by Ray Gorham
Jennifer’s breath stuck in her throat. She mumbled a “thanks” and tried not to give any reaction beyond a brief, forced smile, wishing she’d kept the conversation from taking a personal turn. After a long pause, she changed the subject. “So, how are things going on the security front? Have you found anyone to help you with that yet?”
“That’s going fine,” he answered. “Not a lot happening with it really. One of my neighbors gave me a bike, so now I can get around a bit more, but it’s uncomfortable and making me sore, if you know what I mean. Once I get used to it, it will be good transportation.”
“That was nice of them. I’m sure it will make things easier.”
“Yeah, I suppose so, at least until winter. Then I’ll really be wishing my patrol car worked.”
“Hard to believe how much we relied on our cars, isn’t it? I feel totally helpless without mine. If anything happened to the kids, I couldn’t rush them to the doctor, and I can’t run to the store, or go see my friends. You can’t do anything except on foot or bike anymore, or a horse if you have one. It’s been a tough adjustment.”
“There’s that one truck that I told you about that belongs to Jacob. He would probably give you a ride in an emergency, but I don’t know where you’d go. On the radio the other day, the president said that a few hospitals still had some services, but who knows where they’re at or what’s there. Did you talk to Jacob about helping you find some food?”
“I did, on Monday. David managed to get some gas out of our car and we took that over. Jacob came back with some stuff that evening. I have to say, I feel bad about just taking things out of trucks. It doesn’t seem right.”
“I know what you mean. Usually I’d arrest people for doing that, not suggesting it in the first place,” Doug said, chuckling softly. “Times are pretty desperate though, and all that food will just spoil if it sits there. I don’t know what else can be done.”
“I thought about writing down what we get and from where, so somehow we can make it up, but I don’t know how that would ever work.”
“Honestly, Jennifer, I wouldn’t worry about it. People are just trying to survive. I bet there’ve even been shootings for food, especially in the cities, and the situation is probably going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”
“I hope it doesn’t, but I do worry about my kids. Did you have any success hunting the other day?”
“No, we saw a couple of deer a long way off, but it’s still warm, and they haven’t come down very far. Another month or so and we should start to see them. We were just scoping out areas as much as anything.”
“Well, I’m sure that will be helpful. It would be good to have some meat again.” Jennifer looked up and saw her street. “It looks like I’m about home. I can walk from here.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Doug. “I’m the security guy. I’ll just make an early patrol of the area.”
Jennifer offered a lukewarm smile and resigned herself to his continued companionship.
Doug motioned to a brown two-story home on the other side of the street. “Have you noticed anyone at that house? I’ve stopped by a few times but haven’t found anyone there.”
“I haven’t seen anyone. Why?”
“Well, the other day when I was on patrol, I was thinking about these three houses where it’s obvious people have lived in them, but no one is around now, and I bet there’s food inside, if someone hasn’t already stolen it. I figured I should wait awhile to see if the owners show up, but there’s no sense in people starving if we have some food this close. I think maybe this week I’ll try and get inside.”
“You’re probably right,” Jennifer mused, “but this seems kind of weird. Now I’m talking with the sheriff about breaking into my neighbor’s home.”
Doug laughed. “Think of it as survival. If they’re not going to use it, we should.”
As they approached Jennifer’s house, Doug reached out and took her hand, which she yanked away reflexively.
“Hey, easy, Jennifer. I’m not trying to hurt you,” Doug said while reaching for her again. “I just wanted to tell you how much I like you, and I thought maybe we could be there for each other, you know. We have no idea how things are going to turn out. It would be good to have someone to be with and talk to, someone who’s looking out for you.”
Jennifer shook her head and took a step back. “Doug, I’m sorry, but the last thing on my mind right now is finding someone. I’ve got myself and my three kids to worry about, and I’m married, in case you’d forgotten. No offense, but romance isn’t on my to-do list.”
