“Are you implying my son is dead?” Cole shoved Sean. “You bastard! Hunter’s alive—”
“No! I didn’t say he was dead. Listen to me. I meant there’s too much risk now, Cole, with too little chance of finding him. What if you two pass within a mile of each other? How would you know? The phones are out now. The only thing we know for sure is that he’s on his way here. You need to be here when he arrives.”
Cole’s gut twisted at the truth of Sean’s words but every instinct he had pushed him to find his son.
“What are we going to tell him when he gets here, Cole, and you’re not here?” Sean flung an arm towards the mainland. “What if you die out there?”
“Listen to him, Cole. He’s right.”
Cole narrowed his eyes at Jenna then turned the heat of his glare back on Sean. “What if it was Piper or Trent out there? You’d go find them.”
“I get it, Cole. I’d be in your shoes right now, and you’d be holding me back and telling me how I need to be here for the kids when they arrive.” Sean bit his lip, his throat working as he blinked hard. Sean’s tone softened. “We love him too, you know.” His voice broke on the last part.
The anger drained out of Cole, but it was all that had been keeping the true fear at bay—that he might never see his son again. “But he’s all alone…”
* * *
Hunter pulled the saddle off the bay mare, setting it out of the way, and brushed her. Horses were something he knew a little bit about from when he had gone to summer camp three years in a row. It wasn’t a riding camp, but they got to ride almost every day, and he always volunteered to work in the stable, preferring that over washing dishes in the kitchen.
The mare was well trained and easy to ride. The other horse, a chestnut, was also good but seemed younger and more excitable. That made him fun to ride, but Hunter hadn’t ridden since last summer. He was rusty and didn’t trust his skills to keep the horse in check if the animal spooked. If he had a few days to feel comfortable, it would be an easy decision, but he didn’t want to hang around any longer than he had to. The knowledge of the bodies lurking within the building not only creeped him out but made him uneasy in regards to the virus. Everything he came into contact with on the farm had the potential to harbor germs and he had used the wipes so much that his hands were red and sore. He just wanted off the property.
As he curried the mare, he glanced out to the pasture at the chestnut. What a beautiful horse. He hated to leave him. For sure he’d leave the gate to the pasture open and let the horse run free so he wouldn’t die a slow death in the barn, but wished he could take him as well.
Then he thought about it. Why couldn’t he? It wasn’t as if anyone was around to stop him. He could take some feed, and there was plenty of grass along the way. He was pretty sure water wouldn’t be a problem either. Creeks, ponds, and lakes were plentiful. He didn’t know how he’d get the animals to the island, but he’d worry about that later. After tending to the horses, he let them out in the pasture, making sure they had access back into the barn and to fresh water. They could come back to their stalls in the night if they wanted to. He was going back to his campsite for the rest of the day. Hunter called out for Buddy before he headed back to camp. The dog came running from under the shade of the large tree in the farm yard. “Come on, Bud, let’s get back to camp.”
He used the camp stove late in the afternoon to cook up a bunch of eggs he’d gathered from the chickens. After tonight, he’d probably have to make wood fires as the propane was pretty much gone. He’d pack the stove in case he came across more fuel, but wondered at the likelihood of finding a tank that would fit his model of stove.
He’d found a good cast iron skillet in the farmer’s kitchen. It was heavy but well worth the extra weight. The only thing that would have made the meal better would have been a few slices of buttered toast, but he didn’t trust the stale bread he’d found in the house. The bag had been opened too, and that was the biggest worry. What if the woman had touched it before dying?
Eating directly out of the skillet, he dug into the eggs. It was the best meal he’d had in several days, and he didn’t know if it was because he’d cooked them just right or because he was just glad he hadn’t had to dip into his stores of packaged food.
In addition to the skillet, he’d taken several knives, a few forks and spoons, and a can opener. He’d almost forgotten that. It would have sucked to have been hungry and unable to open the cans. He’d seen some video on social media a few years ago about how to open a can by scraping it on a sidewalk, but he looked around. Not many sidewalks around here and he his plan was to stay out of towns and cities. The fewer people he encountered, the better.
When he finished eating, he took the skillet to the creek along with a few handfuls of coarse grass and scrubbed the pan, getting all the bits of cooked egg from the sides. The pan was so well –seasoned that the eggs peeled right off better than any non-stick pan he’d ever used. Not that he’d used many. Scrambled eggs, tacos, and spaghetti with sauce from a jar were about the limits of his culinary skills.
The rest of the afternoon, he practiced with the bow. He’d dragged a couple of bales of straw back to his camp working up a good sweat in the process. The effort was worth it when he dug an old red t-shirt out of his clothes, and using mud, drew a crude target then duct taped the shirt to the stacked bales. He paced off about thirty feet or so. His first few shots went low, and he adjusted the sight down a little to bring his aim higher. Even though his circumstances were dire with the fear of the virus ever-present, he couldn’t help enjoying the practice. His muscle memory kicked in, and soon, he was back to form. He inspected his arrows, making sure they were all in good condition before he returned them to the quiver he’d bought as well.
