by Bobby Akart
Kristi slid over and tried to peer through the passenger mirror. Tommy leaned against the door, keeping one eye focused on the oncoming traffic and the other to see if they were being chased.
“Tommy, we’re clear! They’re not coming after us. You gotta get over.”
A loud air horn blared as a box truck came straight for them. Tommy slammed on the brakes, which threw Brooke forward into the center console. He then swerved hard to the right in between two stalled cars, tossing both Brooke and Kristi against his shoulder.
With another glance to the rear, and satisfied they weren’t being pursued, he slowed down and exhaled.
“Well, that went well,” he quipped.
Kristi reached for Brooke and settled her in the front seat on her lap. She put the handgun in the glovebox.
“I suppose,” she added. “But look at this traffic. Where are all of these people going? It’s bumper to bumper.”
“They all have the same idea as us. It’s time to blow out of Chi-Town.”
Chapter 24
Trans-Canada Highway
Near Heyden, Ontario, Canada
Boom!
In the split second the events unfolded, Levi’s brain thought the sound it detected was a rifle shot. However, as his brain speedily processed the possible cause, it adeptly transferred its attention to the effect.
The right front tire of the Can-Am four-wheeler exploded and then shredded within the open fender. The abrupt drop in speed sent the ATV tumbling down the asphalt highway and threw Levi into the air, head over heels, onto the gravel apron before his forward momentum stopped at the bottom of an embankment against a fallen tree.
The collision with the tree trunk immediately knocked the wind out of him, but it was his head whipsawing back and forth during the crash that caused his brain to become foggy, blurring his eyesight.
Levi struggled to stay conscious. His back began to spasm as a result of his muscles being tense when he struck the tree. He tried to control his breathing to calm his nerves. Something had caused his tire to blow. He tried to recall the sound. Was it a gunshot? Or did the tire simply give way after a couple of hundred miles of riding on the asphalt road? He tried to focus and listen and stay awake. He understood concussions and knew slipping into a coma would not bode well for survival.
An uncontrollable urge to vomit overcame him.
And he did, repeatedly. All of the undigested snack foods he’d consumed at the Timberdoodle Lodge were coming back up now as he retched in the grass.
The four-wheeler was still running. Levi fought the pain throbbing in his head and backed away from the contents of his stomach.
He gingerly leaned against the tree again and listened. Was it a gunshot? He strained to detect approaching footsteps in the crunchy grass and soil.
Nothing.
Levi searched the ground for his rifle. His eyesight was still blurred, and it was difficult for him to focus. The continuous rumble of the four-wheeler’s engine frustrated him as he tried to determine if he was at risk of an attack. It had been several minutes, or perhaps just one, before he decided to move away from the tree and the stench of his vomit.
He slowly made his way up the slight embankment until he could see the wreckage. Pieces of tire, fender parts, and small bits of plastic littered the highway. So did all of the supplies and gear he’d procured from the deserted lodge.
Levi closed his eyes and shook his head. This never-ending nightmare was the gift that kept on giving. He struggled to stand, the pain in his back demanding that he lie down. The pounding of blood vessels against the ever-growing knot on the back of his head threatened to knock him unconscious.
Ignoring the warning signs from his body, Levi reached under the wreckage and turned off the engine. The Can-Am was destroyed and so were most of the supplies he’d carried in the rear bed.
His rifle lay in the middle of the road, scratched but intact. Levi quickly retrieved it, and using the wrecked four-wheeler for cover, he dropped to a knee to surveil his surroundings. His vision was coming back despite the pounding of his head. Again, after a minute, he was convinced the blowout of the tire was just another event in the string of bad luck that had beset him since the plane had crashed into the tops of the Canadian white pine trees.
He found his backpack and immediately retrieved the Motrin. Then he set about repacking what he could salvage. He’d made great time that day, sailing along at fifty miles an hour most of the time. It was an enjoyable ride. Quiet, deserted, and devoid of traffic. The best part was when the road ran parallel along Lake Superior. The views were incredible, and Levi found himself forgetting about the horrors of the last few days.
