by JK Franks
There was no way the Council knew in advance that the solar flare would be this bad, but they had been ready nevertheless. Things had moved like clockwork since that day, at least the parts of the plan she had been read in on. Ms. Levy and the Council had contingency protocols for everything. They were a precision instrument it seemed. Like a metronome, nothing interrupted its rhythm. She brushed more of the flakes of chipped nail enamel from her charcoal black designer dress.
One of the pilots opened the cockpit door to the private jet. “Secretary Chambers?”
Her thoughts disturbed, she stopped fixating on her fingers and slid the envelope back into her bag. “Yes, Donald?”
“We’ll be landing in fifteen minutes, just wanted to make sure everything was secure.” He took the crystal highball glass from her outstretched hand and offered her the dangling seatbelt with the other.
She watched as he retreated and left her again alone with her thoughts. This will likely be the last flight on this tiny jet or with these pilots, she thought. The next “event” would see to that.
30
Steve saw JD scurrying along a narrow path just below the water’s surface. The old mill dam seemed to be made of rock or maybe cement. The top had been worn nearly smooth after decades of water spilling over its brow. Now it was a path to the shore for the two of them. He had no idea where Gerald was, or even if he was still alive, but he had to try and find him. God, the river was so wide here. Thankfully the current was not strong enough to push them over. An occasional glance down at the riverbed below sent shudders through him.
JD stopped and yelled back, “We can get down on that.”
“That” was a fallen pine tree hanging precariously from the lip of the dam to the rocks and water below. The blackened tree was bare of needles and slick with moisture. The skeleton of wood had obviously hung up there for a long time. “It doesn’t look safe,” but the boy was already using one of the limbs to transition over. The tree was much closer than the distant shore they had been running toward, but using it as a ladder down . . .
“Hurry up! We have to get to him!” JD yelled up from halfway down. He had never seen the kid so animated or focused. The top of the tree was moving around as JD climbed, so Steve steadied it and decided to wait until JD was off before attempting his own descent. He couldn’t believe they had been on the river such a short time before this happened. He was so unprepared for the dangers of this world.
Gingerly, he climbed down the tree and stepped over to the closest outcropping of rocks. He caught sight of JD already approaching the remnants of the raft. Steve dreaded what they might find; may not be best to let JD be the one to discover it, but—it was what it was. He sloshed through the pools of water and over the gray rocks to get to the mangle of drums and pallets.
“He’s over here!” JD was pulling on a hand. Nothing else of their friend could be seen underneath the pile of debris. Steve started digging, pulling loose boards, ropes and drums away.
“Can you feel a pulse?”
JD looked up. “I don’t know. Just wet and cold.”
That didn’t sound good to Steve as he doubled down on his efforts to free his friend. Finally, he could see much of Gerald’s body. He wasn’t on the bottom of the heap so possibly had not been beaten against the rocks. As he touched an exposed leg, he heard a moan. “Hey, old man, you still in there?” There was no response.
JD climbed up and helped remove the last few items. One of the drums of supplies went rollingoff and down into the river. Steve glanced at it as it picked up speed floating downstream, but knew there was nothing he could do about it. As they uncovered Gerald’s upper body and head they saw the blood.
Gerald was still unconscious and shivering. They had made him comfortable, retrieved his bedroll to keep him warm and treated his head wound. The nasty gash ran from his forehead to back above his left ear. It still wept drops of blood, but the flow was lessening. Steve was unsure if that was good news or bad. If his blood pressure was dropping, it would bleed less, too, he thought.
“Is he going to be okay?” JD asked. The deep concern evident in the boy’s voice. This man—this stranger—was the closest thing to family he had right now.
Steve shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ve done all we can for him out here.” The sounds of the falling water and constant mist provided a surreal backdrop for the disaster. Last month they could have waited for river rescue. An ambulance or EMTs would have been waiting onshore to start treating the patient. He thought he had seen a hospital back near the shore of the little town they had just floated past. Gerald could have been in a room receiving medical care within minutes. Now that hospital was abandoned; the signs of the fire visible from each window as they passed. No fire or rescue would be coming. It was up to them.
“That cut looks deep, and he may have a concussion,” Steve said.
“Is that bad?”
“It can be . . . I think. I’m not really sure. I mean, I know it’s not good, but I guess there are varying degrees of one. All are bad, but some are probably worse.”
JD kept the makeshift bandage pressed against the wound. “So, what else can we do?”
Steve tried to think, but most of his medical knowledge revolved around his son’s condition, not first aid. “I remember hearing that you shouldn’t let someone with a concussion go to sleep.” They both looked at Gerald’s still unconscious face. He had resisted all attempts at awakening. “Guess we failed on that one. Probably just an old wives’ tale anyway.” He had checked the man’s body for other injuries and saw none. Nothing obvious at least. Numerous other cuts, scrapes and bruises. He had no idea how they might recognize internal injuries.
They sat there trying to revive him, giving up eventually and just trying to make him comfortable. “JD, I think we are doing all we can for him. Keep him as warm as we can, apply pressure to the wound until the bleeding stops and wait.” He leaned up, looked again at the broken wreck of the raft. “Hey—if you are ok for a few minutes with him, I’m going to see if I can find any of our missing supplies. A few of the drums floated off; they may still be close enough to find.”
