wonderful. He headed back into the shack and sat down across from her and took his half of the skewer, eating quickly. Once or twice their eyes met but neither of them were ready to deal with it more.

  “When do you think we should leave?” Patty asked after a while.

  “I don’t know. Food here is almost gone. We can live on frogs and fish for a while, but I don’t even know where to go.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that a little bit,” she told him, finishing off her last piece. “If the invasion is going to happen on either coast, wouldn’t it make sense to move to the center of the country, the heartlands as the Islamists called it?”

  “Sure. Any place in mind?”

  “It would have to be somewhere that we could survive the winters easily, lots of food or game.”

  “I don’t know how to hunt or trap,” he told her, knowing it sounded dumb.

  “I know how to do small game, something larger like a deer wouldn’t be that bad.”

  “We don’t have all that much ammo.”

  “I know, but if we avoid people and can survive the worst of the…”

  Rapid gunfire startled them into silence and screams filled the night. They hurriedly knocked the top off the hobo stove and stomped on the embers. Scooping dirt from the floor onto the embers, they started packing their supplies not knowing how long they had. In truth, they had discussed this a couple days back. At the first signs of problems, they would melt off into the distance, following the tracks. The gunfire could be close, or the sound could be coming from a long ways off, but the shouting had to be close.

  It took them ten minutes to clear camp, and they took everything right down to the metal bucket that they strapped to the back of Neal’s backpack and headed into the darkening night.

  “I was hoping for one more night on that cot,” Neal griped.

  “Yeah, we’ll have to find someplace up ahead. You’ll have to sleep under the tarp with me.”

  “As long as you don’t try to tickle me again.”

  “Oh, it was the tickling that bugged you?” Despite the situation she was grinning, her legs pumping the pedals hard.

  “Let’s hurry. I don’t think they knew we were there,” he told her, but a rare smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

  They rode for another hour and slowed down and look for a spot, but the sound of a distant shot kept them riding again. They passed through small towns, the silent speed of their bikes allowing them to move through the gloom unmolested. Finally when dawn was starting to tug at the edges of the skyline, they stopped.

  “I’m exhausted.” Neal admitted.

  “Let’s get a drink and…”

  Neal was already pushing his bike off the railway towards the weeds. He dropped his pack and rolled it over until he found a soft spot and laid his head and shoulders on it. Patty joined him, pulling out a green tarp and weighted down one end, pulling it over her like a blanket and curled into Neal. He fell asleep listening to her soft snores, her breathing coming at a steady rhythm.

  Chapter 10 –

  The Homestead, Kentucky

  “Do you Father, or Pastor Duncan to the rest of ya, take Lisa to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Sandra asked.

  “I do,” Duncan was beet red.

  “And Lisa, do you take my father to be your lawfully wedded husband and to be my mother and grandmother of Chris?”

  “I do,” She smiled.

  “By the power vested in me, which only comes from god since the power went out and the world as we knew it ended, I now pronounce you man and wife. Welcome to the family Lisa, and Daddy, you may now-“

  She was cut off by Duncan who waved a hand at her for fooling around, wrapping his arms around Lisa and kissing her deeply. He didn’t stop and soon the kiss deepened and the entire homestead cheered. Soon, the feast was on, and without instruments to play, everyone sang songs and danced as they felt like it. As far as
weddings went, this one was unconventional but it was probably something that people had done long before there was written law and ceremonies steeped in licenses and witnesses to sign a piece of paper.

  The camper had been cleaned the day previous by Bobby and Weston and that’s where Lisa and Duncan retired for when it got dark. Blake joked that he’d put in enough provisions to last a few days, to poke at the preacher for doing the same with him, but Lisa surprised them all and said a few days may not be enough. Blake’s cheeks burned crimson and Sandra laughed and laughed. Bobby set out to his spot along the lane to watch for incoming foot traffic and lights and Weston headed to the dorms.

  Nobody enjoyed going through the old well and the tunnel very much, but it kept the appearance that the barn was exactly what it was and not a house to tons of people. Everyone else turned in and except for Melissa sneaking out to be with Bobby, the homestead slept off the rich food and fun of the wedding day.

  +++++

  “Blake, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Sandra rolled over, pressing her body against her husband’s and pulling the covers over their nude forms.

  “Yeah Hon?”

  “What should we do, about those hunters.”

  “Hunters? You mean the cannibals?”

  “Yeah,” Sandra said, the thought making her body ripple with a shiver.

  “I don’t know. We need to learn more about them, find out how many there are.”

  “Make sure they aren’t a threat to the homestead here?”

  “Yeah. I’m worried about sending us all out like we took out the slavers. I don’t want another group to attack us while we’re gone. We’d lose everything if we did.”

  “Yeah, we can’t do things like that anymore.”

  “What if I took Weston, and we checked things out for a while?”

  “Why wouldn’t you take me?”

  “Because, you’re my GI Jane and somebody needs to be in charge of our homestead security. Besides, you’re training your squad.”

  “I am,” Sandra said, chewing on her lip in thought. “Are you sure it isn’t because…”

  “I’m smarter than that, you are more than capable of that, only reason I’m suggesting me is that Dad and Lis… er... Mom are busy, Bobby is still recovering and I don’t know the rest of the group enough to know who knows what. Most of them were pretty traumatized. I think if I could go with Weston, you and the rest can more than keep the homestead safe.”

  “Two people draw less attention…” Sandra said, her voice uncertain.

  “Yes, especially if we go on foot and treat this like a hunting expedition.”

  “Will you be gone long?”

  “I hope not. Maybe a day to hike to where you were attacked and a day to watch. Depending on what we can find, maybe more.”

