by E. E. Borton
More of them fighting twenty yards away got my attention. I don’t know why I felt the need to investigate. I wish I hadn’t.
A young girl, maybe seven years old, was lying on the other side of a fallen tree. There was nothing I could do for her. I needed to keep moving. I wasn’t ready to become one of the birds, scavenging the scene. I wasn’t ready to take from the dead. Not yet.
I returned to the trail and saw a woman in the distance, kneeling with her back to me. I looked up to see more vultures perched on limbs above her. When she stood, turning to face me, I smiled.
It was Sam, motioning me to hurry.
When I was close enough to see the reason, she started walking away. I called out to her, but she didn’t stop. There would be no warm conversation this time. No hand holding and scent of her perfume. She knew what had to be done. And Sam didn’t want to be there when I did it.
I knelt beside the man who was struggling to move. He had been crawling an inch at a time for two days. He had fashioned a tourniquet around what was left of his leg. He was in shock and didn’t know I was there until I spoke.
“What’s your name?” I asked, leaning in front of him so he could see me.
“P-Paul,” he answered through torn lips on a ghostly white face. “My family…they…my daughter…my wife –”
“We’ve got them, Paul,” I said. “We’re taking them to the hospital now. They’re hurt, but they’re going to be fine.”
“I-I was trying to get help. I couldn’t find them. My girls, I couldn’t find them.”
“You did good, buddy,” I said. “Help is here.”
“They’re okay? Both of them?”
“Yes, Paul. You saved them.”
“Are you sure it’s them? I couldn’t find them.”
“Your little girl has light brown hair. She’s wearing a blue T-shirt and white pants. Your wife has black hair, wearing a green blouse and jeans. Is that them?”
“Oh, thank you, God,” said Paul, crying. “Yes, it’s them. Thank you.”
“Paul, I need you lie still, buddy. Rest here while I get more help. Don’t move. We’ll take you to your family in just a couple of minutes, okay?”
“Okay.”
He complied and lowered his head onto his arm. I heard him whispering “thank you” as I took aim. I’d like to think the reason he was crying was because he knew he’d be seeing his girls again soon. That part of what I said wasn’t a lie.
In my pack I carried rudimentary medical supplies. I had butterfly sutures and various sized bandages for minor cuts, one full suture kit for larger wounds, scissors and a small scalpel. Most of it was filled with items to treat things you couldn’t see. I had two full doses of antibiotics, a large bottle of ibuprofen, anti-diarrheal pills and water sterilizing tablets. None of those things would replace the blood – or the leg – Paul lost.
The single shot was followed by fluttering wings as the frightened birds took flight. I was regretting not having the time or energy to bury Paul and his girls. I did risk injury climbing the tree and cutting away his wife. For some reason I wanted to lay them on the ground together.
I walked back down the trail to where I had seen Sam. I looked in every direction as I waited. She didn’t come back. As I was preparing to leave, a vulture landed a few feet away from me. I stared at the bold animal.
“Following me would be a bad idea, bird. You’ll starve to death waiting.”
With contempt in its beady, little eyes, it turned and flew back to the plane. I looked around one last time before heading down the trail. It wasn’t long before I became angry.
“I did what needed to be done, Sam,” I said, walking. “I couldn’t do anything for him. He was bleeding to death, thinking he let his family down. Did you want me to stay and try to help him? He was going to die anyway. There are thousands – hundreds of thousands – of people just like him right now. Do you want me to try and save them all? Goddammit, Sam, talk to me. What did you want me to do?”
Involved in my silly argument with a memory, I wasn’t paying attention to the trail. When I saw them it was too late. We all made eye contact at the same time.
All four of us stopped dead in our tracks.
Chapter 8
Goodnight, Sweet Girl
My mind was transported to the streets of the Old West. We all stood there for a moment in silence, sizing each other up. One of the men, the oldest, said something to the two younger boys with him. They stayed behind as he continued to walk towards me. I didn’t see a weapon, so I decided not to draw any of mine. He extended an open hand to me.
“Good morning,” said the man. “My name is Marcus Booker. Those two characters back there are my sons, Andrew and Conner.”
“Pleased to meet you, Marcus,” I said.
“Do you have any idea what’s happening?” asked Marcus. “We’re a little cut off from everything out here. My boys and I are heading into the city.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I was in it yesterday and barely made it out alive,” I said. “Nobody there knows what’s going on either. They’re just as cut off as you. The best thing to do is turn around and head back home. Prepare you and your family for things to get much worse. Besides, Atlanta is burning to the ground right now.”
When Marcus dropped his head, I didn’t need to ask why he and his boys were on the road heading south. He took a deep breath and then turned around to look at his sons. The reason was obvious.
“My wife, their mother, is a nurse at a hospital downtown. I told them to stay behind, but they wouldn’t have it. She’s everything to us. We need to find her and get her home.”
I stared at him for a moment and then looked back at his teenage boys. I knew at that point nothing I said to convince them to turn around would be heard. They were all healthy and strong. No need to lie about what they’d find on the road to the city.
“Are you armed?”
“No, I don’t believe in guns.”
