Mackenzie nodded in agreement and broke off a piece of pop-tart before putting it in her mouth.
“I’ve been thinking about a few things that I think that we should do right away. But with my knee bunged up, I’m going to need your help,” Patrick told her.
“What’s that?” Mackenzie asked apprehensively. After the Bronco incident last night, Patrick understood why she would be cautious.
“Well, first off my knee could use some ice and ibuprofen,” he told her. “Can you see if there is any ice left in the freezer before it all melts? Maybe put some in a plastic baggy or towel or something, and then see if you can raid their medicine cabinet?”
“Sure,” Mackenzie answered. “Can I finish my pop-tart first?”
“Yeah,” Patrick said growly as he put his arm around her, gave her a squeeze, and kissed the top of her head. “While you’re walking around, keep an eye out for a land-line phone or anything else we can try to communicate with.”
“There’s a phone upstairs, but it doesn’t work. I tried it last night and there is no dial tone or anything on it,” Mackenzie told him.
“Try it again this morning to make sure would you?” Patrick asked.
“Yeah,” Mackenzie said as she continued to slowly eat the pop-tart.
“After you get all of that done, can you look around for some vehicles? I thought that I saw a big garage outside down by the creek last night,” Patrick told her.
“I thought you said that pulse thingy would have fried everything?” Mackenzie asked him.
“Well, it probably did. But if there’s a chance that I’m wrong and we can drive off the mountain instead of walk, then I’m all for it,” Patrick answered.
“K – want the rest?” Mackenzie offered her dad the last large corner of her pop tart. He thought about telling her to finish it, but his empty stomach got the better of him and he took it from her.
Mackenzie had good luck with the ice and the medicine, but not as good luck with the phone or the vehicles. She did find some keys to a motorcycle, jeep, and motor home; but none of them would start. She did find some dry cereal in the cupboard that they both ate handfuls of while sitting on the couch.
By late morning, the ibuprofen and ice had brought the swelling and pain down enough that Patrick thought he might be able to hobble some more on his leg. He put his splint back on after making a few improvements to it and walked around the cabin to test it out. He checked the phone again even though Mackenzie said that she just had, and it was just as dead as she said that it was.
Patrick also looked around for any firearms in the cabin, but he couldn’t find any. He thought that was odd, but then surmised that they may have been locked up or hidden some place. Instead he found a bone handled chef’s knife in the kitchen that he commandeered. As he was trying to figure out a good way to carry the knife without causing himself harm, Mackenzie came down from the upstairs again.
“Dad, I have an idea,” she said.
“What’s that Mak? You about ready to head out?” Patrick asked.
“What if we took that motorcycle in the garage and coasted down the mountain on it?” she asked.
Patrick stopped what he was doing and pushed his lips out into a duck-face as he was thinking about what she just said. “You mean just ride with it in neutral or with the clutch in?” Patrick clarified.
“Yeah,” Mackenzie said. “And hopefully it’s light enough that I could push it up the driveway, or some hills if we have to.”
“How big is it?” Patrick asked.
“I don’t know,” Mackenzie said. “It’s one of those Harley bikes. It’s kind of big.”
After a couple more seconds of thinking about it, Patrick said “I think that’s an awesome idea Darlin’! It’s definitely worth a try. Did you find keys to it?”
“Yeah, they were in it,” she replied. She was grinning ear to ear. It wasn’t often, or maybe ever, that she felt that she had an idea worthy of an ‘awesome’ from her dad.
“Great! Why don’t you find a piece of paper and a pen to write whoever owns this place a note? Tell them that we’re sorry about breaking in and eating their food, but that we hope they understand. Give them our name and phone number and tell them that we’re good for whatever expenses they feel are appropriate.”
“Give them the phone number to the phone that you threw into the woods last night?” Mackenzie asked.
“Funny. Okay, maybe put our address in it instead,” Patrick said. “I’ll meet you in the garage.”
Patrick hobbled out to the garage with his splint attached. He was a little disappointed when he saw the bike that Mackenzie was talking about. He didn’t know all the different Harley Davidson models by heart, but the dark blue tank had the words “Fat Boy” scripted in red on both sides. He doubted if Mackenzie could keep the thing from falling over let alone push it up the driveway.
Patrick figured out which chain hanging from the huge garage door opened it just as Mackenzie joined him in the large garage.
“The bike’s a little big,” Patrick told her as she came in.
“Yeah, but it’s cool!” she said. Patrick just shook his head.
“Okay, well why don’t you wheel the cool bike on out of here and I’ll shut the door,” Patrick responded.
Mackenzie turned the keys in the bike’s ignition, righted it, and pushed the kickstand up with her foot. Patrick was impressed with her up to that point. He didn’t think that she’d ever been on a motorcycle before. Then, as she tried to push the bike with it still in gear and he became less impressed. He took a few minutes and showed her where the hand and rear brakes were, how to operate the clutch, and explained the gears so that she could get it in neutral.
Then she was off. It was painful watching his daughter struggle with the weight of the bike on the level garage floor. The more that he watched without being able to help, the more frustrated that he became and the more he became disenchanted with the idea. She was making slow progress, but it was taking forever.
