by Francis Bate
‘Nothing will happen. It won’t happen.’ He kept repeating it and making him believe the words he was uttering.
Taking off his things from the car, he carried his rifleman’s pack and a three-day assault pack type containing one-hundred-ounce water bladder. He was prepared for this kind of situation, or was he really? Standing at six foot one, Stan was geared to a man’s needs, wearing a navy blue shirt partnered with full-length black pants and boots. His fair complexion complemented his broad and strong physique. He has also packed some clothes, food, and necessities depending on the length of his supposed-to-be business trip.
It takes 250 miles to reach home from where he is, and so he planned to walk ten miles a day. He walked and never stopped. Thinking of the people he left in the highway, numerous thoughts were running through his mind. He also thought of his family back home, his wife and two kids.
The road was never friendly. Since that day, it didn’t boast off its sole purpose of connecting people. It has no life at all. Stan still saw people on the road. Most were donning the usual response to the situation but some seemed to be aware of what was happening. People were crying out of hunger while others chose to leave and look for some food to eat.
While others couldn’t fathom what was happening, he came across a mother caressing his child. He offered some food and left them securely telling them to start moving to a safer location. It was midday when he decided to rest under a shady tall tree. Hungry as he is, he devoured some of his canned food as if he has not eaten for days.
Stan has always thought that some things could happen beyond his control. He remembered how most people laughed at him, accusing him of his paranoia and fear. But it never stopped him from learning and planning some techniques and strategies, investing on guns and storing food, medicines, and water.
‘It won’t harm me whether I do or do not, anyway so I’d rather be ready in case of emergency,’ he’d always tell his friends.
The rest and food regained some of his stamina for additional hours of walking. He looked at his watch and down the road he went, another mile and another. It was nonstop but it was the only way he could see his family swiftly.
The road became quieter, darkness started dawning the day. The sweat-soaked Stan finally found a spot to set up a camp where he could spend the night out. He was standing on a wooded lot at the southeast corner of nineteen and fifty-nine.
‘It would be a perfect spot,’ or he’d thought.
Making sure of its safety, Stan assessed the area for possible shelter materials. After setting up his camp, the night utterly fell onto the ground. The night was cold but he didn’t put on a fire considering that it might attract the terrors of the dark. He could hear the swift-blowing of the wind, swaying the branches of the trees. The world became silent in few seconds. The darkness swallowed the moon whole and the stars were covered by a thin sheet of black.
Slowly, he laid down on his sleeping bag on the ground and intertwined his fingers over his head. While his thoughts went back to his family, several rapid-fire shots drifted in the nightfall. Gun shots and darkness, Stan drifted into unconsciousness.
Chapter Two: The Stick
In the morning, Stan pulled his hand up to shade his eyes from the glaring rays of light. The weather was cold. He glanced around the wooded lot and realized he was not yet home. He pulled up his self and started packing his things again. It was about time for another 10 miles.
Walking through the quiet wooded trail, he went back to the road. Several cars were still there. Nothing has changed from yesterday, except for one thing: people are nowhere to be found. It was utter silence. The long road looked like an abandoned trail that didn’t cater thousands or even millions of cars in the past days, months, and years.
The GPS wasn’t working as well as the internet connection, leaving him no access to a map. Uncertain of where he was going, he knew he’d be on the right track if he only follows the road. Over time, he ends up with a discussion about what to do during emergency situations with his wife, lest they would experience in the future. She was his only confidant.
From Basking Ridge, he went south. Walking pass through a deserted-looking building, there was a lone sinewy myrtle tree beside it. He took out his knife and started cutting a branch from it. The branch detracted from its trunk and so he tripped off its flecks. Stan made a stout rigid walking stick out of the peeled branch. Holding a good grip at the thicker portion of the stick, he swung it out in the air as it followed his rhythm.
He rested for a while, still holding his stick. And when he was good to go at around ten thirty, an old Massey Ferguson Farm Tractor came roaring from afar. An older man driving the tractor came to his sight.
“Hey!” The old man spoke, still holding the steering wheel of the tractor parked near Stan. “Are you lost?”
“Hey! Nah, I think I’m going in the right direction, just had to stop here for a rest.” Stan tapped on the canopy of the tractor, assessing the vehicle. “Nice ride you got here, huh.”
“Oh, yeah! Good ole’ sweet buddy. It works even in this kind of situation, you see.” The old man grinned, showing his yellow teeth. Silence interceded between the two. Stan snapped and leaned on the big wheel while staring at the woodland. The old man followed his gaze, into the building and looked back at him. “You’re the first man I see wandering after the incident,” he went on maintaining a serious tone in his voice.
“Do you have an idea where the people have gone to?” Stan glanced back at the old man in front of him.
“They’re gone. I think the others left to look for food while the others were captured. I ain’t sure. But food and water have been scarce leaving people in trouble. Why are you here alone?”
“I’m on my way back to my home after a business trip to Georgia until this happened. I’ve been walking for about fourteen miles already, leaving hundreds of people on the road.”
