by James Hunt
“Supplies? I thought we were going to Phoenix? Isn’t that only like a five-hour drive?”
Jim walked over, extended his hand, and helped him off the couch. “I’ve only packed enough in my bug-out bag for one man and one cat. I didn’t plan on having a plus one besides Tigs.”
He picked up the crate under one arm and locked the door. Just in case he got to come back, he wanted to make sure his things stayed where they were. He loaded Tigs in between himself and Coyle and backed out of the driveway. He pulled out his phone, searched for “Sister” under his contacts, and hit dial. Nothing. He hit the call button again, but it still didn’t ring. He checked the signal on his phone. No reception.
“Hey, let me see your phone,” Jim asked.
Coyle pulled his phone out from his pocket. He noticed the dry blood on his pant leg, then realized that the majority of his jumpsuit was covered in blood and grease. He quickly unzipped and stripped down to his polo and cargo pants.
“Shit. Something’s wrong with the phone lines. I’m not getting through.” Jim glanced down at his gas tank. He had three quarters of a tank, which was not very comforting. He had planned to fill it up after work that day but regretted not doing it earlier. They didn’t have enough to get to Phoenix, but it was enough to put some distance between them and San Diego before they had to stop again.
“Grab the map out of the glove box for me. Check the quickest route to Phoenix and have a few back up routes in case the one we pick is blocked,” Jim said.
The truck flew down the highway and Jim flicked on the radio. News reports began to stream in over the incident at the naval base.
“Our reporters on scene say the base has been completely leveled. The targeting of the U.S.S. Midway Museum as well as the base itself has the casualty estimates somewhere in the thousands with even more injured.”
“Holy shit,” Coyle said. The broadcaster continued.
“The military has quarantined the entire area and the majority of the crowds have been evacuated. We’re also getting confirmed reports of similar bombs going off in New York and Washington, though we’re unsure of the location of the specific blast sites. We haven’t got any official word from the Pentagon other than they’re ‘gathering information,’ but this reporter believes that these are intentional attacks on U.S. soil. The National Guard has been called in for assistance and control as well as the San Diego Marine Corp Recruit Depot. Right now, no further warnings have been issued.”
An advertisement began to play and Jim turned the volume down a bit. Coyle looked at Jim in disbelief. “New York and Washington D.C.?”
“See if you can find a grocery store on our way to Phoenix. We still need to get you a few thing,” Jim replied.
Coyle came through and ended up finding not only a grocery store, but a camping store in the same shopping mall a few miles up the road. It was on the way and while Jim wanted to avoid any crowded areas, he wanted to make sure he had enough supplies for the two of them if they had to make a sudden change of plans on their way to Phoenix.
When the exit came up, traffic was beginning to increase. Jim wasn’t sure if this was due to it being later in the afternoon and people starting to get off work or because of what had happened. Either way, it started to make him a little weary. They pulled into the parking lot and found a spot about a hundred yards away from the entrance to the stores.
Jim checked his holster to ensure it was hidden and cracked the windows for Tigs. He motioned Coyle over to the side of the truck and grabbed the smaller pistol out of the duffel bag.
“You still go shooting every Sunday?” Jim asked.
Coyle took the pistol, checked the chamber, loaded a clip in, and clicked the safety on. “Right after church.”
They split up, with Coyle grabbing the things needed from the grocery store and Jim heading into the camping store.
“You want to stay away from anything perishable. Try and stick with canned goods, health bars, instant oatmeal, two one-liter bottle waters, and some multi-vitamins. Make sure the amount of food you get will last you at least three days, but no more than will fit in a pack about my size. Got it?” Jim asked.
Coyle nodded as he jotted down the list of things to grab.
“Once you get your food, you’ll also want to grab a few other things like disinfectant wipes, large band aids, gauze, cotton balls, ibuprofen, aloe, a lighter, duct tape, and a pack of AA batteries. Meet me back at the truck in twenty minutes.” Jim said.
While Coyle grabbed the food, Jim started to mentally prepare his own list for the camping store. He knew he would get a thermal sleeping bag, a 7-inch survival blade with a full-tang, portable first aid kit, flashlight, a small compass, magnesium flint with steel striker for starting fires, and a pack to fit everything in.
Jim paid with his card since all the machines seemed to be working and headed back out to the truck. It was almost four and if they didn’t leave soon, they’d be stuck in rush hour traffic, which Jim desperately wanted to avoid. He was the first to the car and began packing the supplies in the bag when he saw Coyle running with bags in his hands. He was at a full sprint and skidded to a halt, throwing the bags of groceries in his hand to the ground. He panted to catch his breath.
“Radio… Something… Happened… Turn on… Radio.”
Jim slid the key into the ignition and turned the radio on. The broadcaster was in the middle of his report.
“I repeat; bombs have been detonated in the downtown San Diego area. We haven’t confirmed how large the blast was, or what was specifically targeted, but we do have confirmed reports of a large blast happening in downtown San Diego.”
