When you are faced with the idea everything is going to shit, that concept can be very difficult to grasp. The surreal atmosphere first brings about a state of denial something is truly happening. One thing I did learn as a youth during those summers with Old Man, the denial stage will ensnare you and you will end up one of the dead. My days of training taught me to stop, review the facts available to me, use logic and face the reality of what was taking place.
I worked a long way from where I grew up when everything began. Even though work brought me into a city, far from my comfort zone, I was well aware of what needed to be done. I always maintained a "bug-out bag." A bag of necessities in case of emergency, and that bag became a part of life for me. Expect the unexpected. Preparations for whatever comes my way. Why? Old Man said, "Always be ready. Always."
When I realized the end of the world approached, I sprang to action. Every moment counted in this type of situation. Everything I needed was available to me in a moment's notice. I rushed into my small apartment, grabbed the bag, and left. In and out in less than thirty seconds. In this situation, seconds can mean the difference between life and death.
When I came to the understanding the world is crumbling down in front of my eyes and falling apart, I snagged a car and got out of the city. I headed for the countryside, driving until the car shut off. Empty. I took a huge risk driving the car. I should consider myself lucky. I witnessed people being shot and dragged out just for their automobile. People were in a panic to exit the chaos, yet creating chaos itself.
Not that anything mattered; most were dying or were going to be dead in a short while. Or worse.
The infection did not hit me at all. In only took a matter of days, once I separated myself from civilization and set up camp, to let nature clean house. A radio served as my last contact with civilization. Eventually, the airwaves went silent.
Regardless of what my future held and where ever I would end up, nothing was going to happen by standing still. I grabbed my gear set out on foot. I prepared for this my entire life, and knew what I had to do.
Survive.
The Traveler
.75%
A year passed since everything went to hell. The previous world, now crumbled, broken and swept away, existed only as a distant memory. A new world replaced that life, a world with no rules.
The Traveler encountered people from time to time. He hid from them. His observations were; they are callous, cruel and having only the intent of surviving at all costs. That included cutting short the lives of others. Laws no longer existed, so a lot of survivors end up doing whatever the hell they want. His observations told him they tend to stay in groups of four or five. With one jackass as the leader.
Figures, he thought to himself, no government and some asshole still ends up in charge.
Luckily, few people exist on the planet these days.
The other .75 percent...well, it appears to have turned out to be a different story. The 'medical side effects', reported in the last days, turned out to be much more than was told to the public. Those that survived the virus were no longer human. They appeared to have reverted to something else or changed into something else entirely. They were more like a feral animal, which is what The Traveler came to call them. Ferals. He couldn't honestly call them humans. The virus that attacked and decimated the planet, created a profound effect on the feral's DNA. The virus changed them. Absolutely and literally changed them. They now possessed thicker sharper nails, more like claws than nails, developed elongated teeth and were a bit faster than normal humans. They were not so much human as they were wild creatures. Their human quality all but disappeared, and they could be profoundly dangerous. He encountered them sporadically. The ferals didn't have the thousands of years of evolutionary instinct to fall back on, but they still survive on what instincts they did have. Ferals could be a little clumsy, at least for a wild animal. However, they did like live flesh, and they would attack if they thought you were an easy target. The Traveler battled them on occasion. Some ferals still possessed some human tendencies. Faced with too much resistance, many times they would back off. The Traveler knew they preferred easier targets. Sometimes when you encounter one that is desperate or just plain stubborn, they will attack, and you will have a fight on your hands. Most of the time, they would be lurking, waiting, and looking for easy prey. Another trait they project is, many of them would avoid a human when they could. Remarkably, meeting a feral was much like intruding on a wild animal's territory. They usually steer clear, but have been known to threaten an individual wandered into their area of claimed ground. In the past, when The Traveler found the results of an attack on a survivor, sometimes he could not tell if the remains were even human or not.
The ferals survive only on basic instincts like a wild animal. Some fair better than others. The Traveler walked up on more than a few during his travels. They flinched, slightly hunch down to see if he posed a threat, and then turn and run. He knew they would watch him as he went his way. He stayed alert for them.
The ones that watch him leave he didn't have to worry about. The starving, injured or rogue ones, they would come at him head first.
He experienced a few setbacks in his travels. The Traveler, being a quick study, adapted to his environment easily. His training, time and patience taught him how to survive. He thought about how, in a possibly warped way, he wanted to see how the world played out. In doing so, he developed a sense as to when to hide out or duck and cover. Either from rogue individuals or the ferals. Stealth gave him the ability to see how people and ferals behave. The ferals were somewhat predictable. People are not.