You will.
“There are already gangs of looters and cutthroats roaming the streets,” I said. “Regardless of your personal beliefs, they are armed and you need to be. As each hour passes more of them will come out of the woodwork like cockroaches.”
“Do you…think she’s –”
“Alive?” I said. “More than likely, yes. It’s good that she works in a hospital…for now. That’s going to change quickly. She’s with people she knows well, and they’re looking out for each other. She’s much safer than you’re going to be.”
Marcus motioned for his boys to join us. He was absorbing every word like a sponge. Confidence is a magnet attracting the unprepared.
“You may be able to find stores along the way that haven’t been looted yet,” I continued. “You and your boys are going to become those looters. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No,” said Marcus. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get to her.”
(I never thought I would become a contributor to the inevitable decay of social order. But what the hell, at least they weren’t trying to set me on fire.)
“Gun stores, pawn shops, any place that you suspect may sell weapons, get those weapons. Take whatever you can find that shoots but try to get ahold of shotguns and buckshot shells. Just point it in their general direction and don’t stop firing until they’re down. Are you with me?”
“I am,” said Marcus. “I’ve used shotguns before. I know what to get.”
“Good,” I said. “Travel along the roads during the day until you get to the perimeter interstate. Then travel only at night. When the sun comes up, find a place you can hide and easily defend. Okay?”
“Got it.”
“Get those guns,” I said. “Get her and then get the hell out of there as fast as you can.”
“I will. Thank you.”
It was a good sign he was anxious to start moving again. I wished him and his boys good luck, shook their ha
nds, and watched as they disappeared into the woods.
Marcus didn’t know it, but he was at an advantage over most. He had a goal; he had something to do and somewhere to go. He was making decisions and he was on the move. (Albeit in a dangerous direction, but at least he was moving.) Marcus was going to learn a lot over the next few days. If he survived the city, his chances of surviving everywhere else were greater.
Reaching the end of the trail, I left the shade of the trees and resumed my route north along a highway. I looked up to see the blazing sun directly overhead. Putting on my wide-brim floppy hat, I took a few sips of water and hit the road.
As I entered a town on the north side of the park, I was amazed to see most of the storefronts intact. I was even more amazed to see the number of people on the streets. Some had backpacks, some had bags, some were pushing shopping carts, but they all had a blank stare. Fear was tightening its grip.
When I approached a strip mall with a large department store as its anchor, I saw the warning signs lying near the entrance. Items they tried to loot were scattered among the four bodies. A man with a rifle was sitting in a recliner at the entrance. Another was inside the doorway talking to a woman. All three stared at me as I walked by. They weren’t employees or security guards for the store. They were the winners of king of the hill.
These were the people who were going to survive longer than others. They had staked their claim on a valuable piece of property. Inside were enough supplies and food to last a small group of motivated individuals several months – or as long as they could defend it.
It was a scene that was repeating itself along my route. Two days out from 8:13, the laws of man were being replaced by the laws of nature. And those laws would be enforced by a death penalty for any offense. They didn’t leave the bodies in the parking lot as trophies. They left them as a line for others not to cross.
I could survive off the food in my pack for a week, maybe more. But I only had enough water for two days. Walking in the heat of summer would dry up my supply quickly. I didn’t plan on using either until all other options were gone.
As I approached the edge of town, the number of people milling about dwindled. The easiest source of undefended food and water were vending machines. I spotted two of them in front of a barber shop. It was a stand-alone building with no obvious activity, but I approached it with extreme caution.
I peered through the lower corner of a window. If someone was barricaded inside with a gun, I wanted to give them the smallest target possible. If I’d seen anyone inside I would’ve kept moving, leaving my prize behind. I knew a day was coming when I’d have to kill for it. Today wasn’t that day.
After seeing no movement I moved up to the front door. I looked around, drawing my shotgun just in case. It was locked. Again, it wasn’t the time to smash through and pillage a store. There wouldn’t be much inside a barber shop that I could use or carry. What I was after was outside on the porch.
As the glass from the snack machine shattered, I once again looked around to see if the noise drew any attention. When it didn’t I removed the only two tools I carried: a pry bar and a hammer. They were the heaviest objects in my pack, but they were keys to any lock I would come across.
Drinking and eating my fill while I stayed on alert, I stuffed any space in my pack and pockets with the high calorie food and refilled my bottles of water. I was impressed with the insulation of the drink machine. I treated myself to a cold soda before continuing down the road.
As the sun was lowering in the sky, my destination for the day came into view. The lake was shimmering as a breezed skimmed across the surface. It brought cooling air to my overheated face.
Popular access points and the public beaches were dotted with people with the same idea. More than a few were setting up tents and campsites. I wouldn’t be joining them. My home for the night was still an hour’s walk away.
Skirting the shoreline trail of the lake, I felt a sense of relief when I saw it moored to the pier. I didn’t think my friend would be onboard his houseboat, but I knew he wouldn’t mind if I made it my home for the night. On the side of caution, I reached behind me and drew one of my pistols. After using my key I cleared every space onboard that could hide a human.