  “Three to four days?” She buried her head under his chin, tears wetting his chest.

  “I don’t know what else to do,” he whispered.

  “Me neither. It just seems like there are threats all around us, nonstop. That’s why I got out of the Army. I didn’t want to look over my shoulder every five minutes.”

  “I know baby.”

  “Speaking of babies…”

  “Wait, you’re pregnant?”

  “No, but we have to work on that.” Her tear streaked face was smiling, he could feel it.

  “Good deal.”

  +++++

  Blake had talked to Weston about a scouting trip and he agreed immediately. It’d been in his thoughts for the last couple of days. They debated waiting for Duncan and Lisa to come back from their honeymoon, but neither of them thought they could afford to wait. It’d already been two days and they were afraid of not being able to backtrack. They both elected to take an M4 and Blake took one that Duncan had been playing with, with a scope on it.

  In some of the now sorted equipment they took from the slavers, Duncan found a suppressor and many fun goodies to trick out the M4’s. It was Duncan’s baby that he’d taken to the field with him, wanting to carry something light weight, decent range and leave him room to carry enough ammo for a sustained firefight. The less they carried, the less weighted down they would be. Food would be some of the dried goods and very few of the jarred or canned goods. The exception was good old SPAM. They were going to have cold camps overnight, so they both took small tarps and a sleeping bag and crammed them into framed packs and checked each other over for anything loose. Both carried side arms and a knife, and when they felt good, they headed off down the lane, their camouflaged forms eventually melting into the lush green of the late summer woods.

  “We have half a day before we start getting close to where we have to start sneaking in. Want to move fast, or take it easy going in?” Blake asked.

  “Let’s see how it goes. I’m not used to these hills the way you are. You’d probably walk me into the ground.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They were silent for a while, concentrating on their footing once they left the lane. The travelled west, roughly putting the sun at their backs.

  “Oh, this is great. Remind me to come back here sometime soon,” Blake told Weston, rubbing his hand on the trunk of a tree that was heavy with fruit that looked like blackberries.

  “Is this a mulberry tree?”

  “Yeah, black mulberry. It’s a wonder the birds haven’t found this one yet.”

  Weston picked a few and popped them in his mouth.

  “Pretty good.” He said.

  “Yeah, there’s a ton of wild food out here in the woods if you know what to look for.”

  “Point out some for me. The wild foods.”

  “No problem.”

  They walked in silence for a while longer, and Blake stopped, running his hands through some green buds on a plant.

  “Common milkweed. I’ve eaten the green buds like these. You just soak them in cold cold water to float the bugs out then you can steam them or use them like peas. The flowers are supposed to be good too, but I haven’t tried them like that.”

  “Isn’t milkweed poisonous?”

  “Hasn’t killed me. I used to collect a ton of this stuff when money was tight. Canned it mostly when I had too much.”

  They continued their walk, Blake pointing out little things here and there. They crossed a small stream and he showed him the cattails and explained how the roots could be dug and baked like potatoes. There were other things that could be done with them, but Blake hadn’t tried.

  “What about lillypads?”

  “Never tried. It’s illegal.” He said and smiled at the former cop.

  The talking petered out as the day lengthened out. They started to slow, and spaced themselves out so they wouldn’t make an easier target for snipers or the cannies that had hunted Sandra and the group who had set out to ambush them. They made it to the site of the butchering by night fall, and the two days in the heat had made the offal almost unbearable to be near.

  “They came back for the other body,” Blake whispered as they approached the second site.

  “The tracks look fresher here.”

  “Probably waited a day or so to come back out.”

  “Can you follow the tracks?”

  “That’s what we’re here for.”

  The trail the cannies left wasn’t hard to follow, but the light was getting bad. They ate a meal of flat bread and smoked venison under the cover of the heavy brush. After several uncomfortable hours, they fell asleep. Hours later a snapping twig woke Weston, who rolled over and nudged Blake through his sleeping bag.

  “Shhhh, I heard something.” Weston whispered to Blake who almost startled awake.

  He pointed, and another branch snapped nearby and the sound of soft footsteps carried to them.

  “Over here. Do you think it was her?”

  “I don’t know. If you hadn’t botched the shot-“

  “I wasn’t trying to kill her outright.”

  “In the end, they all end up on Kenny’s hooks, don’t th
ey?” A soft chuckle followed this.

  Both Blake and Weston had buried their sleeping bags in fallen leaves from the previous fall, and used pine boughs to hold things down. It made for a warm and camouflaged bed, but it was noisy and restrictive to their movements in this situation. They were literally caught with their pants down and vulnerable. Weston put his finger up to his lips and Blake nodded, feeling inside his bag for his pistol.

  “I’ve never tried a kid. You think if we get a chance, we could…?”

  “Be quiet, look. I see their tracks. They’re somewhere around here.”

  Then things went silent. Both of the men were able to get their pistols and began slowly extracting themselves from the leaves as they heard the footsteps come and go as they tried to figure out where the homestead men were hiding out. Once in a while they would get close, but they moved off far enough that eventually both men were able to pull their pants up and slide out of their bags.

  “I could only hear two of them,” Blake said, breaking the silence.

  “Definitely part of the group we want. What do you want to do?”

  “Kill them all. Realistically, capture one, find out where they are?”

  “Should we do that, or just wait for them to leave the area and back track them?” Weston asked.

  “That sounds like a safer bet. Should we stay hunkered down here, or risk moving?”

  “Let’s get ready to move quick if we need to, but I’d rather not get into a big gunfight now that I’ve had a moment to think about it.”

  Weston just nodded in response and they packed up their cold camp as quietly as they could, using the pine bough to brush out any sign they’d been there and then hid themselves.