“It’s not easy to travel alone, lad,” the old man admitted. Thinking of what might happen across the limits, he didn’t care. It won’t stop him from seeing his family. “But I bet you have to go home to your family real quick.”
“Exactly! Have the condition gotten worse?” Stan asked and furrowed his eyebrows.
“I think so. I barely hear news since it happened. But you have to be careful out there,” the old man advised, staring at him worriedly. “Stay away from the two stores in the intersection. Looters have guarded the area. You might get in trouble,” he reminded.
“How many are they?” Stan moved a little closer to the leverage and stepped onto it.
“I think around two or more than that. You can take the other route if you can but I ain’t sure which way,” the old man shrugged, Stan chuckled at him as he listened. “But that’s far more dangerous and indefinite.”
“Yeah, so I’m following the way of the road. There’s no certainty in the remote wilderness.” The looters have been regarded already. On his mind, he was planning on how to heed the situation.
“As much as I want to chit chat with you, I think you have to keep going if you want to reach home fast,” the old man quipped, nodding at him with solace. He fixed his hand-made brown straw hat and started the engine. Controlling the steering wheel, the old man could hear Stan shout amid the uproarious blare of the tractor.
“Thanks. Anyway, I’m Stan Harris,” he yelled out softly loud so he could hear it.
When the vehicle made its way back to the pathway, the old man glanced back and waved. But sure he did hear it clearly. He forgot to tell his name but he heard Stan’s name.
Stan watched as the tractor left. He could still hear the rowdy emission of the tractor from afar. Picking up his things, the tractor was no longer in sight. He went back to the road and started walking again. Remembering what the old man said, he concealed his firearm in the waistband in a two o’clock position and another on the small of his back, a knife on his ankle holster, and his walking stick.
It felt like he was stabbed m
any times when he recalled the promise he made with his daughters, on the same day he left, vowing that he would shake heaven and earth to come back home to them. His heart slumped as he abhorred the sudden out of hand occurrence. His daughters, they were still young, seven and five respectively.
For the past few days, the road has been his only companion. The sun was already strong. His hunger was tremendously making him weak. He has been skipping some meals, reserving some food for his long journey, but he eats during lunchtime. Stopping at a sturdy shaded tree, he rummaged through his pack and brought out a canned food and dug in. After eating and drinking some water, he started walking again. The road was filled with mystery. Aside from the idea that it saw his struggles, the sudden desertion of the people becomes strange.
He kept walking without looking back. Walk and sprint. A sudden sharp noise can be heard from the woods. Mindfully, he stopped and looked around but the rustling of the dry leaves continued. Gripping at his walking stick, he was on a fighting stance keeping alert as he slowly moved into the direction of the sound.
A deer was in the woods, and when it saw him, he galloped away as fast as it could. He turned back to the road again and left the area. A few miles from there, he spotted a signage of an intersection nearby.
‘That must be the intersection mentioned by the old man,’ Stan thought.
He carefully and gently strode to the first store but when he passed by it, four thugs blocked his way instantly. They were all wearing hoods, one with a bandanna and the other has a scar on his face. The front liner that appeared to be like their leader was almost the same height as him. The leader crossed his arms and scrutinized Stan.
“Where’d you think you’re going?” The front-liner spoke and raised his brows at him.
Stan stood firmly and tried to sell decency over pugnacity. But he was ready to aim in case they don’t buy it. “I meant no harm,” he responded staring at them.
The leader smirked, and stared back at him sharply. “You gotta try to bail out, eh? You can only leave cold-blooded from our hold,” the man stated glaring at him. His hood covered a part of his face but his eyes looked sharp and trouble-hungry. The other three smirked. One of them was striking a baseball bat on his grip.
“I came in peace, not bloodshed, mate. But I won’t hesitate if you’d provoke me,” he warned in a stern voice, still keeping his cool. Four of them versus one, that would be quite unfair but they thought he was harmless, or he’d thought.
The men cracked up looking at each other. They found it funny but he wasn’t joking. “You versus us? Are you kidding me? I would even worry for your life.” Snickering, the head peered at his friends and back to Stan. “You’re no match, yo. Hear me? No match. If I were you, you must fear for your life already.”
“What’s the word again? Did you say fear? Last time I checked, I don’t have that in my vocabulary. But it’s you who must fear for your lives,” he reiterated hissing at them. “I do not have time for this nonsense.” Stan added in a serious voice, his eyes were sharp slowly digging up a hole in them. At any time when he loses control, he might not know what he does even to the extent of his actions.
“Are you trying to piss me off?” The man challenged, stepping closer to him. Eye to eye, the man pointed his finger on his forehead but he harshly swatted it off. “You got in the wrong place at the most perfect time. You’re doomed, yo. Do ya’ wanna call momma before you gotta beef, yo?” The outsiders roared to hilarity again. It amuses them to make fun of him. “Cry hard, baby, and mommy will soon gonna hear ya’. Or not…”
“What do you need?” He cut him off.
“We want some paper, yo, a dope and a piece. But I think you don’t have it. What’s in your pack?” The man asked with prying eyes while tapping his foot on the cemented road.
“Nothing that’s for you,” he hissed locking gazes with them.
