by JK Franks
Working his way through the dense undergrowth in the wooded hillside, he struggled to get a closer look. Soon he noticed the sound of an approaching vehicle. Steve watched as a familiar-looking white bus lumbered up the opposite ramp, and brakes squealed as it rolled to a stop by the tent. The bus had a small insignia, which he couldn’t make out from this distance, but guessed it was the same as he had seen earlier.
People began to queue up as the uniformed men instructed. He noticed that they were searching each person, often removing an object from pockets or even full backpacks and bags. Guess they don’t want any weapons being aboard. Some of the passengers resisted the search. Those were roughly removed from the line, searched more thoroughly by multiple troops, then marched onto the bus. What the hell is this? he wondered. Are they taking them to safety? A refugee camp maybe? If so, why did it also remind him of a prison transport? Maybe his mugger did know what he was talking about.
Part of him still wanted to run down and line up. This was the first somewhat hopeful official response he had seen so far. At the very least, he should be able to get information, but he stayed put. The sight troubled him, and it just wasn’t the earlier warning from the mugger. Be the rat—he would hide and watch.
Once it filled, the bus pulled away. Most of the line had made it on, but a few at the end were turned away. Those individuals stood awkwardly for a few seconds before wandering away to find some shade to sit and wait. It took Steve a few minutes to register that the pile of belongings was still there. He had assumed those would be loaded into the luggage compartments, but no. The soldiers began tossing the pile of bags into a large pile of trash off in the weeds. He had noticed the trash pile earlier, but thought nothing of it; now he was shocked to see what it consisted of.
He suddenly felt the weight of the pack on his own back. Not just the physical weight, but the mental and emotional value. It held all he had—his life was in these tools and supplies. He had been willing to fight and possibly die protecting it. His aching ribs reminded him of the value it held. The people getting on that bus no doubt felt similarly, yet all of it was removed from them and discarded like trash. A simmering rage was building deep within. Indeed, something was very wrong with what was going on.
17
JD watched as the man who called himself Gerald silently moved through the trees at a low crouch. They were still close to the interstate and the soldiers, but he had decided to trust the man. . . for now. The truth was, the uniformed men scared him more than the man did. He wasn’t sure why, just the almost mechanical way they were treating the other stranded travelers, maybe. No talking, very little interaction. They knew they were in control, and that was something that just bugged him. Some of his teachers did that, and he never liked it. The ones that showed him kindness or treated him like a person were the ones he would listen to and learn from. The ones like these guys, he just wanted to ignore or piss off more than anything.
Gerald waved to him to get his attention, then motioned for him to come his way quietly. He put a finger to his lips and used his palms to signal. Slow and quiet, JD thought. He still was not sure why they were hanging around but figured the man had a plan. Sounds from the encampment began to change. It seemed the troops might be getting ready to leave. Glancing through the tangle of vines and small trees, he could see them loading crates back into trucks. Man, I would have liked to get another of those burgers before we left. As he joined Gerald, the man smiled and nodded.
“Looks like they are moving on,” he said softly. “Guess they cleared the section of road.”
JD nodded. “So, what are we doing?”
“Waiting.”
The soldiers and cops were loaded and gone in less than an hour. Virtually no sign they had even been there remained. Gerald and JD stayed concealed but began moving toward the far side of where the troops had been. The large pile of trash loomed in front. Not trash, JD remembered. The stuff the soldiers had taken off the people getting on the bus. Lots of garbage bags, but also backpacks, suitcases, grocery store sacks. It looked like trash, but even at his young age, he knew there could be valuable supplies inside. Gerald put a restraining hand in front of his chest. Looking up at the man, he saw him shaking his head.
“We’re not alone,” he mouthed silently.
Following Gerald’s gaze, JD saw a man emerge from the woods on the far side and cautiously make his way to the pile. He was moving oddly, kind of like he was injured or something. The man’s eyes darted around furtively. Gerald’s hands pushed against his chest, guiding him back a little deeper into the shadows of the trees.
“Stay here, JD. If anything happens, get away from here.”
He nodded and watched as Gerald silently moved out into the open on the opposite side of the pile from the man. JD’s knees were shaking, but he didn’t know why.
The man stopped his digging through the piles when he heard Gerald approach. “Hey, friend, don’t be alarmed. I think we both had the same idea.” Gerald was holding his hands up slightly in a non-threatening manner.
The other man didn’t speak but went for something in his bag. “Whoa, whoa now,” Gerald said with a laugh. “Don’t get excited, plenty here to share.” They were only about ten feet apart. Gerald was still very casual and speaking in an almost jovial manner. The other man now held a large knife and kept looking off to each side as if expecting attackers other than just Gerald. “Tell you what friend, why don’t you search this side, and I’ll stay on the other? How does that sound?”
JD watched as the other man seemed unsure, then made a lunging move toward Gerald who just calmly stepped aside. He never even lowered his upraised hands. “Mister, I gotta say you don’t seem to be too trusting. Are we really going to have to fight over a pile of trash?”
“It’s mine,” the other man snarled. “Get the fuck away.”