Levi retrieved the map he’d found at the lodge and tried to determine his location. He recalled several side roads and a sign indicating he was near Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, and the U.S. border. He prepared his tattered and torn backpack for travel.
As the Motrin kicked in, Levi began to feel better. As he approached the town of Heyden, he caught his first glimpse of human activity since his encounter with the police in Hearst. He walked past a car and caught a glimpse of himself in the window. If he could be described as disheveled when he arrived in Hearst, his appearance in Heyden was best described as half-dead. He was bloodied around his face and hands. His knees were bleeding courtesy of the asphalt ripping open his pants. His backpack was more suited to a train-riding hobo than a hunter.
And, naturally, in this day and age, Levi’s rifle held at low ready raised the eyebrows of anyone who laid eyes on him as he entered town.
He walked slowly but deliberately past the smattering of homes and small businesses, purposefully avoiding eye contact. He didn’t expect the locals to help him, and if the small community had law enforcement, Levi had no desire to become acquainted with them. He had a single goal and that was to cross into America, the next step in getting home to his family.
Levi walked peacefully for an hour, stopping once to refill his water bottles in a roadside creek and to eat a few snacks. The closer he got to the midsized city of eighty thousand people, the faster the adrenaline pumped through his body.
“Just a couple of miles,” he said to himself as his pace quickened. Vehicular traffic could be seen now, and a helicopter even roared past him at one point. Levi began to think the power had been restored, a thought that was quickly dashed when he passed a strip shopping center that had been boarded up. The traffic signals were inoperable, and the near-quiet surroundings dashed his hopes of a quick return home.
Levi encountered a roadblock after passing a golf course. Several dozen people were crowded around Transport Canada barriers blocking the road. Levi lowered his rifle to his side to obscure it from view as he approached.
“Stay there, sir!” A member of the Sault Ste. Marie Police Service raised both hands as he stepped toward Levi. He was flanked on both sides by two constables holding automatic weapons. “This road is closed to all traffic.”
“I’m on foot,” said Levi.
“Vehicular and pedestrian, unless you can show proof of residency.”
Levi walked closer. His clothes were covered in blood—his and the dead hog’s. He stank of wet forest and dead animal. His unkempt beard was nearly fully grown after just seven days and held bits of dried grass following his tumble down the embankment.
“I’m an American. Our plane crashed near Smoky Falls. I’m just trying to get back to Indiana.”
“Do you have your passport or proof of citizenship?”
Levi had an oh-shit moment.
He hadn’t seen his travel documents in days. In fact, he hadn’t even thought about them. Somehow, avoiding ravenous wolves and badgers had taken a priority over a driver’s license or a passport.
He dropped his pack and began to rummage through every pocket. During his efforts to lighten his load and to constantly repack his belongings, he must’ve set them aside somewhere.
“Um, I don’t have them. I guess I lost them during the c
rash. If I could just use a phone, I could call my folks, and they could confirm—”
“No phones! No power. No phones.” The constable was emphatic in his instructions. “You need to turn around. If you are an American, you won’t be able to cross the border without your identification. If you’re a resident of Sault Ste. Marie, we need to see proof. Otherwise, you need to leave.”
“But—” Levi began to object, but the armed constables stepped forward with their weapons raised to drive the point home.
“Now!”
Levi shook his head in disgust and stepped backwards, turning sideways to continue to shield his rifle from view. He looked around to assess his options. Off to the side of the road, several people were huddled under a tree. Sitting cross-legged in the grass, they’d watched the entire exchange. Levi surmised they were similarly situated, so he cautiously approached them.
“Were you guys denied access to the city, too?”
“Yeah, man,” answered a teenager. “We got robbed while staying at a friend’s cabin on Upper Island Lake. They took everything we had except our clothes.”