Just as she got the front tire to the open garage door, Patrick said “It was a good idea Darlin’, but I think that the bike may be just a little too big to pull this off.”
Mackenzie looked up at him as she was bent over the tank pushing for all she was worth. She had started to sweat, and the hair right around her face was visibly wet. “I can do it Dad,” she said. Just as the words left her mouth, the bike tipped to her left. It began to fall in what seemed like slow motion. Mackenzie repositioned herself to try and keep it from falling and to make sure she was out of the way if it did, but it fell anyways.
Patrick felt the frustration grow to a point of anger as he looked down at the bike. It went over easy, but the spill still probably cost hundreds of dollars’ worth of damage. Mackenzie looked back at him sheepishly and waited for his response.
“Well, do it then,” Patrick snapped at her.
Mackenzie became angry as well. She got on the side of the bike and lifted for all she was worth, but it didn’t seem to budge. She tried again to no avail. Patrick was pleased that she had the ambition to keep at an idea that she thought would work even it initially failed. He limped over to her on his splint and grabbed the handle bars to help her lift the bike on her third attempt. Patrick could put more weight and strain on his good leg than he thought, and was able to assist. The two of them barely got the bike upright again, and Mackenzie immediately slung her leg over it. Patrick found that if he stood on the left side of the bike with his bad leg closest to it, that he could lean on the handle bars and help her push it.
Once the bike was clear of the garage door, Patrick limped back and shut it. “Did you remember to tell them about us taking the motorcycle in the note that you left?” Patrick asked his daughter.
“No,” she said. “But I’m sure that they’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, I think that you’re right,” Patrick said with a grin.
It took them more than a half-hour to get the bike up
to the highway, and both were sweating and winded by the time that they made it. After a brief rest, Patrick took the splint off his leg and gingerly straddled the bike with his injured knee. Mackenzie sat behind him and held the splint off to the side.
It had been many years since Patrick had ridden a motorcycle, and he couldn’t remember ever riding one as nice as that one. He was nervous and hesitant about the ride before he pushed off because of his hurt knee, his daughter being on the back, and just being able to coast. After checking to see if Mackenzie was squared away, he gritted his teeth and pushed off.
The grade of the road was steep enough that it didn’t take long at all to build up speed. Just to try it, Patrick put the bike in third gear and popped the clutch. The bike sputtered and spit several times, but it wouldn’t ever catch fully and run. After a couple of attempts, he put the bike back in neutral and tried to gather speed to get up over a small hill that was coming up.
Surprisingly, they made it up over the hill without having to stop. After that hill was an even steeper grade downhill. This one was full of sharp corners and abandoned vehicles littering the road. Patrick thought that he did well. He braked probably more than he should have and lost some momentum for the next hill, but they were safe.
For the rest of the way down the mountain Patrick screwed up a few times and took some corners faster than he should have, and slowed down more than he should have a few times. But nothing catastrophic happened. The worst that happened was that they had to get off and push the bike up the last little bit up some of the steeper hills. By the time they reached the outskirts of Buffalo, they both were kind of enjoying the ride despite the dire circumstances. The bike was quiet, the weather was warm, and they were both glad that they weren’t walking.
As the bike rolled into town in early afternoon, any pleasant thoughts that they had were quickly dashed. It was evident from the few cars abandoned in the highway and the lack of movement along the streets that the cloud had hit the town as well. Patrick realized that his mouth was agape and quickly closed it as the bike coasted into town.
“All those people…” Mackenzie said.
The momentum of the bike was quickly waning on the flat ground in town. Patrick pulled into the Sherriff station’s parking lot that was on the highway just before the downtown area, and applied the brakes.
“What are we going to do Dad?” Mackenzie asked with trepidation causing her voice to quiver as they glided to a stop.
“I’m not sure,” Patrick said straddling the bike. They both sat there for a minute before Patrick said “Why don’t you stay out here and watch for anybody while I go check on the Sherriff?”
Patrick installed the splint for the umpteenth time and headed into the building. The single-story brick building was quite large for a town the size of Buffalo. The building looked like it had recently been built, and the large white letters on the outside of the building that spelled out “Johnson County Justice Center” looked quite modern.
Patrick knew immediately when he went through the set of large glass doors in the entryway that the Sherriff’s office wasn’t operational. There was an attendant at a large L-shaped desk prominently in the welcome area. He was of slight build and had dirty blonde hair. He was slumped over in the office chair he was sitting in, and his face and shoulders were splayed out on the desk in front of him.
“Hello,” Patrick said from across the room to the body. Part of him had hoped that the young man had just decided to take a catnap while at his post, but he knew better when there was no response.
Patrick limped on his splint into the welcome area and over to the attendant’s desk. “Hello!” he yelled louder to anyone within earshot.
Patrick worked his way around the desk and stood beside the attendant’s lifeless body. There were three different phone handsets on the desk in front of the attendant, several small video screens, and two large PC monitors. There didn’t appear to be power to any of them. Patrick picked up each phone’s headset and clicked the buttons a few times, but none of them had any response.
