by E. E. Borton
Over the years, there had been countless theories about how society would react to a world-wide catastrophic event. Being cut off from any information outside of what I could see and hear, I had no idea which theory was being proven correct on a large scale. I could only go by what I’d experienced. People being set on fire by gangs in Atlanta might have clouded my perception of how others were getting along, but it was a powerful argument that most weren’t doing well.
My theory was written in stone by history. Get out of the city as fast as possible. Stay mobile and well-armed. Lawlessness would be the new order, and killing wouldn’t stop until there was nobody left to die. Once all the resources in Atlanta – or any city – were depleted by the cowards, they’d start moving out like locusts.
Anything people couldn’t eat, drink, or gain pleasure from would be worthless. Paper money, credit cards, gold, diamonds, or anything before the event that we considered valuable meant nothing anymore. I’d rather have had pound of bacon than a pound of gold.
There were advantages to working in a group – like the rangers - to provide security and resources for larger numbers. But eventually, they’d be overrun by the have nots. When religious zealots spoke about the meek inheriting the earth, it wasn’t because they were going to earn it. It’s because they were going to take it. Who had a better chance? The wealthy man who worked hard his entire life to provide for his family and the families of others, or the coward who earned nothing but was holding a gun? More times than not, the gun wins.
The only chance good people had to survive, was to become more ruthless and unforgiving than the evil. But they had to identify it first. Brian learned that lesson when four men came to his front door. He gave them the benefit of the doubt because he didn’t recognize the evil that was staring him in the face. When he did, it was too late. He was lucky to die quickly in the foyer. His girls weren’t as lucky.
Emma, Earl, Wes, and Alison showed me that there still were good people willing to help one another. It was something I didn’t expect when I started my journey. I thought the last thing I’d experience on the road was kindness from strangers.
Walking on the outskirts of town, I needed to put things back in perspective. Of the twenty people I had close contact with since I left my apartment building, twelve of them were cowards. I just killed them before they had a chance to kill me. Wes wanted me to pay the kindness forward. As the days passed and the evil grew, I wondered if I’d ever get the chance.
Several gunshots coming from the direction of downtown secured my belief that that chance might not be coming in Lafayette. As fast as I wanted to leave a city, there’d be just as many heading toward one. Opportunists knew a larger populated area would hold more resources to take. Opportunists also knew good people would flock to government buildings within those populated areas for guidance and security. I knew they wouldn’t find either. The only thing those good people would find were the bad, waiting for them like spiders in a web.
My gut told me to keep moving as far away from the gunfire as possible, but my ribs told me I was done walking for the day. I needed to find a secure shelter to rest for the night. Two stand-alone buildings on opposite sides of the road gave me choices.
When I looked for shelter in a commercial building, there were certain types I avoided. If I believed there was anything inside that would attract looters, whether it was in there or not, I kept moving. My choices were a daycare and a tax preparation office. That was a no-brainer. There would be food and drinks for the kids stored in the kitchen of the daycare. There was nothing in the tax office people would want.
There had been only one occasion in which I needed to use my pry bar and hammer as keys for a lock. That record would stay intact as I turned the knob, opening the back door to the office. I pulled out my shotgun, stepping inside with caution. I wouldn’t relax until I had checked every crevice that could hide a small human.
When I confirmed it was clear, I found a handful of nails in a tool drawer in a supply room. I sealed up every door and six of the seven windows in the building. The small room where I found the nails would be my bedroom for the night. It had the only window I hadn’t secured with steel. It was high enough off the ground that someone would need a step ladder to reach it. If they decided to break it, they’d get a face full of buckshot before they could climb inside. It was no ranger station, but it would do.
Being so close to people, once I sealed myself inside, I wasn’t going back out until it was time to move. There’d be no campfire to cook over. There’d be no sitting on the deck enjoying a sunset in this town. When I saw a pillar of black smoke rising from the direction of Lafayette, I worried I may have already gotten too close.
As the sunlight was fading, all thoughts of it being a bad decision were erased when I opened the cabinet in Bud Jackson’s office. As I looked at the picture of him and his family on the wall, I thanked him for being a large man. The cabinet was packed with high calorie food.
I couldn’t decide what to eat first. While I pondered, I opened the bag of chips and the jar of cheese dip. Crunching away, I pulled out two cans of clam chowder and grabbed the soup crackers. The harder choice was going to be desert. Would it be Oreos or Little Debbie snack cakes? I popped open a soda and waited for the answer. Oreos it was.
Standing at the window that faced the town and with my bowl in hand, I ate while the glow of the fires in Lafayette fought back the darkness of the early evening. I wondered if there would be anything left of it by morning. I was thankful I was far enough away not to hear any of the screaming. There were a lot of good people out there who were meeting the bad for the first time.
When I finished the main course and a handful of cookies, I was glad to feel my eyes getting heavy. I pulled the cushions off the couch and chairs to make my bed in the supply room. I wedged them between the shelves full of paper goods and the copier. It was a tight fit, but it felt somewhat secure. Much more secure than in a car or sleeping under the stars. I had no complaints.