Jim threw the pack and grocery supplies in the truck bed. Coyle ran around the other side and jumped into the passenger’s seat. Jim reversed out of the parking spot, narrowly missing a man heading for his car. A pair of fighter jets blasted right above them towards the coast. The roar of the engines was deafening. They were flying so low the jet wash shook the truck.
Tigs meowed loudly under all of the duress. Jim’s truck squealed in acceleration out on the highway. In the distance, he heard the blast of bombs. A glance in his rearview mirror revealed smoke rising from the crumbling structures of downtown San Diego.
Chapter 3 – GTFO
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.” Coyle repeated the phrase as he glanced back at the jets racing off into the distance. Many of the cars along the opposite side of the highway had come to a complete stop on the side of the road, with their passengers getting out and watching more jets flying through the air towards the coast.
Coyle finally spun back around in his seat with his eyes wide. He looked over at Jim, who wasn’t glancing in the rearview mirror at all. “Jim, those were fighter jets. Fucking fighter jets!”
Jim was passing most of the cars on his left and right, not bothering to stay in one lane, weaving in and out of traffic to put more distance behind them. Coyle punched Jim in the arm.
“Are you listening to me?” Coyle asked.
A caravan of about ten squad cars sped down the opposite side of the highway with their lights blaring and the sirens raging through the wind. They blew past the rest of the traffic like they were standing still.
“Holy shit,” Coyle whispered.
At the pace they were driving, Jim believed they would arrive in Phoenix in five hours. Coyle sat motionless with his eyes staring straight ahead. Jim opened up Tigs’ cage and she gladly exited. She bounced onto Coyle’s lap, purring quietly as she circled him. In no time, she curled up into a ball and closed her eyes.
Jim knew there was a Naval Air facility in El Centro on their way out of California to Phoenix and wondered if he should avoid it. It could be a potential roadblock for anyone heading east. Since he wasn’t familiar with the back roads the further east he went, he decided to stick to his gut and stay along the interstate. Traffic was moving fluidly for now.
After a few hours of driving, the sun was setting low in the west behind
them and the gas tank was hovering just above a quarter of a tank. They were about two hours from Phoenix and thirty minutes away from the Naval Air facility. Coyle was passed out in the passenger seat along with Tigs, and Jim thought it would be a good idea to find a gas station to fill up before they got there. Just in case.
Jim pulled into a small exit town with a few stores and a rundown motel. The desert atmosphere made the town feel more barren than it actually was. It was dusk now and Jim flicked his headlights on. A Chevron sign glowed in the sky down the road. Jim shook Coyle’s shoulder.
“Ugh, what?” Coyle said.
Tigs jumped on top of her crate and rubbed her head on Jim’s shoulder. He gave her a scratch and tried to keep Coyle awake. “We needed to stop and get gas. Thought you could use a bathroom break. That is, unless you’re still empty from peeing yourself earlier.”
With his eyes still closed, Coyle flipped him the bird and then dropped his hand onto his own lap. He was so tired that even the exertion of insulting Jim seemed to wear him out.
The truck pulled into the two-pump, carless Chevron and Jim got out. He unscrewed the gas cap and put the pump in. He swiped his card and banged on the truck’s hood, jolting Coyle awake again.
“Fill it up. Want anything from inside?” Jim asked.
Coyle closed his eyes and waved him off.
An elderly lady sat behind the counter reading a recent issue of US Weekly. She looked up from her article at the sound of the chime when Jim entered. He headed for the restroom signs. The door was locked with a sign that said, “See front counter for key.”
Jim headed back to the front counter, and a man in a ski mask bust through the door with a double-barrel pump action shotgun. He pointed it at Jim, then at the old lady.
“Get on the ground! Get on the ground now or I’ll blow your fucking brains out!”
The old lady slid off her stool and onto the floor. Jim held his hands in the air and dropped to his knees. He looked through the front door and saw another man in a ski mask pinning Coyle on the ground. Tigs roamed around aimlessly in the truck.
Jim’s chin pressed hard against the floor from the pressure of the robber’s twelve gauge digging into the back of his skull.
“That your friend out there with your truck?” the robber asked.
“Yeah.” Jim wasn’t sure if it was the cold tile, or the fact that he’d never had a gun this close to his head before that caused him to shake. The man in the ski mask laughed and headed back over to the counter. He tossed an empty bag at the old woman on the floor.
“Put the money in the bag, bitch,” the robber said.
Jim lifted his head up and watched the old woman shove money into the sack. He knew exactly what they were planning to do. They would take the money from the store, Jim’s truck would be the getaway vehicle, and all of their supplies and transportation would vanish. He had to find a way to get the man close enough and lower his weapon for him to have a chance of engaging him.
“Where do you plan on going?” Jim asked.
“What the hell did you just ask me?” the robber responded.
