“Fred! You don’t suppose this is the rapture the Christians talk about, the “left behind” one and all that stuff, from that movie we saw?” she asked.
“I sure hope not. If we were left behind, it means we’re the bad guys!” he said. “Worse than that, it appears we’re the ONLY bad guys! And I know there were a lot of people who were worse than us!”
“Hey! We aren’t bad. We’re good, law-abiding citizens! Well, at least we were until this happened!” Wilma exclaimed.
“Well, I don’t think this is the rapture. There were other things that were supposed to be happening too, some ‘anti-christ’ things and stuff like that,” Fred said, wearily reaching over and starting the car again. “But it might be a good time to be praying!”
As they drove north they came to signs for Nellis Air Force Base on the north side of the city. “Go there, Fred!” Wilma said excitedly.
“Yeah, that’s the place to go!” Fred said, and he pushed the gas pedal and roared through the residential streets parallel to the main arterial streets. Eventually he had to cut over to the through-streets until he came to an entrance to the base.
The bar of the gate was across the road, but seeing no one in the booth Fred drove right on through, the bar breaking off and flying over the car. He wove around jeeps and hummers parked in random places in the road. All the vehicles seemed to be heading toward a large metal building behind what looked like office buildings. Fred drove around and parked where several cars and trucks were parked near an open hangar door.
Out on the tarmac dozens of small jets were parked in a row, at an angle, aimed toward the runways. Inside the hangar there were only two, and it appeared they were in the midst of being repaired.
To the left, near 3 glass-walled offices, was a table with diagrams and maps spread out. They wandered over to look. The maps were complicated, with lines and numbers they were not familiar with. Other papers were diagrams related to the wiring and repair notes for the planes. Wilma shuffled through a pile of papers, recognizing weather information on one sheet, and instructions for training flights.
She heard a noise behind her and jumped. Turning around she saw Fred climbing up into one of the fighter jets. He glanced back at her and leaped over the edge, into the cockpit. Saluting, he sat down and began making airplane noises. Wilma smiled and walked back out the hangar door. A few minutes later Fred joined her.
“Didn’t you ever fantasize about flying a plane when you were a kid?” Fred asked her.
“No,” she said simply.
“Come on, not even once?” he asked in amazement.
“No! Well, okay, not an airplane, but I always thought it would be cool to fly a helicopter,” she admitted.
“Well, come on, there must be helicopters here somewhere! We’ll find one!” Fred started off.
“Fred, this is an awful big place, and I don’t think we should waste the time!”
“Why? What else should we be doing?” he asked. He walked over to a hummer and said, “we’ll take this, it’ll save time!”
“Do you really think they just leave the keys in them?” Wilma demanded.
“Why not? Who’s going to get away with stealing them? We’re on a secure base!” He opened the door, hopped up in the driver’s seat, and started the motor triumphantly. Wilma shook her head and walked around and got in the other side.
They drove around cars and among the buildings. They came to more hangars and more airstrips, and passed buildings of all shapes and sizes.
Finally they came to helicopters parked near a fence. Like children playing, they jumped out of the hummer and raced to the helicopters. They each got in their own and pretended they were having a dogfight with them in the sky. Wilma tired of the game before Fred, and she sighed as she slid out of the helicopter and walked back to the hummer.
“We need to make a plan. I don’t know what plan, but we need to figure out what to do next. What REAL plan to do next, though the playing was fun,” she admitted. Fred leaned against the Hummer next to her. Wearily, she asked “Do you think the kids and grandkids are gone too?”
“I don’t know. I suppose if everyone else is, they are too.” He opened the door for her and she climbed in. He went around and got in.
On the way to the gate they stopped by the police cruiser and picked up their food and water, then headed back out onto the streets. A shopping mall was in the distance, surrounded by all the stores and restaurants that grow up around malls like weeds.
“Oooh, Cabelas!” shouted Fred as he pulled into the lot and parked right in front of the door. “And it’s everything-is-free day!”
The doors were unlocked, like all the other businesses they’d been to. Apparently whatever had happened, had happened during business hours.
Cabelas had a lot of natural lighting from the large windows and doors and from skylights in the ceiling. Fred was already trying on hunting coats and had a fishing hat on his head. At first Wilma just sat on a bench and watched him, but then she got into the spirit of things and before long she was trying on hats and coats and shoes. They moved among the racks and rows, looking and touching and trying out whatever they liked.
“We need to go home!” Wilma said suddenly. Fred turned around and looked at her blankly.
“Home…back to the uhaul home, or home-home?” Fred asked.
“Home-home. We’ll gather up everything we think we’ll need, and take dozens of gas cans from stores, and siphon gas out of cars and tie them down on our trailer, and go home.”
“Well, I don’t think the gas cans are a good idea. It’s kind of dangerous, plus time-consuming to siphon all that gas. I think if we do this, we should just keep switching vehicles when we get low on gas. If there are no people anywhere, there’ll be lots of supplies for the taking, all along the way,” Fred said.