The next morning, Hunter awoke early and packed up his campsite. With it all packed, he pulled his phone out and turned it on, hoping it had dried out enough to work, but it was dead. He shoved it back in his pocket wondering why he even bothered keeping it.
Today he was moving on, and dread filled him. The farm had felt like a safe haven, of sorts, as long as he was careful about wearing his mask and gloves. Now, he had to venture out into whatever the world had come to, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He made sure he had a couple of masks ready, shoving one in his pocket and put one to hang loosely around his neck. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to wear it, because it wasn’t a flimsy paper mask, but one that was thick and stiff, with a metal nose band. It scratched his neck from time to time, but no way was he going to risk coming into contact with someone who could be sick without a mask handy.
He whistled for Buddy and smiled when the dog responded, bursting out of the brush. He had packed a leash he’d found, but it wouldn’t be practical to use it while traveling. He hoped the dog would keep up on his own, and from the way he followed the horses when Hunter led them to the road hinted that Buddy had gone on more than one trail ride with his masters before.
Leaving the car was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Gas wasn’t his worry—he could siphon it from other cars if he had to, but after what his dad had said about how he too had run into lots of problems with car accidents. Hunter’s own experience several nights ago with the accident and the cop approaching his car made him wary. What if he was trapped in a traffic jam full of diseased people? What if they swarmed his car like something out of a zombie movie? Just imagining it made him shiver, and he wanted no part of it.
True, the sick people weren’t zombies but what he’d heard on the radio before the stations had cut out, was that the sick sought out the healthy. They probably didn’t mean to infect others, but the disease seemed to force them to become overtly friendly and helpful. Was that why his cellphone had blown up with texts from friends the day his dad had told him to head home? A lot the invites to parties had come from students he barely knew and only shared a class or two with. He’d thought it odd he was suddenly popular and realized that spilling soda
on his computer might have been the luckiest thing he’d ever done. It had forced him to actually crack open the books and read them instead of just going over his notes. That meant no time for partying.
His dad would have a theory about why the disease caused people to act weirdly outgoing he was sure, but whatever the reason, he didn’t want to encounter it firsthand ever again. The mob in the street on the first morning, then the cop at the accident, had been enough for him.
He hitched the horses to a speed limit sign a few feet behind the car and popped open the trunk. Rummaging around, he dug out the tire iron, a basic tool kit, some flares, and a first aid kit. The kits went into one of the large saddlebags he’d found in the tack room, and he slid the tire iron into the saddle bag on the right side of the mare. It would be within easy reach if he needed it.
Hunter had lashed the tent behind his saddle with extra straps he’d found in the tack room. In addition to the straps, he’d found two long lead lines for the horses’ halters and hoped he’d be able to stake the animals out at night. He tied his sleeping bag and an extra tarp he’d found lying in the hayloft behind the saddle he’d put on Red, his name for the chestnut horse. The second horse and saddle would be nice to have on the island if he could transport the animals out to it somehow. Maybe he could teach Trent and Piper how to ride. With some careful planning, he was able to fit everything onto the two horses.
With the bow tied on top of the tent, the quiver tied onto the side of his saddle, and a baseball cap shading his face, he was ready to leave. Hunter shoved the keys in his pocket, not really sure why he even bothered because he doubted he’d ever see his car again, but on the outside hope that things weren’t really as bad as he thought they were, maybe he and his dad could return to pick up his car.
Taking Red’s lead rope, and wrapping it around his hand, he mounted the mare, took a last look at his car, and then urged his mount forward.
Chapter Eighteen
“Dad, can’t I just take it out a little ways?” Trent stood on the pier holding a fishing rod and tackle box. “Please…? I helped plant the garden all day yesterday, and today, I,” he motioned to the fish cleaning shed that Cole had just left, “even scrubbed out the fish shed. It was beyond disgusting.” He made a face.
“Kid’s got a point. He’s been working hard.” Cole nodded. “You’ve done a great job, Trent.”
Trent beamed.
Sean sighed and looked at Cole. “Do you mind?”
Cole held his brother’s gaze. “First of all, from here on out, everything here belongs to all of us. You don’t need to ask permission for you or your family to use anything here so if you’re okay with him out in the boat, it’s fine with me.” He turned his attention to his nephew. “However, unfortunately, you need to stay close to the island, Trent. Gas is precious now.”
“I know, Uncle Cole. I will. I just want to fish a little. Relax. ”
It sounded tempting to Cole as well, but there was still so much work to do. One of their biggest chores over the next several months would be to chop enough wood to last the winter. Cole thought about taking the pontoon and seeing if he could find any abandoned houses along the coast that had wood stacked in their yards but he wasn’t sure if it would be worth the gas without concrete knowledge of where the wood piles were located. But Trent was just a fourteen-year old kid. He’d worked as hard as the rest of them without complaint. He deserved some time to have fun.
“Let me show you how to work the engine.” Cole started down the pier, but Trent scrambled into the boat and said, “I already know how. My friend, Scott, has a boat just like this and his parents let us take it out on the lake all the time.”
