Devastated Lands: A Post-Apocalyptic Adventure

by Bruce W. Perry

  "Is she okay?" Cooper said, standing over the girl. "Hit by anything? Feel any pain?"

  "No…pain," she said, staring off into space and still mesmerized, rather than frightened, by the bullets that had whizzed by her head.

  He then turned to Luca, who'd worked himself into a sitting position.

  "You look like you just got winged," Cooper said. "You got lucky. We can take care of that."

  "She's okay," Mikaela said, pulling Amy to her feet and dusting her off.

  Beatrice knelt down beside Luca.

  "How can I help?" she said.

  "Press something to the wound; your scarf," Mikaela said. "Here…" She took Beatrice's hand, with the scarf in it, and pressed it down on the right place.

  "Wow!" Amy said. "That was close! Where's Millie!"

  "In the canoe," Mikaela said. "Are they coming?" she said to Cooper.

  "I don't know." He crouched in the shade of the skeletal chassis of a truck, clutching his crossbow.

  "Why the fuck are they shooting at us? I mean, what the hell?" he hissed. "As if we didn't have enough to deal with. Mount Rainier erupts. Lahars. Now the maniacs. They fire at will, at anything that moves. Like us." He frenziedly armed the bow with an arrow.

  "The maniacs!" Amy pronounced. "Give me a rock! I'll get 'em!"

  "Just stay down," Cooper said, half amused.

  "What do you want?" Cooper yelled out to their assailants, his head half tilted for the response.

  "Is that you? Numbnut? I thought it was you!" came the hoarse reply, which sounded half-drunk. "Call off the hero with the rifle and we'll let y'all go."

  Cooper recognized the voice of the thug who'd hit him with the butt of his gun, and taken him in the pickup a few days before. It wasn't a fond recognition.

  "You're out-gunned fuckface," Cooper yelled out. Then he glanced at Mikaela and Amy, sheepishly, as if apologizing. "You can clear out–or bad shit will happen!"

  A loud exchange of bullets echoed with a twang amidst the metallic ruins–first the rifle, then pops from handguns. They can't have unlimited ammo, Cooper thought. Then again, they have been looting the Walmarts…

  In the near distance, Cooper saw the man crouched down with the Winchester propped on a piece of metal debris. He heard the rifle fire, and when he looked through the scope at the four assailants, who'd taken refuge alongside a pile of empty 55-gallon drums, he saw one body slumped in the dirt.

  Two others with white smeared faces took cover behind the barrels, along with the man with the long, greasy hair beneath his camouflage hat.

  "Where's Gladys?" Cooper called out, distracting him.

  "None of your Goddammed business!"

  "She's probably wondering where you guys are. You better get back to mother. Or there's going to be trouble."

  "I'm sick of you," the man called out, hoarse and throaty. "I'm going to be done with you–I might spare your girlfriends, for later."

  Cooper stole another glance from the vantage point of his refuge, behind the huge front fender of a half-buried ladder truck. Two of the men had scuttled closer to Cooper's position, including the one he was trash talking with. They appeared to work in tandem, both brandishing handguns. The third guy had disappeared.

  The sky was empty and blue, like a cobalt dome that magnified and hollowed out the sound of firing guns. The air carried a hint of cordite and ocean breezes over the deadened land. The liberated waters roared a short distance away.

  Cooper armed the bow; he placed it at his feet. Still shielded by the wrecked chassis, he put his hat on a stick and decoyed it overhead. Two more rounds whistled by. The men were getting physically closer. He shooed the others deeper into cover behind the truck carcass, then crept to the other side of the burnt hulk and crawled into a space beneath it.

  He had just enough room to slide along on his belly, bow in one hand. He stopped and aimed his bow out the other side, the wooden stock nuzzling his chin. He stared through the scope, just when two more rounds came crashing inside the wheel-well beside where he lay, exploding into sharp fragments and dust.

  The fragments felt like glass; they skinned his forearm and smashed the scope on his bow. "Goddammit!" he screamed, enraged, scrambling backwards from beneath the wreckage. He leapt to his feet, the bow at the ready position at his chin. He strode quickly out into the open. Sunlight blasted the area; light brown dust rose into the air. It was silent.