“Look, Jenn, I know you’re married, and if your husband comes back, fine, I understand. But if he doesn’t, or until he does, we can be there for each other.”
“Doug,” Jennifer said, searching for the right words, “I know the world’s changed, and I think you’re trying to be nice. So in a way, I’m flattered, but…,” she stammered, “but no. No! We can’t ‘be there for each other.’ I’m sure you can find someone else, if that’s what you need, but I’m not the one. Please understand. Okay? I need to go.” She turned abruptly and hurried to her house.
Doug stood in the driveway with his hands on his hips, watching her walk away. “I’ll see you at the next meeting, Jenn,” he called out as she disappeared into her house.
CHAPTER 16
Wednesday, September 14th
Northern Texas
The sun was low in the western sky as Kyle pulled his cart to the side of the road. He was two days removed from Lubbock and healing little by little, but still carried many painful reminders of the city’s unofficial “welcoming committee”. The warm, clear evening showed no sign of rain, so Kyle left his tent in the cart, found a soft spot of ground, and unrolled his sleeping bag. With some light still left in the day, Kyle pulled out the notebook Elijah had given him and began to write.
Day 12
This book is the property of Kyle Tait. If it comes into your possession, I ask that you please send it to my wife and children who live at 324 Deer Falls Trail, in Deer Creek, MT. Their names are Jennifer, David, Emma, and Spencer. This is a record of my attempt to return home after the EMP attack of Sept. 2nd.
Jennifer, if this notebook gets delivered to you, it more than likely means that I’ve failed in my efforts to return home. Please know I tried. If nothing else, this notebook gives me a chance to say goodbye, and let you know that being with the four of you was more important to me than life itself.
It has been 12 days since the attack, and by various means, I have managed to travel from Houston to a point just south of Dimmit, TX. Without a calendar or a watch, the days just blend together (which isn’t all bad, because now I don’t have to dread Monday mornings, though in a way, every day seems like a Monday). I’ve reverted to my caveman heritage and have simply started counting days since the attack, instead of trying to figure out dates, as that seems to be the easiest way for me to keep track of time. With next to no transportation available, I have resorted to walking but am fortunate enough to have a small cart, which I use to haul my supplies. If things go as planned, I expect it will take me between 70 and 80 days, putting me in Deer Creek towards the end of November.
Jennifer, how do I write something that you will probably only read if I’m dead? I want you to know that I love you. Looking back, I’m sure I never told you enough, and as I think about the possibility that I might never see you again, it completely rips my heart out. I know I took you for granted and never really took the time to think about what you meant to me. Thank you for being my wife, my love, my friend, my support, my partner. I want to see you so badly, to hold you in my arms, to kiss your face, and simply hold your hand. The thought of not being with you is almost unbearable. I know there’s a good chance I won’t make it, and if I don’t, please move on with your life and find someone else who will love you and make you happy.
David, you’re a son any father would be proud to have. I probably wasn’t as patient with you
as I should have been, but I was a rookie dad, and I hope you know that your father loved you. I’m not sure under what circumstances you might see this notebook, or how old you’ll be, but please promise me you’ll live a good life and not let circumstances make you bitter. Take care of your mother, and be there for your sister and brother. They’ll need you. The world will need good people for leaders. Be one. Things may never be like they were before, but take on your challenges, stand up for your family, and make me a proud father.
Emma, you’ve always been my beautiful and sweet princess, just like your mother. I’ve missed your hugs and smiles; my days haven’t been nearly as bright without them. Your heart has always been especially tender, and I worry about you every day. Please don’t let the way things are keep you from living a happy life. I’ve realized in the past few days that we don’t need much to be happy, just good people to be with. Please know that I loved you more than you can understand. Keep smiling, and save some hugs for your dad.