The robber stormed over, and the barrel of the gun was right on Jim’s forehead with the man’s finger on the trigger.
“What’s your destination? You can’t be heading back to San Diego. It’s a warzone over there,” Jim said.
“What’s it to you?”
“I just wanted to make sure you and your boyfriend had a nice place to run off into the sunset, that’s all.”
The robber pressed the barrel of the gun into Jim’s head even harder. “You stupid motherfucker, you should have kept that little comment to yourself.” He flipped the barrel of the gun around to smack Jim in the face but took too long in his reactive moments. Jim moved swiftly off the ground, leapt to his feet, and barreled into the man at full force.
Jim and the robber flew backwards onto the ground. They wrestled, awkwardly grunting and pulling at each other. Both of them struggled for the weapon. Jim took a nasty right cross on the chin but was able to get leverage on the robber. Jim got the robber in an arm bar and increased the pressure he was putting on him.
The robber flailed helplessly. He kicked and tried to hit Jim from his position but couldn’t reach him. Jim gave one last squeeze and POP! The robber let out a scream, clutching his shoulder.
A shotgun blast sent Jim in the aisle for cover. He pulled out his pistol and crept around the corner of a chip rack. Jim saw the other ski-masked man on the ground at the store’s entrance with blood pouring from his chest. The old lady had a twelve gauge crooked under her arm.
Coyle came running in with his hands duct-taped behind him and surveyed the scene. The woman aimed the shotgun at Coyle. He took a step sideways, hiding behind the wall next to the door. “I’m with him,” Coyle said, motioning over to Jim.
Jim ran over to the other guy and patted him down. He pulled out another pistol, extra ammo, and the duct tape he’d used on Coyle. He ripped a piece of tape off the roll and wrapped the other robber’s wrists. The robber screamed again when Jim pulled the arm with the dislocated shoulder around his back. Once he was done, Jim did the same to his feet. He glanced back up to the old lady. “Think you can take it from here?”
“My son’s in the Navy. He was stationed in San Diego. I haven’t heard from him. Is it as bad as they say out there?”
Jim hesitated for a moment. The hardened look the woman had a few moments before softened with the worrying eyes of a mother.
“I was at the base when it happened. It was bad, but nothing our boys can’t handle.” It was all he could tell her without going into too much detail and having to lie.
The old woman dialed the police and said the gas was on the house. Jim and Coyle jumped in the truck and continued their trek east. It took Tigs a little while to calm down and it took Coyle even longer. Jim himself was still a little wired.
“Can you believe that shit? Bombs are going off around the country and these assholes are trying to kill us,” Coyle said.
After putting distance between themselves and the gas station, signs for the Naval Air facility came into view. The rush of jets and helicopters taking off filled the night air. They looked up through the windshield to see where they were but they couldn’t find them in the dark sky.
Then, off in the distance, Jim saw what he feared he would run into. Tanks and barricades lined the interstate, and military personnel bottlenecked the oncoming traffic in both directions.
Chapter 4 – Checkpoint
Jim told Coyle to put Tigs back into her cage. Cars honked and their drivers struggled to merge into the single lane. Soldiers patrolled the line of cars and helicopters with spotlights hovered above them. The cloudy night sky shielded the moon from view, and the military had set up large work lights to allow for better visibility. Jim could see that they were half a mile from the barricade and at the rate that traffic was moving, it could be a while before they got past it.
A group of four soldiers were scanning the cars before they passed through the barricade. They were five cars up from Jim and Coyle at a green Mazda Protégé four-door sedan. It had a single male passenger. The soldier at the driver’s window was speaking to him, and Jim could see the passenger’s head bob up and down enthusiastically through the back window. The soldier nodded and motioned for his crew to move on.
The car behind Jim started to lay on the horn. Jim glanced in his rearview mirror and put his hands up in exasperation.
“Where does this asshole want me to go?” Jim asked.
Jim glanced back up at the group of soldiers ahead again. They were three cars up. His knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel. He knew that if they searched the car, they would get detained for the possession of firearms. They’d be looking for any excuse to pull someone over. The soldiers were now two cars ahead of them.
“If they ask you if we’re armed, tell them no,” Jim said.
“You think the old lady told the police abo
ut us?” Coyle asked.
“Maybe, but they’re probably throwing anyone with firearms in detainment. I’d like to stay out of any military installations for a while.”
“Why? You act like you’ve had some bad experiences on military bases before.”
The car behind them laid on his horn again for a solid five seconds. Coyle slid the back window of the truck open and mustered the most powerful middle finger he could into the air.
Jim noticed Coyle’s bloody jumpsuit on the passenger floorboard. He elbowed Coyle in the ribs. “Hide that.”
The lead soldier was at the hood of Jim’s truck making his way to his window. Coyle fumbled with the jumpsuit in his hands. He crammed the dirty piece of clothing under the seat out of sight just before Jim rolled down his window. “Good evening, Sir. How are you?”