Times What They Are

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Times What They Are Page 24

by D. L. Barnhart


  As he progressed with the concrete, he carefully left snaked airways on the bottom edge. Those would be needed if he had guessed wrong in his design of the external air inlets for the fireplace. If there was not sufficient draft, the room would fill with smoke, or possibly he thought, burn all the oxygen in the sealed room.

  Ray used what remained of the concrete to smooth the floor.

  “I was thinking stucco for the walls,” Caitlin said. “And maybe you could pick up carpeting next time you’re in town.”

  “Sure thing.”

  * * *

  “We need to talk.” Caitlin opened the door and stepped out. Ray followed down the trail to the edge of the meadow. She turned to face him. “We haven’t near enough food. I’ve measured the portions.”

  Ray nodded. His plan had been to come alone, and he had provisioned for it. The quantities needed for three had outstripped his ability to buy it. He intended to hunt, but the need for winter shelter had taken precedent.

  “I’ve been behind since we started. We talked in Iowa it was late to get set for winter.”

  “You warned me. I know that. And we’ve been better fed than if we’d stayed.”

  “But you’re starting to like the security of the food kitchen.”

  “I’m just worried.”

  “You probably should be, a little. We’ve been relying on what we can buy. That gets to be less and less and so does our money. That leaves hunting and stealing. I’d like to teach Brittany to hunt.”

  “Why her?”

  “Because if I break a leg, one of you will have to do it. She likes guns.”

  * * *

  Ray and Brittany set out before dawn under a waxing gibbous moon. They wore winter jackets and gloves and moved briskly northwest. Ray carried the .308 Remington for himself, and for Brittany, a .22 target pistol he had taken from their attackers.

  They crossed the ridge and descended the heavily forested slope, snow tucked in the deep shade. A creek led to a small pond and they set up in brush a hundred yards east. Ray was after deer and he hoped one was thirsty. Two hours passed. No deer. Brittany, bundled for a Midwest blizzard, fell asleep leaning against him.

  The sun rose. The wind abated. Ray stuck his gloves in a coat pocket.

  “The deer are still sleeping,” Brittany said.

  “Whatever they’re doing, they’re not doing it here,” Ray replied. “We can take a walk and maybe scout something for another time.”

  They roamed the valley and stopped at the larger pond a mile southwest. Tracks of several animals were visible on muddy trails. Ray figured one set for a deer, the others a mystery to him. He had a lot to learn in his new life. He pulled trail mix from a pocket and snacked. He thought of the dead men he’d taken it from—hikers turned bandits. A combination he wouldn’t have thought fit for a comedy sketch a year ago.

  Brittany tired on the upslope. She hadn’t acclimated to the altitude as well as he had—too much sitting over the past month compared to his constant work. Ray had thought hunting would be good for her. She had no friends or toys, just a few books, and him and her mother. He lifted her to his shoulders and carried her to the top.

  Approaching the meadow, a rabbit crouched at the edge of the trail, twenty feet ahead. Ray withdrew the .22, and handed it to Brittany. She flicked off the safety and carefully lined up the sights for a two handed shot. She hesitated for what seemed too long, then pulled the trigger. The rabbit jumped a foot and fell dead. Brittany reset the safety.

  “You did good.” Ray squeezed her shoulders then stepped to the rabbit. “Now watch how to prepare it.” He withdrew his knife, removed the rabbit’s innards, skinned it, and dropped it in a pouch tied to his belt.

  “Next one’s yours, okay?” He wiped the knife with dried grass.

  “Will we ever go home?” Brittany asked.

  Her voice startled him, she’d said so little the entire day. “I don’t know. Not soon. Do you want to?”

  “I miss school, the other kids, a computer that works.”

  “School’s cancelled back home. My friend told me when I called from town.”

  “There’s not much to do here. Mom won’t even let me go for a walk by myself.”

  “I don’t want to scare you. I think we’re safe here, but other men might be around. Some of them could be dangerous. We have to be very careful.”

  “You go where you want.”

  “More like where I have to. And I carry a gun. You can come with me whenever you like. I can use company, too.”

  “If I take a gun, can I go out by myself?” She held the .22 in both hands.

  “I think it’ll be okay to be in the meadow without one. I’ll talk with your mother.”

  They spotted another rabbit as they walked. Ray shot it with the pistol. Brittany dressed it without fuss, following his instructions. When he looked up, Caitlin stood on the path by the shelter, drawn out by the shooting.

  Ray cooked rabbit stew, the first fresh meat in a month.

  “Think there’s enough of these to get through winter?” Caitlin asked.

  “Probably thousands. Coaxing them from their holes might be the hard part, once the snow comes. There’s plenty of deer, too.”