Spencer, it breaks my heart to think I might not get to see you grow up and become the man I hope you’ll be. You probably won’t remember me, but know that your dad loved you enough to try to walk across the country to be with you. We named you after my father, your grandfather. He was a good man. Do his name proud. You’re smart and determined, full of energy and innocence. Do good things with your life. One way or another, I’ll be there to watch you grow up, if not as your father, then as your guardian angel. Help take care of your mother. She’ll need you to be strong.
My trip has been and will likely continue to be more difficult than I expected. People are scared, supplies are scarce, and it’s a long ways to walk, but I think I can do it.
I love you all.
The light was nearly gone when Kyle put his notebook away and lay down for the night. He felt a small weight lift from his shoulders, knowing that if he didn’t make it home there was a chance his family would know some of what happened to him and how he felt about them. He closed his eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep.
Saturday, September 17th
Northern Texas
Kyle set his cart down in the shade of a semi-truck emblazoned with the powder blue logo of Werner Enterprises. It was sometime in the early afternoon, and a light breeze blew but did nothing more than circulate the hot, stale air. During the month he’d been in Texas, he’d grown more accustomed to the heat and humidity, but still longed for the cool, dry air of Montana.
He pulled out a jug of water and took a long drink, then rolled out his sleeping bag on the ground for a pad, hoping to get a few minutes of rest in the shade of the truck. With a rolled-up pair of dirty jeans for a pillow, Kyle closed his eyes and was just drifting off when he heard a strange noise. In his semi-conscious state, he dismissed the unfamiliar sound, until he heard it a second time. The third time he heard the noise, his eyes popped open. Propping himself up on an elbow, he strained to listen and finally heard a soft moan coming from somewhere close by. Kyle rose to his knees and looked around, trying to spot the source of the moan, sure that it wasn’t coming from any of the animals he had become familiar with over the past two weeks.
Kyle put his hands to his mouth and yelled, then heard the sound again, this time louder. He jumped to his feet and scanned the surrounding area more thoroughly. As he looked around, he thought to himself how everything he loved about Montana, this area of Texas lacked. Instead of mountains, trees, rivers, and lakes, it was flat, barren and had just two dominant features: scrub brush and brown dirt. As far as the eye could see, scraggly, waist-high scrub brush dotted an ocean of brown dirt, and he had grown sick of it. When the wind blew, it got in his eyes, his ears, and his nose, and he seemed to taste it all of the time. Even in his dreams he saw and tasted the same never-ending, brown dirt.
Puzzled by the strange noise, Kyle continued to scan the area, but could see nothing that would account for it. Then he heard the sound again. He walked to the edge of the road and noticed a dry wash, thirty feet from where he stood, that connected to a culvert running under the road. He ran to it, knelt down on a knee, and peered inside.
Not a dozen feet from where Kyle knelt was a tiny, frail, old lady, staring back at him from the shelter of the culvert. She lay on her left side with her back against the side, as if she had been sitting with her back against the culvert and someone had simply pushed her over. She looked at Kyle and smiled weakly, her white teeth a stark contrast from the dirt that covered her face. “Can you help me?” she whispered through cracked lips, barely able to form the words.
Kyle knelt in front of the tunnel, stunned by his discovery. He scrambled forward into the cool shade and put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you hurt?” he asked, leaning his face in close to her ear.
“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I’m not hurt.” She paused, then struggled to speak again. “I’m thirsty…and hungry.” She swallowed with great effort. “I don’t think I’m going to make it much longer.” She reached out, put her hand on Kyle’s arm, and looked intently into his eyes. “Did you come to save me?” she asked.
“Let me get you some water.” Kyle crawled out of the culvert and ran back to his cart. He grabbed his last jug of water and returned to the tunnel where he set the jug down before helping the woman into a sitting position. Bracing her upright with his shoulder, Kyle lifted the jug, held it to her lips, and slowly poured the water into her mouth.
She drank in deliberate, careful swallows. Some of the water spilled down her cheeks and onto her blouse, leaving muddy brown spots. Kyle assumed the blouse had originally been white or beige, but it was now nearly as brown as the dirt that surrounded them.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling her head away. “I’ve been so thirsty.”