I pulled Bud’s recliner up to the window and sank into the plush seat. I was tired, but not quite ready to sleep. I yanked the lever on the side of the chair, leaning back to gaze at the world on the other side of the glass.
I wondered what Bud was doing while I sat in his chair. After enjoying his food, I hoped he was somewhere safe with his family. I knew his reality was much different from my hopes. He was probably sitting in a dark house, unprepared for the event, running out of supplies. He was probably thinking about the goodness inside the cabinet that I just robbed. All of a sudden, the meal I ate had a different taste.
It’s odd how a picture on a wall changes things. I looked at the building as a benign place to loot and bed down in relative safety. The family in that photo looked at it as something different. It was a place that dad built and then built a family around it. It was a place that held all his hopes and dreams for a brighter future for the ones whom he loved.
I knew exactly where he was. Bud was sitting scared, hungry, and terrified of anything that went bump in the night. He wasn’t worried about providing a brighter future for his family anymore. That ship had sailed. He was worried about how he was going to keep them from starving or dying at the hands of someone looking to take what little he had left.
Closing my eyes, I called out for Sam, hoping she’d be there when I opened them. If she would just talk to me for a few minutes, I knew I could make everything right again. I felt ashamed for turning to Hope instead of her. I felt ashamed for having feelings for someone else. I felt like I was losing my mind calling out for a dead woman. I needed to get some sleep.
Setting my shotgun down beside me, placing my feet against the door, I tried to clear my head of any thoughts except finishing the journey and getting home. I didn’t care how bad the pain flared, I was going to do twenty miles tomorrow come hell or high water. Once I was in the familiar setting of my boyhood home on Bootleg Mountain, none of this shit would matter.
As I
began to drift, a sonic boom shook everything around me. I opened my eyes to see the supply room filled with green light from the aurora. It seemed Mother Nature wasn’t ready to let me rest. After several minutes the intensity of the light storm increased beyond anything I had experienced before. I recognized the vibration in my chest as a sign that the finale was coming. When it arrived, I covered my face as the window in the supply room shattered above my head.
Checking myself for lacerations as the light dimmed, I had no choice but to move out of the supply room. (An open window made it too easy for someone to come through right on top of me.) Brushing the glass off the cushions, I gathered them under my arms. Room by room, I saw shattered glass and open windows.
With the security of the building severely compromised, I should’ve strapped on my pack and headed down the road. The combination of being exhausted, pissed off, and not giving a shit helped me make the decision to stay. I figured if Sam and Earl weren’t going to offer up any solutions, why should I care where I slept?
Like a defiant child rebelling against my own better judgment, I found a storage closet with no windows at the end of the hall. I cleared out the vacuum, cleaning supplies, and coats. I pounded a couple of cushions into the floor of the tiny space. Jamming my pack onto the hat shelf above me, there wasn’t much room for anything else.
Holding the shotgun, I tried to maneuver into a comfortable position. Every position I tried put the barrel of the gun somewhere near a vital organ. I was being defiant, not stupid.
I wedged the shotgun behind my pack on the shelf, exchanging it for one of the pistols. After a few more twists and turns, I found a decent position. I didn’t feel the need to sleep with my feet against the door since it opened in the opposite direction.
I would’ve been more comfortable in the Miata.
Chapter 23
(Day 12)
Groundhog Day
A shaft of light peeked through the space at the bottom of the closet door. My ribs gave me a not-so-gentle reminder to take it easy when I reached up for the knob. I laid back down, defeated. Everything hurt.
It took a few minutes for me to motivate myself to try again. I rolled onto all fours, and then lifted myself up to my knees. I opened the door, squinting at the bright sunlight flooding through the window. I may have been a little cavalier with my vow to put twenty miles behind me.
I dragged my toothbrush across a couple of teeth and splashed a little water on my face. It was going to take me a while to work out the kinks I had accumulated sleeping in the tiny closet. Walking through every room, scanning out each window to check the perimeter, I made it back into Bud’s office. I had more soup and Oreos for breakfast.
The morning light revealed several more photos of his family on his desk and adorning the walls. Bud looked very much out of place. His red face, thick neck, and thinning hair were in stark contrast to the two women in the picture. The older, probably his wife, had porcelain skin, high cheekbones, and long, dark hair. The younger, maybe his daughter, was lucky to inherit her mother’s features, the only difference being tanned skin and light brown hair. Both the females had normal-sized necks. I’m guessing they were the reason he felt the need to hide a stash of cookies, chips, and sodas in his office. I don’t know why I’m not losing weight, honey. You know I eat like a bird when I’m at home.
Like any addict, I’m sure at this point he was going through a hellish detox, dreaming about what I had for breakfast. I don’t think his family would complain if he revealed his stash to them now. It would probably save their lives. Well, at least for a little while.
Sitting at his desk, I couldn’t help but go through his drawers. I had already taken his food, so I might as well continue my looting. The only thing of any value was a detailed map of Lafayette and the surrounding counties. My map was a larger scale and didn’t include any backroads that might cut some time off my trip. Everything else in the drawer was useless, tax forms and stacks of mail.