  “Are they hiding?” Brittany asked.

  “They make themselves scarce most of the day. But they’re out there. We just have to be patient, and hope they don’t all move to lower elevations.”

  Ray and Brittany went out early each morning. Brittany brought back a rabbit a day. Ray shot his first mule deer a week later at the second pond. He rigged a travois to haul the 150 pound dressed carcass two miles home. He hung it near the truck in a crude log shed meant to keep out predators.

  Chapter 60

  Hy-Vee closed and Wal-Mart and Target and Casey’s. Huge signs in front said “No Food Inside.” That didn’t stop looters. The farmer’s markets vanished. Small restaurants, away from the city, were the last to give in. There was food in farm country, but it was no longer for sale. Barter and connections prevailed. Private security protected what hog pens, cattle, and horses remained.

  Karla figured she’d been lucky, surviving two firefights. Many of the men nearby had been killed—their crops and animals stolen despite their efforts. The dead littered fields. Anyone who could do so, fled, either to government shelters or to family and communal groups. There was no other protection.

  Once the corn was down, the organized thieves left her alone. Men on foot still came—twice in pairs and another man alone. They probed the house and outbuildings. She shot a man prying the door on the barn. She shot two more when they ignored her warnings and fired at her with handguns. These were no longer humans. They were armed rats come to her door. She had to exterminate the vermin before they multiplied and overwhelmed her. She dragged more bodies to the road.

  November. The first extended cold spell saw violence decline. Government shelters filled, and once admitted, residents could not return if they left. Those remaining outside were on their own.

  Karla had added to her stores, putting away hundreds of quarts of tomatoes, corn, beans, and peas. Bushels of squash and potatoes. She had a freezer full of meat and three hundred pounds of corn meal—as well as the six thousand bushels in the corn crib, if it came to it.

  She had no plans to live on the floor of a gymnasium. Still, she worried she was no better off. She never left the farm. She watched the cameras constantly, always on alert for the next scavenger. She slept not nearly enough.

  The electricity at the farm went off November 14. Karla drained the water pipes from the upper floors. She and Jessie stayed full time in the cellar. The temperature dropped as the house above cooled. Karla ran the generator sparingly. The fuel had to last till spring. After that, she didn’t know.

  She watched television on what had become a community service station. The city said three quarters of the population lived in the shelters. The numbers were expected to grow as those
outside exhausted their food supplies.

  The emergency services director said the city had ample food and medical supplies, but space was tight. She advised people sheltering at home that the police force was fully deployed protecting the one hundred and eight official shelters. Police, fire, and ambulance service would be unavailable to the city at large. Snowplows would clear only roads necessary to support the shelters and emergency services. And, neighborhoods declared deserted would have power and water cut.

  Karla wondered how many of those outside the shelters had supplies and how many had their eyes on hers.

  Chapter 61

  Ray made his fourth trip to Alamosa with Brittany, taking advantage of a thaw. He doubted another opportunity would be possible before spring. No store had food. The egg sign was gone when they passed. The library was closed. So were schools. Even the motel with the pay phone was shuttered. Smoke curled from chimneys, no one walked the streets.

  He searched for a means to the internet and failed. No more emails to Jessie. From a home supply store with a broken door, he collected building materials, a second chainsaw, and two cycle oil. Then quickly gathered throw rugs and a grate for the fireplace.

  They returned to the mountains the same day, battling their way up the paths in the dark. The next morning in blowing snow, Ray moved logs and blocked trails. Closed for the winter.

  Chapter 62

  Delores Hart—January Reports

  From Homeland Security: Flu-like epidemic in Virginia refugee camp. Ninety-six thousand dead. People fleeing. Reports of similar outbreaks in Europe and Asia. CDC reports no effective vaccine available.

  From Defense: Border with Mexico cleared of enemy combatants—one hundred mile no man’s zone created. Security at refugee camps increased. Quarantine zones established. Summary executions of violators approved.

  From Treasury: December tax receipts at 8% of prior year. New currency generally rejected. All non-military payments halted.

  Chapter 63

  Karla opened the door. Under the full moon, patches of snow glistened in the bare field. A strong wind out of the northwest swayed a blue spruce. It was 2:14 am. February 22. The temperature was three degrees. She had been several days preparing. Now, it was time to go.

  Karla had picked her departure day carefully. The roads had melted so she could make good time. It was so cold, no one with any sense would be out. She had sufficient fuel squirreled away and figured to be halfway to Colorado when the sun came up.

  She backed the loaded truck from the garage and locked up, for what good it would do once she’d gone. As she secured the gate and drove away, she thought maybe someday to come back. There remained inside more food and fuel than she could pack in the truck.