“What’s the deal? It’s either you give me your pack or you die here.” The threat did not affect him. But instead, he remained firm and fearless.
Stan slightly raised his shirt to expose the gun on his appendix carry. “So, let’s get this over with. I’ll go easy on you if you only allow me to go on my own way,” he threatened clenching his fists and throwing dirty looks at them. They were flabbergasted but were quickly replaced by astonishment.
“Easy, man,” he said, taken aback by what he saw. The aura between them has gotten mild for a moment. It looked like they were planning for the next action. Throwing stare daggers at each other, Stan placed his hands on his back. Their heartbeats could be heard and the expansion of the lungs as they breathe in and out heavily.
The tension became profound and hefty. The sun was starting to bend. They were the only people around. A few seconds past, no one still wants to give up sending a blank stare. Stan somewhat deliberated that he needs to leave shortly.
“I’m offering you one last chance to let me pass,” he threatened, fixing his gaze at them. He was eager to leave but he is not willing to trade his packs for people like them. Although it was already planned, he has no choice but to do it if that’s the only way to escape. “You can acquire my other backpack, it has ammo inside.”
“I need both bags. What’s in the other?”
“Food. But I could only offer this gear,” he urged.
“Not going to happen. You either give me both or you give me your life,” the man urged with a tough face.
“Not gonna happen,” he taunted in an intimidating look. “Let me pass before I will be forced to take you down in this very place.”
“You must better recognize the horde you’re conversing with, yo,” the stranger hissed stepping towards him. He tip toed clashing his chest on to him impatiently but before it could touch his chest, he stopped him with his walking stick. “You’ll gonna be busted.”
“I do not need to do that because it seemed like you’re total trouble. But not for me,” he insisted. His exhaustion was wearing him out. He couldn’t help it. Stan was lost. He was longing for his family. It does not take a single word to describe his yearning. The strength he was feeling which was deeper than the blue ocean, to fray these thugs, was rooted out from his family.
In the corner of his eye, Stan saw a shining shimmering metal being pulled up from one of the men’s pants. It was coming out of the pocket of the man standing on the left side of the leader. But before it was totally withdrawn, a gunshot resonated across the intersection. Following the sound, birds flew off from the woods. The man pulling off a pistol from his pocket fell hard on the ground. Bloody, he screamed in pain, crotched, and stroked the onsite wound on his side abdomen.
“Run!” Someone shouted. Stan couldn’t believe his eyes. Still surprised on what he did, he picked up his walking stick and sprinted to the woods. It took some time for the others to realize what happened. Before Stan could run far from them, he heard some shouts followed by endless curses.
“Yeah, that’s what you ought to do. Run! Run and hide! Run fast as you can and make sure that I won’t find you!”
It was the first and it wasn’t easy. But he had no choice left. He ran as fast as he could, never stopping and never looking back. Heaving, Stan stopped in an islet in a lowland swamp. He glanced around the small island and thought of alligators that might be lurking in the water. However, he decided to spend some of his time to rest for a while.
He placed his walking stick leaning onto a tree and dropped himself on the ground. While sitting, he watched the setting of the sun. Different vivid colors of the sun rays are beautifully reflecting through the water. The hue was picturesque and it reminded him of home.
His knees were bent and he placed his forearms on top of each. The day rolled around fast. The food he packed must not be enough for the whole duration of his journey. Living in the wilderness is not fun; it’s not even cool at all.
Stan couldn’t stop thinking about what happened. It was downright unbelievable but it called for an urgent action. As the night captures the da
y, he helped up his self and shook the dirt off his bottom. Holding the stick in his hand and carrying his loads back, he will be moving on again during the night on nineteen.
The night was calm. There were signs of neither trouble nor harm. The moon was out in its first quarter with the stars illuminating the heavens above. From the swamp, he cautiously walked back to the woods. He was lost, but the moon and stars were guiding his way.
Stan walked where the route was leading him. It was a cleaned route as if people have used it before. Unlike the other grounds, the path was seemingly intended for walkers. He could see the shadows of the trees dancing with the wind. Different kinds of nocturnal are hiding in the branches and trunks.
The woods became the shelter of different kinds. Stan walked pass through it as the crickets and owls whistled through the night. Just in time, he was able to notice the road from where he was. Running over to it, he immediately checked the exact point of his direction. He was back on track again. The night was high and the moon was low. He walked along the road and ran as far as he goes.
It was almost midnight when Stan stopped for a rest. He bent forward, placing his hands on his knees for support and breathed heavily. Reaching for the knob of his bladder, he took a sip of water. Upon drinking, he pulled back to the road and started walking again. He saw another signage in the road that meant he is nearing a small town.
At around 3:30 in the morning, Stan reached Lamont. It is a small town that seemed haunted at night with no electricity. The place was dark but the moon illuminated it. He walked around the place and found a shed in the middle of the town. Checking the area, he set up his things and slept.
Waking up to an unusual sound, Stan bolted right away and peered through the wall. Two hideous-looking men seemed to be in a deep conversation. But by the look in their eyes, they were in a heated argument. He could hear it from there but remains dubious of what it was all about.