by James Hunt
“Thomas,” he said. “Fucking Thomas.”
They escaped through the backyard, as it was most likely the safest route. Several of the looters had made their way to Jordan’s home through his front yard. Paul, Jordan, and Julie moved swiftly across the backyard until they hit a wooden fence enclosure.
“So where to?” Paul asked.
“We jump the fence and get as far away from all of this as we can,” Jordan said.
As Jordan climbed the fence, a spotlight hit him from the house.
“Stop right there,” a voice said behind the light.
They froze as Jordan slid down the fence.
“Now walk over to me slowly and carefully with your hands up in the air.”
Paul wondered if the person giving the orders was law enforcement.
“Don’t do anything stupid unless you want a shotgun up your ass,” the voice said.
The odds that it was a police officer dwindled, and Paul could feel the creeping fear of the situation taking hold. The man led Paul, Jordan, and Julie out to the street in front of the house. They were surrounded by taunting looters from all sides.
“What do you want?” Jordan asked outright.
The group consisted of five or six of them. Carefully concealed, they started laughing. Paul held Julie and tried to control her shaking. He tried to hide the fact that he, like her, was scared. Not knowing the motives of their captors gave them additional fear. One of the men walked out of the circle and put a pistol to Jordan’s head. Jordan flinched but tried to remain calm.
“I want your money, your food, and whatever else you got. That’s what I want. You know, like that old song, the Bare Necessities?” bandanna man said.
The rest of the group laughed.
“I have—” Jordan began.
“Speak up,” bandanna man barked.
“I said I have money I can give you. I should have some food in the house too.”
Bandanna man examined them and looked back to Jordan.
“We want the girl too,” he said.
“What?” Jordan asked, shocked.
“Did I stutter? I said we want the girl. You let us take her, and we’ll let you two dickheads go. Deal?”
Paul gripped Julie tight and prepared himself for a looming brawl. Jordan tried to compromise.
“I’m sorry, we can’t do that. You can take whatever you want, but the three of us are sticking together. That’s—”
Before he could finish, bandanna man pistol-whipped him across the face in a quick, violent manner. The surrounding gang burst out in laughter. Jordan fell to the ground on his knees while clutching his face. The man walked past Jordan and stopped in front of Paul.
“I don’t want any lip from you either. Hand over your money, any weapons you have, and the girl. She’ll make a nice addition to our group.”
For the first time in his life, Paul was ready to die. He didn’t feel like he had much choice. He then wondered how his suicidal attitude was going to help Julie. It wasn’t. As she gripped him tighter, with tears in her eyes, Paul stared down the masked man in front of him.
“Fuck you,” he said.
Defiant anger had taken over. The man smiled beneath his red bandanna. He raised his pistol and put it against Paul’s head. “Alright, that pretty much makes you a dead man,” he said with a concealed grin.
Before he could pull the trigger, a shot fired from afar and blasted through the man’s forehead. Paul jumped to the ground and pulled Julie down with him. Bandanna man flew face-first against the ground as his brains slowly leaked out. Bright headlights from a large military-style truck blinded each person within its radius. Jordan lay on the ground clutching his swollen face. The street thugs raised their weapons. They were met with swift and fatal gunshots that put them on the ground. The truck’s engine roared as it moved down the road toward them. One person, a woman, walked alongside the passenger side of the truck. Paul held Julie as she cried in his arms.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said.
“I can’t take any more of this,” she cried back.
Paul rubbed her head, fully expecting that they may die, when suddenly the shooter woman tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up. She was hard to make out with the headlights blaring into their eyes.
“Are you guys okay?” she asked with one arm extended and another holding a rifle.
Paul squinted and reluctantly took her hand. She helped them on their feet and then yelled to the driver to dim the headlights. They moved to Jordan and helped him up.
“It’s okay,” the woman said to Paul.
“We don’t mean you any harm.”
Paul wasn’t sure what to say. His main concern was Julie.
“Listen, we have an area set up, a safe zone. You don’t want to stay around here, trust me. There’s rampant crime on account of everything going on. Come back to our town, and we’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
Paul looked past the woman and watched as their station wagon simmered to a crisp.
“Okay,” he said.
“We’ll go with you.”
Chapter Five
Welcome to New Haven
Jordan was hesitant about leaving his home for an undisclosed location, but Paul convinced him otherwise. He said that the people had saved their lives, and they had no reason not to trust them.
“Besides, what would they possibly want with us, other than to help us?”
The man introduced himself as Rob. The woman’s name was Carlie. They were a young married couple well-trained in firearms as avid gun hobbyists. While the couple drove, their three dazed passengers clung to the sides in the back of the truck bed. An overhead green camouflaged tarp concealed them and darkened their surroundings. The rear flap of the tarp fluttered in the wind allowing them to see the road passing them by. The back was full of boxes of supplies Rob and Carlie had scavenged. Julie hoped that it was food, and as she went to take a look, Paul told her to leave them alone.