  He'd taken both men by surprise. They leapt from their hiding places, just as he triggered the arrow, hearing two rifle shots in quick succession afterward.

  The sound of a waterfall's roar filled the air. The arrow, at close range, impaled the man in camouflage, just beneath the clavicle and near the tips of his dark scraggly hair. A hand leapt to his heart and his neck, as though he'd swat at a mosquito, then his fingers found the fletching of the arrow. Dark blood flowed freely around the fingers; his eyes went glassy and the legs collapsed under him.

  My Goddamned bow, the scope is broke, Cooper thought, suddenly feeling disarmed and helpless.

  The other man was slumped amidst the empty barrels, a handgun dropped on the ground. The third man was, for some reason or other, long gone.

  CHAPTER 42

  The rifle man came out from behind his barrier and strode toward them.

  "You stole my damn horse!"

  "We found your horse."

  "Where?"

  "Out in the middle of nowhere, standing there riderless. What would you guess his name was?"

  "What do you mean, What's his name? Are you testing me? I've been looking for that animal for the last three days, since we got separated. Right, Napoleon, you lazy old grazer. I'm glad to see you anyways."

  He had a gray stubble, was slightly stooped in a manner that originated in the hips, yet still wore his frontiersman garb with comfort.

  "You must be Drake."

  "Yeah. How did you know that?"

  "We found a letter, in the saddle bag."

  "I can give it to you," Mikaela said, fetching it from a pouch in the canoe.

  "C'mere boy!" Drake yelled over to the horse, which stood diffidently at a distance. Above him, the sun reflected a rainbow in a fine mist that rose high above the roiling waters.

  Drake pulled his hat down lower over his forehead and clapped his hands. "I shake a feedbag he comes in a second. Not when I call though. Where did you come from?"

  "A few miles back. We've been on the run. Found a few homes on the way."

  "I can imagine," he said, still distracted by his pursuit of Napoleon, which he found annoying. "I can imagine it, how bad it's been. You get here, all intact? Everybody here?" he said, his eyes falling on Amy.

  "We're all here…"

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  "Ruff," she said, without hesitation. "I rode here on the horse, all the way-zee. Almost."

  "I'll bet you did," Drake said, smiling. Then with a deceptively quick maneuver he caught the horse and grasped the reins in his left hand. It reared back a bit, almost by habit.

  "Yeah," Drake said, looking around at the horizon and the sky, which Cooper had noticed contained, for once, fewer signs of the volcano's fumes. "It won't be long before we're standing in a lake here. Right on this spot. Yup. Time to get moving again."

  Mikaela walked up and handed him the letter, which he unfolded and read, still holding the reins.

  "We owe you a full bottle of honey," she said.

  "Don't worry about that," he waved her off. He looked up after he'd finished the note, with an expression of renewed urgency.

  "I have to go that way," he said, pointing southwest though the ruins and wreckage. "The waters are coming." They could see the violent froth as heavy rapids are visible from a boat. "This area will fill up quickly, as a floodplain. It won't be pretty. You better move fast, the same direction I'm going in."

  "I have to get to my wife," he added, slipping a boot into a stirrup and hauling himself heavily up onto Napoleon's saddle. He'd slung his rifle
into a leather sleeve that was attached there.

  Cooper scanned the neighborhood warily; maybe all of the men were gone now. Maybe.

  "Have you been dealing with those guys long? Before we got here?"

  "You mean the mangy vultures? No. Just came upon them, stripping the bodies of those poor men and women. So I fired a few shots over their heads, like I would for the buzzards. Shoulda' just shot 'em right off. Before I know it, I'm in a firefight. There's looting all over this part of Tacoma, owing to what happened to the rescue folk, and the police."

  Cooper looked at the boat, the mountain bike, and Mikaela. He wondered what she was thinking, about the next step they had to take.

  "Do you know how far the lahar stretches?" he asked.

  "It stops about a half mile from this spot," Drake said. He leaned on the saddle horn. "There's no electricity, no gasoline, no open stores, at least when I came through last. Then you get closer to the coast, which isn't more than a few miles, and things begin to get sorted out."