“Are you Americans?” asked Levi.
“Yeah, from Green Bay,” responded another young man in his late teens. “Supposedly, the fishing boats at the marina are taking people to Detroit on Lake Huron. We wanted to make our way to the St. Mary’s River where the marina is located.”
“What are you doing here?” asked Levi.
“They won’t let us pass, so we thought we’d wait until they change their minds,” the first teenager replied.
Levi tilted his head and studied the group of teens. He wondered if he was that dumb when he was their age. Nobody’s gonna change their minds, you idiots, Levi thought to himself.
“Where is this marina?” he asked.
After a brief argument, the three young men came to a consensus and gave Levi directions to where the marina was located on the river. Without inviting them to tag along, Levi casually walked away into the woods bordering the golf course.
Sometimes, ya gotta go it alone.
Chapter 25
Town Hall
New Amsterdam, Indiana
It was getting dark as the town hall meeting was adjourned by Mayor Jake. Everyone raised a number of issues, ranging from clean water to gathering firewood for fuel to the final topic of hunting. The best hunting land in Southeast Indiana was on Riverfront Farms and on the other side of Indian Creek in the state park. Squire stood firm and told people they couldn’t hunt on the Boone property, but he certainly couldn’t stop them from hunting in the Harrison-Crawford State Forest.
The westernmost boundary of Riverfront Farms was marked by Indian Creek, which meandered southward through Harrison County until it emptied into the Ohio River. Established in 1932, the forest contained twenty-four thousand acres of rugged hardwoods and was a favorite destination for campers, hikers, and hunters. White-tailed deer were in abundance, as well as small game like squirrels and raccoons.
Squire was concerned about locals attempting to hunt on the Boones’ property. They’d be hunting deer and hogs daily, and he didn’t want an inexperienced hunter, forced to take up the sport because of circumstances, to shoot a member of his family. Nobody grumbled when he emphatically said that he wouldn’t permit hunting on the farm, but he suspected some would wander across Indian Creek by accident, especially since it was nearly dry.
He’d pulled Chapman and Isabella away from a group who continued to press them on when the shift would be over. After hearing the details of what had happened to the people in New Middleton, he’d grown increasingly uncomfortable with leaving the farm, especially with Sarah, Carly and the kids alone.
Just as they reached his truck, a woman called out, “Mr. Boone! Do you have a moment?”
The three of them stopped and turned to a tall woman dressed in jeans, a western-style shirt, and roper boots, leading a horse. She looked like she belonged in Texas rather than Indiana.
“Sure,” replied Squire as he squinted in the low light. “I’m not sure, um, wait.” He abruptly stopped his sentence, giving the woman an opportunity to reintroduce herself.
“Well, it has been a long time,” she began as she got closer. “More than ten years, I believe. My name’s Misty. Misty Garness. Kristi’s friend from Ohio State.”
“Of course, I remember. Kristi and Misty.”
“Two peas in a pod!” The two of them said the phrase at the same time.
Squire hugged her and then introduced Chapman and Isabella. “Chapman, your sister and Misty were classmates at OSU.”
“Yeah. Roomies, too. Right?”
“For a while, anyway. I started dating this guy on the golf team. We got close and moved in together during my last year of vet school.”
Chapman asked, “Didn’t you get a job in town?”
“I did,” Misty replied. “Doc Towsley was planning his retirement, and he wanted to hire a couple of young, impressionable veterinary grads to fill his shoes. Kristi and I were going to do it together.”
“That’s right,” interjected Squire. “You guys were going to work together, and she decided to pursue the zoology profession. I take it you’re still working at Old Capital Veterinary Hospital.”
“Yes, sir. I specialize in farm animals while another vet handles pets and other domestics.”
Squire laughed as he repeated the phrase his daughter and Misty had created for themselves. “Kristi and Misty, two peas in a pod. How could I forget?”