These days he traveled light. Maybe not to some. He kept a backpack of necessities. First aid, camping and survival equipment; a bedroll, bow and arrows and a wooden staff. A small hand held personal water filtration system prevented dehydration. As a basic rule of survival, The Traveler tried to stay close to flowing water; creeks, rivers and tributaries. They are a constant source of hydration, and provided higher chances of food sources. The filter, small and compact, acted as a drinking tube as well. It required very little space in his pack. The wooden staff serves more than a few purposes. The staff, made of oak, proved to be strong and not likely to break. Old Man trained him in self-defense with a Bo staff, so the staff served as his personal protection. Other than a versatile jacket, a sturdy pair of boots and what clothes he wore, The Traveler maintained no other possessions.
Discovery
He stood semi-hidden off the edge of a road.
Four individuals, loud and albeit raucous, were walking down the highway. He heard them before they were in sight. They carried weapons. Guns mostly. He did not hold ill-will towards weapons, but ammunition is not easy to find. If, and when you did find it, it could be a burden to travel with. He chose not to keep any on hand. The people who carried guns and ammo can be absolutely and unquestionably dangerous. The Traveler, skilled with blending in with his surroundings rather well, kept a watchful eye on the somewhat raucous group.
He silently watched, and kept them in his sight, waiting for them to move on. One of the groups raised his voice to another. The two of them began to fight, ending with one on the ground bleeding. The oldest and largest of them, who appeared to be the leader of them, shoves the one standing away, telling them to "cut that shit out." He kicks the one on the ground and tells him in a gruff voice to get up. After a few seconds the beaten down individual on the ground stirs, pulls himself up, staggers a little and stumbles on. The other members of the group laugh at him and continue their nonchalant walk until he could no longer see or hear them.
And that is the kind of people left in this world, the Traveler thought as he scrutinized their movements, keeping a watchful eye as they moved away.
He remained stationary at his observation spot until he the horde moved on. Afterwards he relocated himself to a secluded outcrop of rock to monitor the group as they moved on. After he confirmed all four are about a half mile or
so down the road, he continued his journey.
Most of his encounters with others were notably similar. Which is why he spent most of his time off major roadways. He didn't care to interact. The chances were always in favor of encounters with others going bad.
The Traveler referred to a map to tell him where the rivers run, and where the roads intersect. Maps became harder to come by when society reached its peak. So many were dependent on GPS or their cell phones, actual printed maps all but disappeared at the height of the modern world. Usually the best places to hunt for them are old truck stops, gas stations, and small convenience stores. When he began to wander out of a location, he would begin searching for a map to connect him to the next place. He could, theoretically, still use GPS. He kept a stand-alone GPS device in his pack. The satellites were all still up there somewhere around two hundred and fifty miles or so above the earth in orbit. GPS systems used a lot of power. He did manage to acquire a solar charger, but it sustained damage a while back. He actually preferred a printed map for his travels, and a map gave him an overview of an area.
According to his map location, a small town stood only a couple of miles away from his location. Smaller towns are usually best and less dangerous. Even if a lunatic has a group living there, the group would be far fewer than he might encounter in the larger cities. The Traveler began making his way there, but did not get in a hurry. Daylight had begun to fade. He would prefer to observe and scout the small town out after sunset before making his way into the streets. Sound travels better at night. Plus, finding out how many people are there at night is easier because he can see the number of outdoor fires.
He studied the town for a while. He hadn't spotted anyone or detected any sounds to give himself a reason to think anyone currently occupied the area. Everything appeared to be undamaged. He carefully surveyed the buildings, and they did not look ransacked or burned out like some places he previously encountered. The town, located at the edge of a national forest and small mountains, remained intact. Hope ran high for this place. Because of the location, the town's potential for providing access to hunting, camping, and fishing supplies remained excellent. Any of those supplies gave him another day, week, or even month to survive.
The Traveler became lost in thought; What was he fighting to survive for? What is left? What was his reason before? He was not the kind to want to settle down, marry and have kids. The thought of that makes him shudder. What kind of wreck would he have been if he had a family and had to fight for their survival every day? What if he had to see them struck with tragedy, or what if something happened to him first? How would they survive or have to go through? He thanked God or whoever, he never had kids to have to bring into a world like this.
God. Now there was something to ponder. He never believed in what people considered "God". Comprehending a higher power would create a hell-hole like the Earth had become in the last days before all this shit went down, was hard to grasp. War. Famine. Starvation. Death. Murders. Abuse. The list goes on and on. Why would that be allowed? Why couldn't a higher power step in?
Or...perhaps he/she did.
He continued to let his thoughts wander. Before humanity ended, he never believed in God, or a Great Spirit or some kind of "higher power". Call it what you will. However, since this turning point in human history started, he began to doubt his own doubt. Maybe God did step in. Maybe God got tired of the shit. All the violence, the uncaring nature of mankind of one another, the menial bickering over land, and the ridiculous wars fought in the name of religion. Maybe God had enough. One too many disapproving shaking of his head like a father trying to tell his kid to clean up their room. Maybe God experienced a few too many eye-rolls like a mom seeing dirty dishes piled in the sink and said "Alright! Enough already! Let's clean house!" Maybe...