  Drake gazed off from the saddle with an impatient air, fringed with guilt. The wind blew through scraps of stray wreckage. The immediate area looked like a battlefield, strewn with corpses, in random, forlorn postures.

  "That boat of yours," Drake said. "How many…?"

  "Three," Cooper said. "Amy, Mikaela, and Beatrice."

  "Now wait a minute," Mikaela said.

  "We can walk," Cooper said, referring to him and Luca. "Or swim."

  "No," Mikaela said, firmly. "We're all going together. We're not splitting up. Not after what we've been through."

  "I'll go," Luca said, standing up and brushing the dust off his trousers. He had a bandage taped to his arm. "Now. Before it's too late. I came late to the game, if you know what I mean. I'll head in that direction, southwest, where Drake's going. Before those waters rise. It'll get out of hand. I thank you for your help. It can't be that far, right?"

  "The port can't be much more than four miles from here, as a crow flies," Drake said. "Maybe less."

  "Good luck." Cooper stepped forward and shook Luca's hand. Luca turned and walked away, then he turned back to look at the group. "Bye Ruff," he said.

  "Bye Luca," Amy called out, with a cheer the others could not muster. "We'll see ya on the other side!"

  Luca smiled, "See ya on the other side." Then he wandered with a slightly gimpy gait into the ruins, holding his arm.

  "I'll try to keep an eye on him," Drake said. "As far as Tacoma and the port."

  Beatrice came forward, without glasses, which had been lost in the chaos. Her eyes gleamed in their visionary manner.

  "Napoleon, doesn't he have room for one more?"

  "Beatrice…" Mikaela said, yet not resisting.

  Drake looked backwards at his saddle, in a friendly, conciliatory way. "Well, you're a petite lady, so I'd say yes, we have room for you on the saddle back there. Right Napoleon?"

  He stepped down from the horse. Beatrice offered her hand, and smiled, more at the horizon. Drake took it.

  "Are you blind m'am?" he said.

  "Yes. Give me a moment." She turned to the others and held out both hands. "Please take them," she said. Amy took one hand and Mikaela the other; Cooper joined them and they formed a circle.

  "I'm grateful that you rescued me and kept me safe. Forever ever grateful. I know you'll make it to safety, to the sea. I just know it. We'll be together again, some day." Her words rang true and eloquent on that barren plain.

  She then hugged them all, an especially long one for Amy, then stepped to the saddle, to be helped up there by Drake. Then he hefted himself on to the horse's back.

  "You got enough food, and water, for today?" he said, steadying the horse with Beatrice clinging to his waste.

  "Yeah."

  "And you have the boat…"

  "Better get going now," Cooper said. "Thanks again for helping Bea."

  Drake tipped his hat, then made a clicking sound with his tongue. He pulled on the reins. They watched the two riders and Napoleon make their way through the burned out chassis and wreckage, until they couldn't see them anymore.

  CHAPTER 43

  Soon, the water was around all of their feet. It had risen to the lahar's lid, and now it was migrating in a way Cooper knew would get bad. It reminded him of a basement flooding on concrete.

  They had the boat ready, removing everything that didn't need to be there. Just before they were going to board, a van drove up and skidded to a stop. The water was still about puddle depth. Cooper sensed a sickening catch in his throat. Two men piled out with a quickness to their motion, then an old lady stepped down from the passenger side. She had black wading boots on. In her hand, she carried a pair of sneakers.

  "Hey there Cooper," she said, as they wandered up. She looked around, disapprovingly.

  "Wow, what a mess. Things just keep getting worse and worse, don't they? Then I hear that my boys spotted you, and that you were shooting at them. I thought before that, maybe our business was finished. Maybe. But you're still causing the troubles."

  "They shot first."

  "That's not what I heard. I heard about a fellow on a horse who started the shooting. Well, he seems gone for now. No horses around here, don't blame 'em. We'll find him soon enough. Shooting…tch-tch…what is this place coming to?"

  One of the men went and checked over the two bodies nearby, one shot by Cooper, the other Drake. The third body was about 10 yards away, but he didn't seem to notice that one. Then he looked up at Gladys and said, "They're both dead."