Cynthia Jackson. I assumed that was his wife’s name, seeing it several times on different forms. I looked at her picture in a large silver frame on his desk. If those eyes couldn’t get Bud to stop eating, nothing would.
With my muscles starting to relax, I put on my pack and made one more round, checking for movement outside any of the windows. When I was satisfied it was clear, I removed the nails from the back door and stepped out into the sun. I scanned the skies, inhaled deeply, and listened for a moment before starting my trek. (Wes would be proud that I was using all my senses, looking for those elusive signs.)
Memorizing the new route from my updated map, I hit the road. I felt every extra pound of the food I had jammed into my pack. There was nothing left in the office for anyone coming after me to enjoy. They’d have to look elsewhere for a free meal.
Walking for three miles, I came up on the intersection where I’d have to make my decision. I stopped, looking around for Sam or Earl. Not seeing them pointing me in the right direction, I turned and chose the wrong one. We all know when we do it, but for some reason, we keep going down that road.
Half a mile later, I was cruising through an affluent neighborhood. Some of the houses were boarded up like they were waiting for a hurricane. Others had broken windows and open doors. Debris from looting was scattered across a few of the yards. There was no doubt I choose the wrong direction when I smelled the decomposing bodies before I saw them. The two purple, bloated humans lying in a driveway sent a clear message. Don’t fuck with this house.
Standing in front of Bud’s house, there were no messages. There were plywood sheets covering all the windows on the first floor and no debris in the yard. At some point he needed to thank his neighbor for doing the dirty work that kept his home intact.
I scanned the area, looking for gun barrels sticking out of any windows, and took a deep breath. Shaking my head with disappointment in myself, I walked through Bud’s yard to the porch. I knocked on the door and then retreated to the middle of the yard with my hands in the air. I couldn’t believe how stupid I was.
“I have a gun. I don’t have anything you want! Go away!” yelled a man from behind the curtains of a shattered upstairs window.
“Are you Bud Jackson!”
“Who wants to know?”
“I used your office last night for shelter,” I said. “I found your stash of food. I ate some of it, but I have the rest with me. I wanted you, Cynthia, and your daughter to have it. I know it sounds crazy, but I just wanted to thank you for providing a place for me to rest. I’ll put it on your porch and then I’ll be on my way. I didn’t want to leave it out for someone else to take. That’s all. I’m not looking for anything from you. I’m going to your porch now. Don’t shoot me.”
The front door opened. Bud stepped out with a shotgun at his hip. “You know my wife and daughter?”
“Not personally,” I said. “I just saw the pictures in your office and read her name on some papers. Sorry about that. I got a little bored.”
“Did you see them?” asked Bud, getting excited. “Do you know where they are?”
“What? No,” I replied. “I only saw them in photos.”
He deflated, lowering his head and the shotgun. (Yep, I should’ve gone straight.) He dropped his weapon on the porch, causing me to flinch, thinking it might go off. Sliding down the doorjamb to a sitting position, Bud started crying.
Don’t do it. Leave the food and walk away.
“When did you last see them?”
Shit.
“Five days ago,” answered Bud through his tears. “They were going to her parents’ place on the other side of town. The have a stockpile of food and water. They said they’d be back the next day with supplies.”
“How far is that?” I asked, walking slowly towards him.
“About eight miles if you go through town.”
“Did they go through town, Bud?” I said, standing on the first step.
“Yes. I think they did.”
“Why di
dn’t you go with them?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“Look at me,” said Bud, opening his arms. “I have high blood pressure, diabetes, and I weight over three hundred pounds. I wouldn’t have made it a mile before dropping dead. Cynthia runs five miles a day and Erin runs track at school. I just would’ve slowed them down. Her father has diabetes, too. She knows I’m low on insulin.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to him. What I should’ve done was drop off the food and get the hell out of there. Before I knew it, I was sitting in his living room.
“Did you go through town?” asked Bud. “Did you see anyone?”
“No,” I replied. “Like I said, I used your office and then planned on heading north to my house. I stayed as far away from town as possible.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“I’m not going to sugarcoat anything for you, Bud. Sending your wife and daughter out there alone is the worst mistake you could’ve made. It’s a fucking nightmare if you don’t know what you’re doing. Lafayette was on fire last night. Your girls, I’m guessing that they were unarmed?”
“They said the gun was too heavy and would slow them down, too,” replied Bud, lowering his head again. “I didn’t want them to go, but…”
I didn’t see a need in continuing to beat this man up. Losing count of the number of times he lowered his head in shame, I could tell he was doing a good job on his own. What was done was done. I didn’t feel sorry for him. I felt sorry for Cynthia and Erin, risking their lives to save his. It should always be the other way around.
“They’re both strong and very smart,” said Bud. “Do you think they made it and just stayed there?”
I would’ve.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It seems like they’d want to get back here with your medicine as soon as possible. There’s no telling what they came across along the way. You need to understand that. Two unarmed women walking alone are easy targets.”