Kyle nodded and offered her the water again. She took another long drink, then held up her hand, and Kyle set the jug on the ground beside her. “Wait here,” he said without thinking. “I’ll be right back.”
Kyle ran to his cart, and then quickly returned to the culvert again with a handful of food that he dropped onto the ground beside the woman. “What would you like?” he asked.
She scanned the items and motioned to a package of donuts. Kyle tore the package open and fed the donuts to her. When they were gone, she ate a package of Twinkies, followed by a chocolate bar.
The woman ate slowly and said little. Finally, after about a half an hour of eating and drinking, she rested, her arms hanging limply by her side.
“Can I get you anything else?” Kyle asked.
She shook her head. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Kyle, “ he responded. “Who are you?”
“Louise Kennedy.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know,” she answered after some thought. She spoke slowly and formed each word carefully, as if she had just awakened from a deep sleep. “My car quit. That was more than a week ago.”
“Why didn’t you go somewhere for help?”
“I was afraid. I thought that someone would come to help, but no one did.” Her voice trailed off as a tear slowly ran down her cheek, turning to mud before it reached her chin. Louise reached feebly for Kyle’s hand. “By the time I decided that I should go, I was already out of food.”
“How long has it been since you ate?” he asked, patting her hand.
“I’m not sure -- four, maybe five days.” Her voice was tired and lifeless. “I was going to see my grandkids and had some treats for them. I didn’t want to eat them, but I was so hungry.”
Kyle patted Louise’s hand. “Did you have water?”
“I had a little with me, and there’s a truck that I’ve been getting some from. When the driver left it, he told me that I could help myself. He tried to get me to go with him. I think he thought I was crazy when I wouldn’t, but it’s too far for me to walk. I guess I should have tried, but I didn’t know I would be here so long.”
“Don’t feel bad. It’s hard to know what’s best right now.
I don’t think anyone knows how to act.” Kyle let go of her hand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said and shuffled out of the dark tunnel, the sunlight blinding him as his eyes once again adjusted to the bright afternoon sunlight. He scanned the road and saw the truck Louise had mentioned, a red, Coke delivery truck about a half-mile to the North. There was a faint path worn in the dirt leading from the culvert to where the truck had stopped.
Kyle walked back to his cart, his mind wrestling with the situation he was in. He was anxious to get moving and wanted to make good time, at least as good as he could in the condition he was in. Winter could hit Montana at any time in the fall. There might even be snow in the mountains already, for all he knew. Under normal circumstances he would’ve simply made a phone call and waited for an ambulance. Hell, under normal circumstances he’d be in Montana and Louise would be back home. What if he hadn’t stopped to rest where he did? What if he’d noticed the Coke truck further down the road and simply continued on to that point? Then he’d know nothing about Louise and wouldn’t be faced with this dilemma. He wondered how many other stranded people he had unknowingly passed.
None of those “what ifs” mattered now. He had stopped where he had, and her life was in his hands. It would be easy to load up his cart and go. There would be no way for her to stop him. Could anyone blame him for leaving her, as old and feeble as she was? His food and water were limited, and his body was sore from walking and pulling, let alone the bruises and cuts that were still healing. Would she even be able to walk if he took her with him? She was weak and no doubt slow. How far would his obligation run? Where would he take her, and who would take her in? Were there even any shelters operating?
His other option was to leave her. In a day or two, the heat and hunger would get her, if the animals didn’t first. There would be no real consequences for him if he left. Other than Louise, no one would know he’d been there. If he did leave, it would likely be years, if ever, before anyone discovered what happened to the old woman. There were probably thousands of people like her who had or would die on the side of the road, most probably younger than she was. No, he decided, he wouldn’t really be guilty of any crime if he were to leave Louise behind. The only thing he’d have to deal with would be his conscience.