She laughed along with him, and then her face turned serious. “Yeah, pretty funny, right? That seems like ages ago. Um, listen, I’m sorry to bring this up, but has Kristi come home? I mean, I heard this news report about the zoo …” Her voice trailed off as she studied the faces in the low light.
Squire sighed. “No, she hasn’t. I saw the same report. I’m praying for her safety, but all we can do is wait to see if she returns.”
Misty grimaced and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Boone. I know you guys are probably worried about her. You know, she’s pretty tough. And, if I remember correctly, she’s got protection, too.”
“Good memory,” said Squire. “We fixed her up a hidey-hole for some weapons in her office and to store at her house, too. I didn’t care what the laws were up there, I wanted my daughter well armed.”
“She can handle herself and a gun, if I recall.”
“Absolutely,” said Squire. “Are you alone? Is your husband with you?”
“We’re good. He was playing in a golf tournament out west when the president made his speech. He withdrew and came straight home. He’s watching over our horses and other animals. We never had kids. I’ve got too many four-legged babies as it is.”
Chapman reached out to shake her hand as he looked toward the sky. It was pitch dark now. “We’d better get goin’, and you have to ride out of here in the dark.”
“You’re right, but I’m fine. There’s one more thing that I want to mention before you go. There was a lot of discussion about deer huntin’ at the end of the meeting. I need to warn you all about something.”
“What’s that?” asked Chapman.
“There’s been a scare of the EEE virus across the state and up into Michigan. With it being so hot and dry, and with last year’s winter being mild, mosquitoes have spread into areas we’re not accustomed to seeing them.”
“Triple—E?” asked Isabella.
“Yes, I’m sorry. That stands for eastern equine encephalitis. Triple E–infected mosquitoes have been detected around the state, including on the other side of the forest near Evansville. There have been reports they’ve infected some of the white-tail deer population in Michigan and into Ontario. Three deaths were reported near Lansing and some areas just over the Indiana state line.”
“Are you saying deer meat isn’t safe to eat?” asked Squire.
“Possibly. Unfortunately, the ability for the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta to conduct testing is hampered by the power out
age. The real threat is not necessarily from eating the deer meat. It’s from being around areas where the mosquitoes are swarming around the white-tail deer. Feral hogs, too.”
“Like Indian Creek?” asked Chapman.
“Yes. Any place where there is stagnant water like ponds, buckets, and unprotected wells, as well as in tall grass, weeds, and brush.”
“How do we know if we’ve been infected?”
Misty counted off the symptoms by unfurling her fingers as she spoke. “Headache, high fever, chills, vomiting, and disorientation. If untreated, it could lead to uncontrolled seizures and even coma.”
“That sounds serious,” said Squire.
“Yes, sir. It is. A third of patients who develop EEE die, and those who survive have mild to severe brain damage. It’s important to watch for the symptoms and treat the disease quickly. Many health clinics slough it off as the flu, not realizing how dangerous it can be.”
“I will become a vegan,” quipped Isabella.
“Me too,” added Chapman.
Misty chuckled. “I didn’t mean to alarm all of you. I really just wanted to ask about Kristi. But please be aware that this virus is no joke, and you need to avoid contact with mosquitoes if at all possible.”
“We will, Misty,” said Squire, who gave her a hug. “We’ll tell Kristi you were asking about her when she returns home. If you need anything, please come see us, okay?”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
The three of them piled into the truck, and Squire hesitated before starting the engine. He became philosophical. “I’ve come to realize how much we take for granted nowadays. Every part of our former daily routine is thrown out the window. Now simple things like fresh water and safe food mean life or death. A mosquito bite could kill you. A stomachache may be something far worse than eating too much spicy food.”
As he finished his statement, his body fired a warning shot across the bow as a hidden fist reach through his belly button and put a death grip inside his stomach onto his intestines. Squire gasped at the sudden jolt of pain and quickly fired up the truck, goosing the engine to cause the roar of the tailpipe to mask his agony.