“But…what about the uhaul? What about our stuff?” she asked.
“We’ll have to let it go. I have a feeling we’re going to face letting go of a lot of things,” Fred said soberly.
Wilma burst into tears, and Fred went to her and put his arms around her. His own throat felt pretty tight and choked. When her tears slowed he reached over and picked up a camouflage bandana from a rack and handed it to her.
“Need a Kleenex:” he asked. She gave a faint smile and wiped her face.
“Okay!” she said, taking a deep breath and bracing herself up. “Where do we start?”
“First…a whole new wardrobe. Find whatever you need. Pants, shirts, socks, shoes, whatever, and a warm coat. Let’s get some good sleeping bags, and maybe a tent, and…” Fred started off among the racks, his voice fading as he raked hangers aside, looking and sometimes pulling things off hangers. Wilma joined in. Soon they had piles of things on the counter.
“Camping stove and some of that dehydrated stuff!” Fred exclaimed, and headed that direction.
“I’m going to get a first-aid kit!” Wilma went the other way. Last of all, Fred broke the glass on a case and removed two handguns. He picked a rifle from the rack behind the counter, then went looking for ammo for all of them. The handguns were both 9 mm so they could share ammo, and the rifle was a semi-automatic .308. He grabbed a canvas shopping bag and stuffed it with boxes of ammo.
They grabbed nylon bags from the camping department and stuffed everything else into them and tied the drawstrings. Piling it into two carts, they wheeled it out to the hummer and loaded it in.
“How much gas is in this thing?” Wilma asked.
“Enough to get us back to the uhaul, but then we’ll have to find another car. Or truck.” Fred pulled out onto the street and they headed for the freeway.
The sun was sliding behind the ridge when they reached the uhaul-camper. They let the dog out to romp around, and sat in lawn chairs facing the lake.
“There isn’t enough gas in the Hummer to get back to town. I guess we’ll drive the uhaul as far as we can, then switch to another vehicle,” said Fred. Wilma agreed. Her chest ached,
and she felt a sob rising, but she pushed it back down.
In the last of the fading light they unloaded the Hummer and tossed everything into the uhaul. They put the bicycles inside, and moved the trailer and motorcycle aside. Wilma knew it had to be breaking Fred’s heart to leave his prized motorcycle behind. They were very quiet as they went to bed.
Sleep didn’t come at first. They talked about their route up from Nevada, up through Utah and Idaho, and finally Montana.
They were fearful of how it would feel to be home and yet not be able to find their children and grandchildren. They knew it would hurt, but they had to see for themselves. Only a small part inside of them held out hope that they would find everything normal when they got home, and everyone would be going about their lives. It still wouldn’t explain this nightmare here in southern Nevada.
Wilma finally dozed off to Fred’s soft, rhythmic snoring. Toward morning she sensed it was getting light out. The uhaul shook with a gust of wind and Wilma awoke. She slid down from the bed loft over the cab, and pulled the curtain aside. Yep, it was windy, but the sky was clear. They wouldn‘t have any problems leaving this morning, but the wind meant rain was probably a day away. She was about to turn from the window when a motion caught her eye.
“There’s someone out there!” she exclaimed. A man walked along the ridge across the wash from them, a fishing pole in his hand. Fred climbed down from the bunk and stood next to her, sleepily scratching his stomach. He bent toward the window and looked out.
“Yep, going fishing, it looks like. Sometimes the fish bite better when the waves are choppy. It stirs up things they like to eat,” he said. “Speaking of eat, what’s for breakfast?” He turned to look at Wilma. She was staring at him like she’d seen a ghost.
“What? Do I have something on my face? Is my hair standing up on end?” He turned toward the mirror on the bathroom door.
“But…. I don’t….. I don’t get it. Everyone was gone!” she babbled.
“What are you talking about?” Fred was confused, and he was alarmed by Wilma’s white face and distressed look.
“Bu… we went to town and no one was there, and now there’s a man out there, and--” she whirled at a sound behind her and opened the curtain on the other side of the uhaul-camper, “--and there’s a pick-up truck with a camper driving over there, and oh! Oh, I know! Oh, Fred, you were RIGHT!” Her face lit up in a smile.
Still not sure what was going on, Fred said, “Okay, I was right. That’s nice to hear. Probably should mark that on the calendar, but what was I right about?”
“That it was all a dream!” she said. She seemed relieved at first, but then troubled. “It all seemed so real!”
She related the whole thing to him. His face filled with longing during parts of the story, and he even went outside near the end, to see if the Hummer with the Cabelas goodies was parked there! Wilma still seemed rattled and unsure when she finished telling him about it.
“Tell you want, sweetheart. Not only was it a dream, I’ll prove it was a dream. We’ll go to town, and I’ll take you out for breakfast!” He pulled their leather coats out of the cabinet and sat down to put his shoes on. Wilma did the same, and they went out the door. She put her leg over the motorcycle and sat behind him.