“You aren’t leaving us, are you?” The boy asked, worry noticeable in his voice.
Steve gave a practiced smile meant to offer reassurance, but JD was not one of his customers wondering if this was indeed a good deal on a new car. The smile disappeared. “I’m not. I am going to take these two drums and use them to swim down to the next bend. If I see our stuff, I’ll go after it. If not, then I will be right back. The water looks shallow, and the current isn’t very strong here, so it should be easy. You should be able to see me most of the time. JD, we need those supplies, I have to try before they get away.”
He tied the two drums together with a small piece of broken pallet between and floated it out into the main body of water. It was only up to his thighs, so he walked it as far as he could. He told JD to yell if he needed him but realized he’d never hear him over the sound of the waterfall. The river ahead seemed to fork into several narrower channels. A large island with a small hill was in the middle. As he got closer, the water began to deepen, so he pushed himself up on the platform and began to kick with his feet. As the depth increased, the meager current slowed even more.
He chose the right side of the island and searched the overgrown banks for any signs of the supply drums. The island was several hundred yards long, and he had made it nearly to the end when he spotted something blue bobbing beneath a grove of overhanging limbs. Maneuvering his makeshift raft was hit or miss, but eventually, he got close enough to see it was indeed one of their drums. He pulled it free only to realize it was one of the empty ones, only useful for flotation. He tied it off to his raft and continued to circumnavigate the island.
Things kept bumping into his submerged body. The dark muddy water was hard to see through, but he didn’t really want to know what it was. They had seen hundreds of turtles all at least the size of a football with point
ed, beak shaped mouths. Several huge catfish as long as his leg had also been spotted as they floated downriver. Gerald had mentioned that they should try and catch some to eat. Steve was just hoping they didn’t eat him.
Paddling back upstream was more difficult than he expected, but not impossible. He could see the dam in the distance and knew the spot in the white mist where his friends were. It got closer each time he looked up, so he concentrated on searching for more supply drums. Something on the island caught his attention. He paddled nearer to that side to get a closer look. What first appeared to be a small bit of clothing morphed into a tarp as he got closer. Hidden on this far side of the tiny island was a campsite with a ramshackle looking fishing cabin. He paddled up parallel with it and saw no sign it was occupied. No smoke from a campfire, no noise, no signs of cleaned fish. He checked his movement down-current by holding onto a limb as he scrutinized the scene intently.
After ten minutes, he was convinced it was unoccupied. Someone had set this up out of sight of anyone. This was probably state-owned land, so no permits would have been issued for its construction. He decided to go and take a look.
31
It took several hours for them to move Gerald to the island and into the cabin. “He looks kinda blue,” JD stated.
Indeed, his color wasn’t good. He hadn’t regained consciousness all day. Other than a few moans when they moved him, he hadn’t made a sound. “I think we need a fire. We have to warm him up.” A fire was risky, smoke could be seen and smelled, but he felt they were not likely to be easily detected out here. JD gathered dry wood from the abundant deadfall of trees and began piling it near the cabin.
Steve had rewrapped Gerald’s head wound with a fresh bandage and now covered the older man with his blanket. The day had been warm, but a slight early autumn chill hung in the evening air. He tossed JD the lighter, and the boy soon had coaxed a nice fire in a shallow pit. “Don’t make it too large. We don’t need a lot and don’t want it to be seen.” JD nodded silently.
They had warmed some cans of soup and sat listening to the various sounds of the river. “He saved our lives, didn’t he?”
Steve had been so lost in his own thoughts, the boy’s words barely registered. “Huh? Oh yeah, he did. I suppose he did . . . again. He’s a good man, JD. We are lucky we found him.”
“I think he found us,” the boy said. “Why would he bother? I mean he could have gone on alone, and he would probably have been home already. Why, why did he do this?”
It was a good question; one Steve thought he understood but had wondered on it as well. “I don’t know.” He knew Gerald’s reasons for sticking with JD, but the man’s determination and commitment to him and the boy went beyond even that. “Something in him that is different than most people, I guess. I suppose it could be just what he said, strength in numbers and all, but I believe it’s more than that. This isn’t even the best route to get to his place—I think he wanted to make sure I could get home first.”
“He did,” JD agreed. “He told me that when you were out with that headache. That we should try to get you back to your family.”
“My family?”
“Yeah, he said you needed us.”
“JD, what about your family? Aren’t you ready to get back to them?”
In the fading light, Steve could just make out the boy’s shoulders shrug. “I’d like to get home I guess, but . . . ”
The silence grew. “But you aren’t sure what you will find there?”
JD remained silent, images of finding his grandmother still fresh in his mind. He felt the sting of tears as his eyes began watering.
Steve placed a hand on the boy’s knee. “I do understand. I have the same fears about mine. Are they ok? Will they still be there? We know how tough it is right now, but at least our families were at home. They are probably doing fine and more worried about us. I’m sure yours is, at least.”