  "Good heavens."

  The water had risen to their ankles now.

  The crossbow was stowed in the middle of the boat. Cooper felt around in his pockets for the Army knife, but that too was stored away. Amy was already sitting in the middle of the boat, with Turk.

  "I can't just let it go," Gladys began to explain, in her facetious tone. "Behavior has consequences, right? What would that say about me, the way I do business, if I just let it go, every time someone decided to kill us? One thing leads to another, then all the respect, poof, up in smoke." Two of the men drew machetes. The water rushed loudly, almost deafening, just over a rise.

  Mikaela stepped forward. "You're going to have to go through me, first."

  "And me," Cooper said. The men made a motion forwards.

  "Don't do it!" Amy cried out, her chin quivering and her mouth drooped downwards. "We didn't do anything to you! We didn't! I don't want to be alone again, me and Turk! Please! Don't do it!"

  "Wait," Gladys said. The men stopped in their tracks; one of them with a confused scowl.

  "What's your name?" Gladys said.

  "Amy!"

  "Is this your daddy?"

  "He might as well be!" Amy said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  "What about this lady here, is she Mummy?"

  "She's just like Mummy!"

  Gladys paused for the moment, and all they heard was the torrent in the air, the trickling and flow of floodwaters around their ankles. Amy's sobs.

  Mikaela, Cooper, and the two men stood there like statues. Then Gladys said, "Let 'em go. Let's get out of here. The water's getting deep."

  "You sure?" one of the men said, with a sneer.

  "Git!" she said. "Back to the van." The two men turned and began to splash back toward the vehicle.

  Gladys went to go, then she turned back to them. "Amy, you take care. You hear? Take care in the boat. Do what they say, and you'll be alright." Then she walked back to the van, got in, closed the passenger door behind her, and it started up and skidded away into the flooding ruins.

  CHAPTER 44

  They had an old wooden paddle they'd found back at the home. Mikaela was in the bow, Cooper in the stern, Amy huddled with Turk in the middle. Everything else that wasn't needed immediately was discarded.

  It didn't take long for the water to rise enough to lift the boat. Soon, it flowed in small waves, like a tide coming in over a mudflats. They were forced to stand by the boat, unt
il the depth was enough to hold all of them.

  Cooper got in last. He stepped into the back of the boat and shoved off. They didn't have much choice but to go with the current, which carried them south to southwest through the wreckage of the buried traffic, then the city outskirts.

  Cooper steered, but he often had to hand the paddle to Mikaela so that she could use it to fend off various obstacles the water would take them into: the hulks of cars and trucks, floating debris like tires and refuse cans; utility poles and partially submerged fences, even the foundations of buildings.

  Cooper considered waiting and climbing to higher ground. For the night. But he didn't want the water to rise so high that it would be too dangerous to move, even in the boat.

  First the wavelets came, as the floodwaters broke for good over the edge of the lahar. Then the water rose with a deceptive speed. They'd scrape bottom here and there, such as on a submerged curb, when suddenly they'd float past a parking meter, with only the meter showing above water.

  The surface of the water glistened with multi-colored gas and oil slicks. The sun began to go down. They did their best to steer past the forest of smashed cars, which waves now lapped up against, and into what seemed like wider spaces and underwater streets between the buildings.

  But they had to go where the powerful floodwaters wanted them to go.

  They saw the silhouettes of people on the roofs of buildings, but no lights as the sun dipped for good behind floodwaters and ocean.

  "I'm scared," Amy said. "It's getting dark. I don't want to be in the boat when it's dark!"

  "Just pet Turk," Mikaela said. "Turk likes your company." The way the water covered everything, and enclosed the shadows, and its sound, the gurgle and splash, reminded Mikaela of Missy, and that night of looking for her in the dark pond. Especially as night fell.

  It was like floating through a city via its harbor, but everything was too close. Shop windows, brick facades with black-iron grating; signs with silly messages made even more meaningless by being partially submerged. Chain-link fences that were supposed to be surrounding lots, spaces that were now fetid pools of black water in the dying light.