He had it all planned out, so he thought. They would stay at the supposed “safe zone” for a day or two, find a new vehicle, and get on the road to Colorado in no time. Paul was excited about meeting other people who weren’t looters or thieves. Rob and Carlie seemed to know what was going on, and Paul believed they could tell him more. He would give anything for the opportunity just to scroll a simple Twitter feed. Though he was worried about Julie, he feared the repercussions from Samantha the most. If Julie were to tell her everything, he didn’t know if Samantha would ever forgive him. Had he been a bad father? Was he putting Julie in constant danger with his actions? From that point on, he had to ensure that nothing else would happen to Julie. That would be his goal, until the day they found Samantha.
Not much was said between Paul, Jordan, and Julie. Jordan had become withdrawn and sullen. He held his face, rubbing the area over a large bruise. They rocked back and forth with the truck’s rumbling, all in deep thought. After about thirty minutes on the road, the truck slowed, the gears shifted down, and they came to a stop. They heard the sound of a gate in front of them swing open followed by unintelligible voices from outside. The truck chugged past the gate and into an enclosed area resembling a residential neighborhood. They had arrived at a place called New Haven, a formally gated community turned suburban fortress. As they parked on the side of the road, Carlie got out and opened the tailgate. Both her and Rob were in good shape, fairly young and confident, as well as courteous. They were two energetic, seemingly normal people, but Paul knew that looks could be deceiving.
Jordan was no longer in control of the situation. In one day, it felt like he had lost his family, his house, and their means of transportation. Two men closed the gate to the town, causing Paul to wonder if he was in some type of camp. Spools of barbed wire sat atop the surrounding fence of the area. Sheets of plywood had been placed against the fencing to block outsiders from seeing in, or climbing over. Several people approached, talking to Rob and Carlie. Rob placed a ladder against
the bed of the truck. Jordan rubbed his eyes and climbed down the ladder first, then Julie and Paul.
“Okay, some of you guys climb up there and let’s unload this stuff,” Rob said to the other people.
Two other men climbed up into the truck bed and handed down the boxes of supplies to others on the ground. Paul, Jordan, and Julie stood in a circle, tired and uncertain. It was the earliest hours of dawn. Normally sunrise would be on the horizon, but it was blocked by the hazy overcast in the sky.
“Where are we?” Jordan asked Carlie.
Carlie walked over to them in response. She wore pieced-together military attire, a tight black vest with an undershirt underneath, jeans and combat boots. Her rifle was slung across her shoulder.
“This is New Haven,” she said.
“What’s with the barbed wire?” Jordan continued.
Paul gave Jordan a quick glance signaling him to behave.
“We’ve taken measures to keep our town safe and secure,” she answered.
“From what?” Jordan asked.
“From the very same people who attacked you tonight.”
“I don’t know about any of this,” Jordan said, pacing away in frustration.
Carlie watched him curiously then turned to Paul. “I understand you guys may be tired and confused, hell we’re all still confused, but just know that for the time being, you’re safe here.”
Paul smiled. Julie was mute. Jordan turned around. “I don’t get it. Is this a refugee camp? Do you guys normally go driving around in the middle of the night rescuing people from violent gangs?”
Carlie laughed. “We’re not military. We’re civilians, just like you. We were out for a supply run and noticed the fires and explosions. You can thank Rob for coming to get you, because I was against going anywhere near it.”
“We’re very grateful,” Paul said. “And don’t mind Jordan, he has a lot on his mind.”
“I don’t need you to speak for me, Paul,” Jordan barked. “I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself.”
They watched as a few of the townspeople unloaded the boxes and stacked them near a curb. Paul observed the homes along the sidewalk. There were lights on in the windows.
“You have power?” he asked in an astonished tone.
“Generators,” Carlie said. “We run them sparingly, fuel has become an issue, but we’ve managed so far.”
“What are they saying on TV? Do you have Internet too?” Paul asked. “What’s the latest news? You must tell us everything.”
Carlie placed her hand on Paul’s shoulder.
“We should go talk to the sheriff. He pretty much runs things around here.”
Jordan walked up to re-join their small circle. “The sheriff? Like a real sheriff?”
“Like a real sheriff,” Carlie repeated back.
“So you have police here?”
“We police ourselves,” Carlie said.
They were led past several residential houses to a Home Owner’s Association building turned headquarters. Paul, Jordan, and Julie followed Carlie inside the building down a dark hallway, and into a wide and dimly lit area. Four men sat at individual folding tables throughout the room. They worked under the light of kerosene lamps. Next to each person were portable battery-operated shortwave radios. They listened closely to the transmissions coming from the speakers, and scribbled down notes like soldiers in a bunker during a war. A tall man walked into the room with his hands locked behind him. He wore a pistol belt over his waist with a semi-automatic holstered to it. His blue denim jeans were faded and his black buttoned-up long-sleeve shirt was rolled up at the sleeves. Paul believed he had spotted “the Sheriff,” though the man had his back turned to them. Centered on the wall in front of him was a large state map of Missouri. To the side of the map was a white board covered in writings that covered dates, times, and daily updates.
“So is this your operations center?” Jordan asked Carlie.
She walked past Jordan and approached the man standing before them.
“Hey, Sheriff, we have some new visitors.”