JD nodded noncommittally. He poked at the fire. “Steve, do you think your family is? Ok, I mean. So, you think they are ok?”
Steve leaned back and stared out at the silhouettes of treetops swaying in the gentle breeze before answering. “My son, Trey, is autistic. He has . . . he can be quite challenging. Trey won’t understand any of this. All he will know is his games don’t work, and his shows won’t come on. He needs a lot of stimuli, otherwise, he gets very agitated. My wife doesn’t deal so well with him when he is like that. She gets impatient and upset herself, which doesn’t help keep Trey calm at all.” He leaned back against the rough lumber siding the cabin. “I think things may have gone very badly there already, JD.”
“Wow . . . sorry, man,” JD said in a near whisper.
Steve had no idea why he had been so honest with the kid, sharing fears and shadows of ideas that he refused to even let himself consider until now. He looked at JD and marveled at how composed the young man was. How adaptable he was.
“I get in trouble a lot at school.”
The boy’s sudden confession surprised him. Then he realized he was probably just attempting to empathize with his son’s condition. “Oh? Why is that?”
“I dunno, just get bored and would rather be doing something else.”
“Lots of us do that. I get bored in business meetings and let my attention drift every day.”
“But, you are the boss. . . . You can get away with it.”
It was Steve’s turn to shrug. “True, but it’s not smart to do it.”
JD looked deeper into the glowing embers. “I wish school had taught us more about this stuff, life . . . how to survive. Things that I could use now.”
“Very true,” Steve agreed. “That would have indeed been helpful. I suppose they were training us to survive in the world we had . . . not in this one. Now we get to learn ‘on the job’ as they say.” He leaned forward. “JD, let me just say this. I have only known you for a few days, but I believe you’re very well equipped for this world. Even if things don’t get back to normal, you will be fine. You’re smart, quick thinking and you pay attention. Maybe school wasn’t your thing, but survival . . . well, that seems to be. If I was a betting man, my money would be on you.”
JD nodded. The sounds of the night were interrupted by the sound of Gerald retching from inside the cabin.
Gerald was in and out of consciousness all night. When he was awake, he was nauseated—vomiting on himself several times before either of the others could get to him. Steve felt helpless as he watched his friend resting fitfully. He recalled again the old wives’ tale of not letting someone with a concussion sleep. He still couldn’t recall any reason why, and it was not like they had much of a choice. The fall had knocked the man unconscious. Rest was about the only treatment they could provide. He had managed to get Gerald to drink some water when he woke before. Just enough to rinse his mouth, but maybe it would help.
He and JD took turns keeping watch through the night. They banked the fire, and the residual heat kept the small cabin comfortably warm. Steve was unsure what to do next. Who knew how long Gerald would be out of commission. Will he even recover? Questions and uncertainty stormed through his head. A whippoorwill began to croon somewhere down the river. Focus on what you can control, not what you can’t.
They would likely be here a few days. What did that mean? Well, they would need to make it a real camp. They had lost half of their supplies, so they needed to forage and maybe fish. Keep what food they had as a reserve. He had seen lots of the big turtles. Maybe they were edible. Lots of water obviously, but it would need to be boiled and filtered. They needed medical supplies, bandages and probably antibiotics. Gerald was now running a low fever. Perhaps the burned-out hospital he saw would have something useful. He thought on all of this for several more hours, and by the time he woke JD for his shift, he had a plan. First some rest, but come daylight, the rat would need to come alive again.
32
Gerald regained consciousness the next morning but seemed confused. Steve thought the fever was wor
se, too. The older man remembered none of the accident but was eating a little and drinking some of the sports drink. JD had found an old fishing line in the river. Something Gerald had called a trot line. It had hooks dangling from lead lines every few feet. JD was scouring the island looking for something to use for bait. Steve remembered something a friend had told him once: “The catfish will eat nearly anything, don’t be too picky.”
JD was also going to keep a check on Gerald while Steve crossed over to the far bank and went ashore looking for supplies. He took only his knife, small pack, one of the pistols and just enough food for a single meal. Gerald tried to talk him out of it but didn’t have the energy to really argue. As soon as JD had secured the now baited trot line, Steve grabbed one of his barrel floats, carried it to the tip of the island and jumped into the river.
The river carried him several hundred yards downstream before he reached the shore. He climbed out of the water and up the small bank, then used an attached rope to pull the drum back up near the old mill dam. There was a sandy beach area he hadn’t noticed before, and he tied the drum off to some trees on the near side. He started to cross the sand, then noticed the animal tracks. Deer, birds and what he thought might be raccoon tracks crisscrossed the light brown sand. His tracks would stand out as well. Instead, he walked along the river edge until the sand gave way to more grasses and rocks. Think like a rat. Focus!
He guessed the old hospital was back upstream about a mile, but the overgrowth on the river’s edge was too thick to penetrate, so he veered away from the Chattahoochee hoping he would find a road or other development. The remnants of the mill were beside the river just ahead, the red brick being slowly overtaken by kudzu vines. He had no idea what kind of mill it would have been. What were the crops and industry around here back then . . . cotton, maybe?