Climbing to the sundeck, I scanned my surroundings. There wasn’t another soul in any direction as far as I could see. I removed my pack and stretched out in one of the loungers. As the sun was setting in my peaceful world, I thought about Marcus and his boys. I wondered if they made it to the perimeter; I wondered if they found guns. I didn’t wonder if they were scared; that much I knew.
When the light started to fade, I became cavalier with my caution. I lit several Tiki torches that lined the railing. I went down to the galley to take stock of any provisions. I smiled when I saw the fully stocked bar.
Why not?
With a bottle of whiskey and a plate full of food, I returned to the deck. After my meal by the warm glow of the Tiki torches, I poured a glass of the good stuff. I leaned back in the lounger and looked up into the night. I watched in amazement as the tiny white dot traveled across the sky. When the power was on, it would’ve been impossible to see the satellite tracking through space.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Sam, sitting beside me, staring into the blanket of stars.
“Yes, it is,” I said.
“I’m sorry I had to leave you today,” said Sam. “I couldn’t bear to watch. It broke my heart seeing him struggle to find help for his girls. He didn’t even know they were dead.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I didn’t want to do it. But I didn’t want to leave him there suffering.”
“I know you didn’t, baby. I don’t think I would’ve been able to end it for him. You’re stronger than I am.”
“Did you see the father and his sons on the trail?”
“No.”
“He was heading into the city to find his wife. He had no idea what he was walking into, but I wasn’t going to try and stop him.”
“Why?”
“Because if I knew there was a chance I could’ve saved you, nobody would’ve been able to stop me. I just wish I had that chance.”
“You’ll be safe here tonight,” said Sam. “I need to go.”
“So soon? Where?”
“To help them find her. Goodnight, sweet boy.”
“Good luck, angel. I love you.”
In a blink my Sam was gone. Knowing she wanted to help them wasn’t a surprise. Like I said, she was just built that way.
I finished off my glass as a sense of calm and peace settled over me. I don’t think it was the whiskey. I think it was because I knew Marcus had a better chance of finding his girl with Sam watching over him.
Knowing I had another long walk ahead of me, I went inside the cabin to find a secure place to sleep. One of the rooms had a porthole wide enough for me to squeeze through that was several feet above the water. Nobody would be able to climb up from the lake and get to me.
I secured the flimsy door with two thick planks of wood, nailing them into the frame. Pulling a mattress off the bunk bed, I placed it on the deck. I rested my head on the pillow with my feet against the door. (If someone tried to bust through, I’d hear and feel it at the same time.) I curled up with my shotgun like a child with a teddy bear.
My thoughts drifted to Sam, hovering over Marcus as he guided his boys into harm’s way under the cover of night. He would never know she was there. I did.
Goodnight, sweet girl.
Chapter 9
(Day 4)
Par 5
Ripped out of a dead sleep, I fumbled for my shotgun. When I rose to my knees, the rolling cabin threw me against the bulkhead. Hearing rapid fire explosions all around me, I went down to the floor on my back. As if I were trying to aim at a tennis ball during a match, I swung my weapon from the door, to the window, and then back to the door.
Half awake, disoriented, and scared shitless, I held my breath, waiting for the b
reach. When it didn’t come I focused on the porthole. I steadied myself against the bunk bed, rising to my feet. Another violent roll in the cabin almost put me down again.
I looked out the window; the water was boiling. Four foot waves with brown, frothy caps were crashing into the side of the houseboat. Hail the size of baseballs was drilling into the water – and everything else – as if God were firing a machine gun from above.
Howling with a long breath, the wind was pushing the caramel water over the small beach and into the woods. Limbs and branches were bending toward the ground as the bombardment separated them from the treetops. It was raining sideways.
A shiver ran up my spine as Mother Nature pitched her fit outside. It wasn’t because I was scared. It was because I was freezing. Then, as if she were at the end of her breath, the wind died; the hail stopped; the rain eased; and the water settled. Then it went dark; it went midnight dark.
In the pitch black the only sounds were of my heavy breathing and water gently lapping the hull. Her anger gave way to silence. It was quiet. As the saying goes, too quiet. And then she inhaled.
The darkness was broken by an electric green hue. A bulldozer of wind came from the opposite direction. It was too much for the moorings as I felt the boat lurch, breaking free from the pier. Tall trees surrendered to the attack, belly flopping into the water along the shoreline.
Another bulldozer slammed into the side of the boat, spinning the large craft as if it were a canoe in a whirlpool. The violent change in direction revealed the shore on the other side of the lake. The trees across the water weren’t falling over – they were falling up.
When the opposite shore came into view – again – after the boat rotated, debris was coloring the once invisible tornado black. As the sound of a hundred trains reached my ears, the funnel had exploded in size to damn near a mile wide. Like a chameleon, the giant storm went from black to brown when it stepped into the water.
Grabbing my pry bar, I tore the planks blocking the door. The houseboat lurched again, sending me into the bulkhead as it pitched. When I made it to the sundeck, I could see the tornado changing colors again. It was turning white as it created a hill in the lake, sucking up millions of gallons of water.