The Sheriff turned around, surprised, with a quick glance at Carlie, and then at the group she had brought in. He had bags under his eyes and rough stubble on his cheeks. His white hair was neatly trimmed. He spoke into Carlie’s ear for a brief moment and walked over to greet the new arrivals, beginning with Jordan.
“Hi, I’m the Sheriff, nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, my name is Jordan.”
Paul then shook the Sheriff’s hand introducing himself. Jordan leaned toward Paul and spoke quietly.
“He refers to himself in third person as the Sheriff? This is ridiculous.”
Paul nodded along innocently as he gave the Sheriff a smile. The Sheriff looked at Julie.
“Well, hi there, little lady. You sure look tired. Perhaps we can find you a bed so you can get some rest.”
Julie looked at the Sheriff curiously.
“I’m not tired,” she said.
The Sheriff took her hand and lightly shook it.
“Nice to meet you. What’s your name?” he asked.
“Julie, what’s yours?”
“Around here, I’m known as the Sheriff.”
“No, I mean like your real name,” Julie said.
“That’s the only name I go by nowadays, it helps people remember me,” he said with a smile.
“You must really hate your real name then,” she said.
“Julie!” Paul interrupted.
The Sheriff stood back and laughed.
“That’s quite alright; I think this one’s just a little bit tired.”
He looked to Carlie. “Carlie, could you take Julie and find her a nice bed she can sleep in? I believe there’s a room in the townhouse.”
Julie took Paul’s hand, which surprised him. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said.
“Julie, it’s okay. These people are our friends,” Paul said, though he wasn’t entirely sure, himself.
Everyone seemed nice, despite any moodiness from Paul’s group, and he wanted to talk with the Sheriff to find out the latest news. For starters, he could verify what Jordan had been telling him. He wished that none of it were true. However, in Beech Creek, he had seen the mushroom cloud with his own eyes. There was no denying it. Carlie walked up to Julie and took her hand.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get some sleep and then you can have a big breakfast in the morning.”
The prospect of a breakfast was enough for Julie. She walked with Carlie out of the room.
“Goodnight, Julie,” Paul said.
“Where are they taking her?” Jordan asked.
“Relax, Jordan,” Paul said.
He had grown to find Jordan’s paranoia irritating.
“She’ll be right next door,” the Sheriff said. “Now I don’t want to hold you gentlemen up much longer, you should get some rest too, but I do have questions for you, just as I assume you have some questions for me.”
“There’s no shortage of questions on our end,” Paul said.
“Let’s sit down a moment and have a little chat then,” the Sheriff said.
They agreed as the Sheriff led them through the operations room into a small, unfurnished office with three chairs and a table in the middle. There was a coffee pot in the corner resting on a stool.
“Would either of you like a cup of coffee?” the Sheriff asked.
Both Paul and Jordan enthusiastically accepted. The Sheriff filled two small paper cups with coffee and handed them over.
“It was made about an hour ago, a little cold now, I’m afraid.”
Paul sipped the coffee, not seeming to mind.
“Have a seat,” he said.
They pulled out two chairs and sat.
Chapter Six
Survivalism
“This town used to be called Old Haven,” the Sheriff said.
A kerosene lamp sat on the table between them. The Sheriff turned the key to brighten the flame. Hi
s deep blue eyes examined Paul and Jordan, trying to identify them as friend or foe.
“Is that what this is?” Jordan asked. “A town?”
“This is part of the town. Where we sit now, what lies within these gates, is what used to be called Pine Creek, a gated community. We’ve renamed it New Haven, because we’re making a new town. I guess you could say we’re hunkering down ‘till things get better. As a general rule, we don’t turn anyone away, unless, of course they wish us harm.”
Paul had been silent long enough. “What have you heard on the news? You must have heard something. How many are dead? I mean, I see you have power around here. Do you have Internet as well? What are they saying on television?”
The Sheriff raised a hand in the air. “Easy there, Paul. I’ll answer all of your questions the best I can in due time. But I’ve got a couple of questions of my own.”
“If you’re a sheriff, where’s the rest of your task force?” Jordan asked.
“Like I said, I’ll address all of your questions momentarily.”
Paul and Jordan quieted and sat still with their hands folded.
There was no sense in rushing; they were on the Sheriff’s time now.
“Where did you come from?” The Sheriff asked.
“Pennsylvania,” they both said in unison.
The Sheriff laughed. “Well, guess I’ll have to believe you there. What do you do, or what did you do?”
Paul looked at Jordan. Jordan nodded for him to speak first.
“I’m a computer technician, or at least I was. I mean, that’s what I am. I got laid off from my job at Dynamic Systems in Philadelphia two years ago. We've lived in Beech Creek since then.”
Paul took a deep breath, almost lost in his own thoughts.
“Okay, thank you,” the Sheriff said.
He looked at Jordan.
“How about you?”
“I’m retired military, currently a G-2 analyst for the U.S. Army,” Jordan answered.
“You served in the Army?” the Sheriff asked.
“Yes, the Army,” Jordan said.
“What rank did you make it to?”