Cole looked back at Sean, who confirmed, “They do.” Then Sean pointed at Trent. “You got a life jacket in there?”
Trent glanced around and spotted the jacket Cole had left in it earlier. He held it up. “Right here, Dad.”
* * *
Hunger finally forced Elly to leave the hotel. For the last few days, she had rationed her food in the hope that things would get better. Despite her education and experience, she had thought that somehow the government would come through. At the very least, the National Guard would have shown up to help clear the streets and enforce the curfew, but nobody ever came.
Before the power went out, the internet and television had shown the virus active across the world. Some places weren’t as hard hit, but those places were remote. As she had broken out the window to ventilate the room the day before, she had stared at the hundreds of buildings in sight. Her location was anything but remote.
Since she was on the eighteenth floor, there was a good breeze, and she was high enough that the stench of decaying bodies on the street was diluted by lake breezes, but at night, the sounds from street level terrified her. The yowling of cats, snarling of dogs, and incessant squeaking of what she guessed were rats, filled the night as they feasted on the bodies below. During the day, the constant sound of birds reminded her of the old Hitchcock movie. Worried they would fly into her room, she had tacked the shower curtain over the window. It was loose enough to let in air but would deter most birds. Fortunately, most were only interested in the banquet lying on the pavement.
She stripped the bed, rolling the bedding up and securing it with belts from the guest robes in the room. She considered leaving her computer, but if she made it to Cole’s and he had electricity, all of her notes and data about the disease was on the hard drive. If nothing else, she wanted to transcribe it onto paper for future historians. It sounded like a silly reason to lug the computer, but when she thought of all the prior scientists who had created notes of deadly diseases like the plague and cholera, she knew she had to try. Maybe in a thousand years, they would help someone figure out what had happened here.
She ditched her makeup, kept her sunscreen, and left the paperbacks she’d brought along to read on the plane. Her expensive heels were tossed aside. She kept her ‘clean’ shoes but packed them in her bag. On her way out, when she was in her gear, she’d slip on the dirty shoes in the hallway.
Elly surveyed the items of clothing lying on the bed. She hadn’t expected to be in Chicago for more than three days, so had packed lightly. Thankfully, she had tossed in a pair of jeans to wear on the flight for comfort. It was a compromise between the sweatpants she wanted to wear and the dress slacks she should wear. She changed into them. It would be easier to wear the jeans instead of toting their weight around in a bag, and tucked the sweats she’d been wearing the last few days into her suitcase.
The case had a retractable handle and rolled, but she didn’t know how long the wheels would last on the pavement. They were meant for smooth tile inside of airports, not miles of rough streets and sidewalks.
With her jeans and a t-shirt on, she made her way down to the first floor, the bedroll strapped to the handle of the case and a pillowcase, fashioned into a bag. She had taken the cords from the drapes and cut slits around the open end of two pillow cases and threaded the belt through them. The double thickness added strength to the bag. She added a few towels from the room and her plastic bottles of water to the bag. She only had two full bottles left.
Settling her mask over her face, she opened the door. The halls were dark and abandoned. She located the stairs and headed for them. She paused before pushing the bar to open the heavy door. What if there were dead bodies on the stairs? She looked back at her hotel room door, tempted to return, but she had no choice, she had to leave or die of thirst.
Bracing herself for whatever she would find, she entered the stairwell. The steps were clear and she lifted the case down, worried that thumping it against every stair would break the wheels off, but by the tenth floor, her arms were burning. She stopped to rest. Breathing through the heavy mask was difficult when she was exerting herself. She leaned against the wall and fought the urge to raise the mask. The moment she thought of lifting it, she was hit with the urge to take a drink of water, but not only did she have to cons
erve it, but she also didn't want to risk lifting the mask even for that brief moment it would take for her to take a drink.
Her goal was to reach some area of the city that wasn’t littered with dead bodies. All the streets could be as bad as this one. Pushing away from the wall, she continued her journey, finding only one body in the stairwell, slumped into the corner of a landing, and she was able to avoid it easily.
Finally, after only one more rest on the fifth floor landing, she made it to the first floor. There was a door right there to the outside, and she started to open it, but something blocked her from pushing it open more than a few inches. She tried to peek around the edge but recoiled when she saw a part of a bare foot lying on the ground. It looked like some animal had gotten to the body. Gagging, Elly stumbled back and found the door to the first floor hallway. She opened it, thankful that whatever automatic locks would normally prevent the door from opening, must have been deactivated when the power went out.
The stench in the hallway slammed into her and made her remember an old trick she should have done before she’d left her room. A little smear of toothpaste inside of the mask would have cut most of the odor, and she’d have just smelled spearmint. More bodies in varying states of decomposition were strewn down the dark hallway, and she grimaced at the dark stains on the carpet beneath the bodies. Some of it was no doubt blood but some also much of it was various other body fluids. Trying not to look directly at the victims, she picked her way to the front lobby with the same care she’d use if she were crossing a minefield.
Sympatico Syndrome (Book 1): Infection (A Pandemic Survival Novel) Page 14