While the attendant didn’t have a firearm, he saw that the attendant had a cell phone holster on his hip. He reached down and gingerly opened the magnetically held flap of the holster with one hand and grabbed the phone with his thumb and index finger of the other. As he began to pull the phone out, the office chair that supported the attendant’s body began to swivel. Patrick pulled the phone out quickly and tried to stop the chair from spinning around with his other hand, but he was too late. The chair spun under the weight of the young man enough that the body’s posterior slid off the chair to the ground. His upper torso whipped back violently enough to make a sound like an egg being cracked on a counter top when the back of his head hit the tile. Patrick stood there for a moment and absorbed the sight of the young man lying on the floor and tried to determine if he was dreaming about the macabre nightmare that they had been living the last couple of days.
When he shook the surreal thoughts from his mind, Patrick turned his attention back to the cell phone he was holding. He whispered “Come on…” to himself before he pushed the power button. He was disappointed, but not surprised when nothing happened.
There were two large doors on each side of the attendant’s desk. Patrick tried them both, but they were locked. He went back and inspected the attendant’s pockets and belt for any keys that could gain him access, but the locks appeared to be electronic and fail-safed to lock in the event of power loss.
As he was hobbling back to the front glass doors, a large relief map of the area hanging on one of the walls caught his eye. It was a decorative map that must have been at least five feet across and had Wyoming, Idaho, South Dakota, most of Nebraska, and portions of the other surrounding states on it. It was more of a traveler’s map with the major interstates and highways listed. It wasn’t a topographic map with all the lines on it showing elevation, but it was colored and shaded to depict the hills and mountains.
While he normally wouldn’t think of stealing anything under normal circumstances, especially from a sheriff’s office in broad daylight, he felt an insatiable need for that map. The paper map was behind a thick glass frame that was screwed to the mounting plaque behind it with four large diameter screw heads in each corner.
Patrick ventured back to the attendant, steeled his nerves, and then rifled through the pockets of the pants of the body for something to turn the screws on the map frame. Patrick couldn’t help but look at the face of the attendant now that he was in his awkward position on the floor. The attendant had a shaved haircut and a rather large protruding nose. The most disturbing attribute was that the young man’s dry tongue was protruding from his mouth. Not like he was sticking it out to be rude, but as if he had been gagging on something.
Patrick found a set of car keys in the dead man’s pockets and returned to the screws. He could loosen the screws enough to slide the map out from the frame for the most part. A part of North Dakota on the top corner of the map tore as he pulled it out because it was stuck to the glass. Patrick laid the map out on the floor in front of the plaque that had held it and inspected it further. He retraced their trip from their home in Columbus, Nebraska to the Big Horns. He looked at several other routes to see how close the next town was and planned on what their next steps should be. He then carefully folded the pristine map up carefully making crisp folds in it that allowed it to be almost as small as a cheap road map you could buy from a gas station. With the map stowed in his back pocket, he exited the sheriff’s office to see if Mackenzie had any more luck than he had.
Mackenzie was walking back towards the commandeered motorcycle in the parking lot from across the street as her dad exited the sheriff office’s large glass doors.
“Where’ve you been?” Patrick called out to her as he limped towards the motorcycle.
Mackenzie waited until they were closer to each other and then hooked her thumb to point across the street behind her to an older motel.
�
��I just walked across the street to see if I could see anything,” she said. “I kind of wish that I hadn’t.” When she reached the motorcycle she asked “What are we going to do Dad?”
Patrick put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed it. “I don’t really know Darlin’. Let’s walk down town and see if we can find something to eat.”
Chapter 10
Half-way down the short and quaint main street, they had hit the jackpot and found a rather large sports store. The store looked like it had taken over three or four of what used to have been individual businesses and buildings along the historic looking main street, and simply knocked doorways and arches through the walls that had once separated the individual stores. Now each section had something different from clothes, fishing, camping, hunting, to biking and baseball.
They committed more crimes by breaking and entering and eating several helpings of granola and protein bars. Patrick and Mackenzie both were becoming more at ease at taking what they needed due to the circumstances.
There were only a few bodies lying around the store, and luckily they were in the fishing and sporting goods sections that they didn’t plan to go into. Each of them garnered a fresh wardrobe from the available clothes and Patrick grabbed a large duffel bag to put supplies in. They filled it with foods like trail mix and granola bars, but he also grabbed a small camping stove and freeze dried packages. They also each grabbed a sleeping bag and a multi-tool.
The store also had a rather small display of firearms with some pistols in a glass counter and a few rifles and shotguns in a rack behind the counter. Patrick found keys to each on one off one of the bodies in the back of the store. He selected a .44 caliber short barrel revolver from the case.
“Why are you taking that?” Mackenzie asked.
“Just in case,” was all Patrick replied with. He also shopped around the store until he found a holster and ammunition for the pistol.
After their shopping spree at the sports store, they continued to walk down the main street. They came to a large historic hotel that looked like it could have really been something to visit and take the family to under other circumstances. It was a two-story brick building that occupied a whole block across the street from a small open park. The first floor had several doors that opened to the main street from the lobby, a saloon, a restaurant, and what looked like an old-fashioned barber shop.
The Hike (Book 1): Survivors Page 10