“So, you’re taking all of this?” Gerald waved one of his raised palms to gesture at the pile. “Where is your truck, do you have a trailer? I’m a little confused.”
“It’s mine,” was the only response.
JD watched from his place of concealment as the drama unfolded. He couldn’t understand why the other man wanted to fight so badly, or even more odd, why was Gerald apparently so unconcerned.
The man made another attack on Gerald who simply faked a block with his hands then kicked out at the side of the man’s knee. A snapping sound was followed by the man’s howls of pain. Gerald still had both hands raised in contrition.
“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to hurt you, you just surprised me.”
“You ruined my fucking knee man!” he yelled. “Oh my God, it hurts. Shit!”
“Yeah, pretty sure you broke it. Listen, can I put my hands down now?”
The man, who was now lying in the grass writhing in agony, just looked up with at him in rage.
Gerald lowered his hands as he kicked the large butcher's knife away from the man. “I would have shared,” he said quietly. “Come on out, JD. This man is not going to be a problem.”
JD had been amazed at how smoothly his new friend had moved, how easily he had taken down the armed attacker, but now he was focused on something else . . . someone else. A dirty bearded face peered out of the trees thirty feet away.
18
JD moved out of the shadows up near Gerald who was binding the fallen man’s hands and inserting a gag to stop the screams. “We’re still not alone,” JD whispered as he picked up a bag and began going through it.
“I know . . . the man in the trees. Saw him earlier, don’t think he is with this clown.” He touched a foot to the man at his feet. Looking up, Gerald raised his voice, “You can come on out. We mean you no harm and are willing to share whatever we find. Unlike this piece of shit.” He nudged the man’s ruined knee with his shoe. A muffled yelp was the immediate response. “Come on out now—you're making us nervous.”
Slowly the undergrowth began to shake as a man stumbled out of the shadows. He was holding his si
de and dragging a walking stick and old backpack behind him. His other arm was upraised as to show he was unarmed. Gerald looked the man over. “Name’s Gerald. My friend here is JD. I’m not too sure this guy has a name, but we can call him . . . retard.”
The stranger flinched, and his nervous eyes darted between the bound man on the ground and Gerald. “I’m. . . I’m St..Steve,” he said with a nervous stutter.
The pile of discards yielded nearly nothing to the group. Gerald had not asked many questions, for which Steve was grateful. It was pretty obvious that Gerald was looking for something specific. He simply said, “Help yourself,” and waved to the stack.
“Not much of anything good,” the boy said.
Gerald leaned up and wiped sweat from his brow. “Most people didn’t pack for the end of the world, kid. Even those of us who probably knew better didn’t normally carry around much in the way of survival gear.”
JD grimaced but nodded. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense, but why would they carry all this stuff for miles? Laptops, tools, radios and all these clothes.”
“People have a hard time separating the essential from the valued. What was important to them yesterday can't be worthless trash today. They just can’t wrap their heads around that—their attachment to stuff just won’t stop. What did you say about radios? Show me what you found.”
Steve watched as Gerald seemed excited about what the boy was holding. Something made Steve think this man had a plan or knew more than he let on. “Hey, Gerald, what’s so important about a radio?”
The man just smiled as he opened the battery compartment on the small handheld. “You have any idea what happened? To the electricity, the cars?”
Steve’s nodded. “Yeah, I think I know. I don’t understand it but some kind of solar flare. A crazy huge solar storm or something. I really don’t know why that caused the blackout, much less the cars and electronics to stop working.”
Gerald nodded. “That’s pretty much it, best I can tell. An EMP or CME was what I was guessing. Both of those should be relatively limited in scope, but it appears whatever happened . . . this event is everywhere. At least …everywhere that concerns us,” he said with a sigh. Gerald held up the radio smiling. “With this, maybe we can find who is still broadcasting. These radios are great, not like a big rig, but they can reach pretty far. Hopefully, we can get some decent information and find out how far this shit goes.”
“Hmmm, well, I can tell you it goes pretty far.” Steve watched as Gerald stopped what he was doing and looked up questioningly.
“How’s that?”
“Just, I was in Charlotte when all this started. It was at least that far. I also heard a radio broadcast that next night from out west, Texas maybe, said the same kind of stuff happened there.”
“Wait . . . you made it from Charlotte to here in—what’s it been?—ten days?”
Steve nodded. “Yeah, sounds right. I made it halfway the first night. Since then I have barely made it forty miles.”
“Still man, that’s a solid effort. Headed home I guess? Where’s that?”
“Ugh, south another two hundred miles. Near Albany.” Steve wasn’t sure why he was sharing this much with the man, but Gerald had seemed to be nothing but helpful so far.
“South? Seems like all of us are heading down a similar route. JD is wanting to get to Jax and see if his family is ok. I got some property down in Crisp County. Think it will be a good place to hunker down. Steve, JD and I haven't really discussed it, but might be a good idea for us to travel together. I mean, everyone is on their own, but strength in numbers and all. Just throwing it out there if you want. Feel free to check us out for a day or two first—wouldn’t blame ya for that.”