She left her jacket unzipped until they got to the paved highway, then reached down to zip it. As Fred pulled the motorcycle onto the highway and squeezed the throttle she glanced down at the top of the jacket zipper. An olive-green shirt peeked out the collar. She pulled her collar out and stared down inside her coat at the words “Cabelas” in letters across her left breast.
Her heart was pounding and she wanted to tap Fred’s shoulder and get him to stop the bike so she could show him. But she sat like a statue, automatically leaning with him on the curves. A couple of cars and a motor home passed them, going the other direction. A few miles from town they topped the hill overlooking the valley. Fred pulled off at the scenic turn-out.
“See? It’s all…” Fred stopped and stared. “What the--?”
They pulled off their helmets, got off the motorcycle and stood looking over the guard rail. Not a building was in sight, nor a road. Rolling sandy hills covered with Greasewood bushes and Rabbitbrush spread away from them.
The narrow band of the river wound through the valley among the Cottonwood and mesquite trees. Wisps of smoke rose from small fires on the riverbank, and the small band of dark-skinned people rose from their work and turned to stare up at them. Wilma looked at Fred.
“Now who’s dream are we in?”
Part II
Twilight In The Desert - the sequel!
Fred turned to Wilma with a stunned look on his face. Hers mirrored his as they turned back to stare at the native people in the valley, who had equally stunned faces. The people gathered close together and Fred and Wilma could see by their faces and arm movements that they were discussing the strange apparition on the ridge overlooking the valley; that of two people, oddly-clad, and with a noisy, shiny “beast“, the motorcycle.
One of the natives threw back his head and gave a loud call, and in minutes young men came running from a nearby ravine, sticks and digging tools in their hands. When they reached the group of people they looked up where the elders pointed.
“Do you think they’re friendly?” mused Fred, his voice laced with uncertainty.
Wilma didn’t answer right away. Her mind raced through everything she could think of and she didn’t come up with anything that explained what they were looking at. To be more precise, she understood what and who they were looking at, but the ‘how and when’ was unexplainable.
“Oh, I imagine they’re friendly. It just depends who you are!” said Wilma with a wry smile. “What little I know about the native people of historical times, they were usually superstitious and scared of things they didn’t understand or couldn’t explain!”
“Well, I don’t imagine they’ve seen too many people dressed like us, or know what a motorcycle is,” Fred said uneasily.
The people in the valley were sorting themselves into two groups, and it appeared one group was to stay in the village. They were the older people, the women, and the children. The boys and younger men were arming themselves with spears and funny-looking things Wilma remembered being called “Atlatls”, which were a type of spear-thrower.
As the group started toward the ridge it seemed as though some of the warriors dissolved and disappeared. Fred and Wilma knew they had slipped off among the trees and dunes and would probably flank them.
“We’d better get out of here!” said Wilma in alarm.
“Maybe we should wait and see if they’re friendly. They might just be coming to find out if we’re friendly and what we’re doing.” Fred was unsure of what to do, but it seemed like they should find out more about these people. He and Wilma didn’t know how long they’d be among them and what sort of interaction they might end up having.
As the main group approached they formed a “V”. The man out front was presumably the leader. They narrowed to a single line as they followed the trail winding up the hill, which Fred and Wilma recognized as being where the modern-day highway was.
When the trail came out on the flat the group widened back out to a “V” and came to a stop about 50 feet away. For several minutes they stared at the strange-looking pair of pale-skinned people in front of them. Then the leader shook his spear at them and yelled strange words in a bark-like voice.
Fred and Wilma looked at him, uncomprehending, and shrugged.
“We come in peace! Take us to your leader!” Fred called back. In a quieter voice aside to Wilma he said, “well, it can’t hurt. The probably don’t understand us any more than we understand them!”
The band of people murmured among themselves, the voices getting louder and more sharp. The leader seemed unsure, then with a resolute look that seemed as though he’d decided not to lose face among the other men, he held his spear upright in front of him and chanted something. Th
e men around him gave a shout that sounded like agreement.
“Not sounding good! Let’s get out of here!” Fred jumped onto the motorcycle with Wilma right behind. Wilma reached around and grabbed Fred’s helmet from his hand so he could start the motor. It roared to life and Fred turned the handlebars to spin the bike around and go back the way they came. The blacktop had disappeared and they were spitting up sand and gravel from the tires.
The band of natives were almost to them when the motorcycle came to life with a loud roar. They came to a sudden stop and stared in disbelief at the monster that made so much noise and was now throwing sand and rocks at them. As one they turned and ran back the way they came, fleeing for their lives from the monster and the people who rode it.
Fred’s motorcycle was a highway bike and performed best on paved surfaces. He was having a hard time guiding it over the sand through the scrubby bushes. They topped the hill and followed the path where someday in the future a hard-surfaced two-lane road would run. There was a long, gentle down-grade followed by a drop into a sandy wash. The bike bogged down and started weaving and fish-tailing in the sand, so Fred stopped.
Prepper Fiction Collection: Four Books in One Page 25