...his eye catches some movement in the town.
The moon was full tonight. With no city lights to blind and kill a person's night vision, a full moon gave off brilliant light to see at night.
Movement again. A feral. He could see by how the object moved. The feral appeared to be scouring for food. Not something he was concerned with. No other movement got his attention. His luck was running high on this night.
He stashed his backpack and bow, took his staff and quietly worked his way down the hill from the edge of the woods he was using as his observation area. Recon work would be best accomplished without his pack, he reasoned, in case he needed to do a quick retreat.
The small hamlet was certainly not a large place. Mostly likely the town supported a population of three thousand or so before the turn of mankind.
"The Turn," he said aloud, "that's what I'll call it. I mean, The Apocalypse is too many syllables, right?"
He laughed at his own musings. He had to sometimes. Otherwise, sanity could begin to disappear.
The town appeared to have been a recreational type town from what he began to gather. There appeared to be a few stores with kayak and canoe rentals, an outdoor adventure place. A couple of lodges and bed and breakfast type places. This is the kind of place he would have visited back in the day for fun. Excitement hit him as he caught sight of what appeared to be a prepper-type store over on the next block. Hopefully, the business missed any looting that may have occurred. He didn't want to set his expectations too high, because he had been met with disappointment in other towns he'd ran across.
The Traveler stayed along the edge of the buildings to stay as inconspicuous as possible. The moon made some shadows, and he stayed in those shadows as much as possible. He moved silently and slowly, keeping an eye out and an ear open for anything unusual, sometimes stopping to check for any unusual movement.
He froze. A slight sound caught his attention. Quietly, but quickly, he turned to look. About two hundred feet behind him was a feral. The creature appeared to be a small female. She appeared strong for her size. Staying sharp was a key issue here; she could be a tough fight if she attacked. She didn't appear to be stalking him as prey, but for the most part, the feral seemed to follow out of curiosity. He turned towards the creature and locked eyes with her, standing a little taller as he did. The feral let out a low growl, hunched down, and scampered off. He resumed his quest.
The Traveler studied the sign over the door. Zero Hour Prep.
What an ironic name.
He took a quick survey of the store. One of the main windows was cracked, but the crack could be anything from temperature change to a bird strike. Safety bars covered the window, and the door was locked of course. He quietly walked around the back of the row of buildings until he found the one that said ZPrep Deliveries. Not much luck here either. The entrance was secured with a solid-built metal door with a deadbolt. Nothing he was prepared to handle. He walked back around to the front. Numerous old cars abandoned long ago were scattered about. He searched for a car from somewhere in the nineties or so, The Traveler knew there should be a trunk release somewhere in the vicinity around the driver's area. He spied an early model Saturn and tried the door. The door was ajar so gaining entrance was rather easy. He found the manual trunk release and pulled it. The trunk clicked and opened. He went to the trunk and nosed around. Whoever owned this car carried tools at least; he spied a hammer. Perfect. A further search revealed an old small blanket. In all likelihood a dog's blanket, so he took it.
The Traveler went back to the store window. The window had separate panes. Cautiously, he looked around to avoid unwanted "guests". He returned his focus to the window. The doubled-up blanket was placed over a pane of glass. He then struck a quick blow to the glass. The blanket did the job of muffling the sound of the glass shattering. After reaching in, he unlatched the sliding window. The window was sticky at first, but moves up finally. An unpleasant stench rolls out of the place. He studied the window bars. They are exterior mounted, but he knows he is not quite small enough to squeeze through them, He reasoned that most people still alive could not simply squeeze through, so he began to formulate a plan to enter.
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With tactical skill he stepped back into the shadows and inspected over the now empty town. Soon he found an old tire store. Apparently, people did not worry about break-ins to the tire store as they were about prep store, as this place was much less secure. The Traveler finds a side door that is slightly ajar. He forced the door open, entered cautiously and began to inspect the contents. Towards the back of the building he spies a door which led to an outside fenced area. The fenced area was for fleet tires and commercial truck tires. In the tool area, he locates a slide bar used to break down truck tires. Metal, heavy and a few feet long, the slide bar would be more than enough for his requirements.
The Traveler takes the slide bar and goes back to the prep store. He hoists the bar up to the corner of the window bars. He wedges one end under the edge of the corner of the bars and against the window frame, getting it between the wall and the frame. The added leverage only needed one good push. The window frame creaks, and pushing hard the frame makes a cracking sound and the bars break away finally.
Out of Favor: The Traveler Page 2