The offer caught Steve by surprise. While a few other strangers had shown him kindness, it was getting to be unexpected in this new world. His aching ribs reminded him to stay wary, but also being with others could be safer. “Um, thanks, Gerald . . . and JD. I’d like a bit of time to decide but wouldn’t mind hanging with you tonight at least.”
Gerald nodded as JD let out a whoop. JD’s hand emerged from a massive purse with a box of cookies. He set that aside and also pulled out a nickel-plated revolver. “Careful there, JD. You know how to handle a pistol?”
“My friend’s dad showed me how to shoot, but not one like this. His was more square with a thing that slides back.”
“Ok, well, set it aside and I’ll go over it with you later. Just the basics and how to handle it safely. Check to see if she had any extra rounds for it.”
“Rounds?” JD said questioningly.
“Ammo . . . extra bullets.”
Steve whispered to get Gerald’s attention. “You think that’s a good idea? He’s just a kid.”
“What do you want me to do? Go take it away from him? Personally, I think we should all be armed. I am hoping we find several more of those in this pile. That ‘kid’ has as much a right to defend himself as any of us. More, really—he can’t compete physically with a grown man. He needs a weapon. Even if this scrawny shit snuck up on him, JD would need help.”
Steve nodded in growing comprehension. Gerald was in good shape, not just for his age, either. Steve had seen what he had done to the other man. He had no doubts the older man could also take him should he want. It then dawned on him that the ‘scrawny shit’ sitting bound below Gerald looked a lot like the same asshole that robbed him earlier. He was pretty sad looking. Now he felt more embarrassed he had let the man rob him. His stolen shopping bag would have to be out in the woods nearby. He made a mental note to find it before dark.
Gerald interrupted his thoughts, “So, why didn’t you come down and get on the bus, Steve?”
It took a minute for him to shape his thoughts into words. “I’m not entirely sure. It just felt wrong . . . just wrong in every way possible. The buses were also heading north; I need to go south.”
“Oh, you’ll see some going south, too. I haven’t figured out how far apart the camps are, but it seems like we must be one of the last collection points for this one. The buses came from the south but only had a few people on them when they stopped here.”
“Who are they, what agency, and why are they moving people into camps?” Steve asked.
Gerald was shaking his head. “Not sure the agency even matters—probably all fall under Homeland Security now. Could be DHS, FEMA, TSA or something completely different. Never seen troops in those gray uniforms, but the point obviously isn’t to help the people—more likely just to clear the roads.”
“You state that as fact more than feeling. Do you know something about all this?”
“I am retired from public service, gave my country thirty years. I heard stories, contingency plans and such. It was enough to scare me into finding a little place off the grid and stock it full of supplies . . . just in case. I also passed one of those camps, up near the city. Damn lights lit up the sky for miles. Lights, mind you, when everything else is black. The thing was massive, and they had huge trucks spooling rolls of heavy duty fencing out across huge fields. No buildings, no tents even. That’s where the white buses stop. It reminded me of descriptions I’ve read of North Korean political prison camps. You know the ones where they don’t just put the prisoner, but his entire family, even grandparents and babies? I don’t know what they are going to do with them, but I do know they don’t have the logistical ability to feed or care for them for more than a few days. It will be a death camp.”
19
The two men sat in the darkness, their individual memories of the past days flowing and ebbing like giant rivers. JD had sacked out earlier, and his soft snores could be heard above the insects’ sounds in the night. Steve again thought back to “normal”—the mundane issues he had dealt with every day and how silly it all seemed now. The piles of discarded bags like so many cast off souls. The final remnants of a being’s existence. If what Gerald had said was true, there was no returning from those bus rides. What had become of his country,
his home?
As if reading his mind, Gerald set down a small notebook he had been writing in and asked, “Steve, what are you going home to? I mean, I get why you are going home. Just wondering if it is the right move for you.”
It was a question Steve had asked himself over and over for days, but he was not ready to express those doubts to anyone else. “What do you mean? It’s home. My family is there.”
Gerald’s voice came back slowly, “Do you have any proof they are there? Are you going to be any real use to them when you arrive? Not like you are pulling in with a truckload of supplies. You will just be another mouth to feed. At the rate you are going, it will be a few more weeks before you even get there. Do you think the stores will have anything left? Your neighbors? Your church? Anyone down there friendly enough to take food out of their family’s mouthes to feed you?”
Steve was getting angry. “What the fuck, man? I can’t leave them there on their own. I’m not totally useless, I’ve been a good provider—I’ll . . . I’ll find a way.”
He saw the silhouette of Gerald’s hands raised in the air. “Sorry, friend, just asking the tough questions. I’m sure you’ve thought of it already. Point is—the window is closing. That’s all I am saying. Right now, you can still find supplies to scavenge. Honestly, plenty of food around if you look hard. Might be best to find an empty house far enough out to not be an easy target and load up everything you can find. Might could even start a late garden. Get a place on a lake or river so you could fish and have clean water. Hell, a few well-fed chickens can keep a man alive for a long time. I’m just saying—your family has been on their own for a while now. Don’t you think they may have gone somewhere else for help? If not already, how will they hold out for the next few weeks waiting for you?”