  She reached the interstate and glanced at Jessie, now ten, bundled in the passenger seat holding the Mini-14. There were two more rifles in the cab, and she and Jessie each had a handgun. Karla didn’t know what to expect. She hadn’t been ten miles from home in six months.

  News from beyond the city had become increasingly rare and ominous. A bad flu season, globally. Literally millions sickened in the refugee camps. No counts provided on deaths. Disagreements over the strains responsible.

  The flu spread west. Most blamed it on refugees. A shelter in Cedar Rapids was quarantined in January, a second two days later—the disease’s spread a mystery. Then TV went blank. A few days later, she lost the internet connection. That had been the final push. Whatever was happening couldn’t be good, and it would likely find its way to her door if she stayed.

  The truck felt comfortable at ninety. Karla set the cruise. Miles and miles with no traffic. Then, lights appeared ahead—traffic in her direction. She drew closer: two semis and three SUVs travelling together. Karla slowed and dropped in behind them, allowing a comfortable buffer.

  She had intended to turn south at Des Moines, but when the convoy continued west on I-80, she followed. The northern route wasn’t any longer and she felt safer with company. They drove a steady eighty, and they didn’t stop once in Iowa.

  A light snow began before dawn. The convoy didn’t slow. It rolled through Omaha, and the snow became heavier. By Lincoln, two inches lay on the pavement. Soon after, the trucks stopped in the road.

  Karla backed away. Men piled from the vehicles, glanced her way, then relieved themselves.

  “Guess this is the rest stop,” Karla said. “Only chance for a while.” She and Jessie stepped behind the truck.

  Back in the cab, Karla and Jessie ate cornbread while the men shuffled back and forth. They put chains on the semis and Karla guessed they knew the weather was worse ahead. She followed their lead and mounted hers, glad she had brought them. While she was stopped, she emptied two jugs of gas into the tank. She had seven containers left.

  The convoy rolled on and the snow increased—a full blizzard at Grand Island and five inches on the ground. They slowed to thirty. Drifts crossed the road, in places a foot deep. The trucks crashed through and Karla slipped along in their wake.

  North Platte. Wind buffeted the truck. The snow depths became difficult to guess—six inches one place, eighteen another. The lead semi swayed, then left the road, stuck. All vehicles stopped.

  The men attempted to pull the truck out with the other one. It moved but couldn’t regain the roadway. Two men set to work with shovels. Another two pulled down a fence and gathered wooden posts.

  Karla saw hours to get the truck out. She moved slowly closer. The four men working outside didn’t carry rifles, though they were undoubtedly armed. She couldn’t tell about the six men she believed remained inside the five vehicles. She moved into the untraveled left lane as she approached the rear vehicle. The driver’s window rolled down. A lone man, thirties with a small beard sat in the car, his hands on the steering wheel.

  Karla stopped, six feet between the vehicles, and put down Jessie’s window. “Where are you headed?” She yelled over the gusting wind.

  “Casper,” he shouted back. “Looking to tag along?”

  Karla shook her head. “New Mexico.”

  “Heavy snow all the way to Denver. You better find some place to lay up.”

  “Yeah, right.” Karla waved at the nothingness surrounding them.

  “You can stick with us till it clears.”

  A man stepped from the driver’s side of the lead SUV. Karla put up the window and eased forward. The man moved toward her and held up a hand. She tried to accelerate and felt the chains slip. They bit into the pavement as the man touched Jessie’s door, and the truck lurched ahead.

  In the mirror, the two men conversed. Then the SUV pulled into her tracks. She picked up speed, leveling off at thirty. The SUV followed, then disappeared in the blowing snow. Without chains, she thought there was little chance it would catch her. What she wondered was why they tried.

  * * *

  Karla soon realized she had liked following the convoy much better than she liked leading it. In front, she knew where it was, could see what the men were up to. Behind, it was an unseen menace, waiting for her to lose traction.

  The trucks had made driving easier, too. Their tracks eased the way along, especially through the drifts. She had encountered a few snow drifts in her life but never under these conditions. The first large one, eighteen inches deep and thirty feet across stopped her. She rocked the truck free and backed a quarter of a mile. On the second attempt, she broke through.

  Karla pressed on, worried the men were now gaining. She took a breath at I-76 and turned southwest toward Denver. The man had said they were headed for Casper, Wyoming. If that was true, they would continue west on I-80. She hoped it was so.

  * * *

  The first sign read: “Welcome to Colorful Colorado.” The second: “Road Closed Ahead. Use I-80.” Karla slowed, but continued on, in no hurry to return to I-80 if she didn’t have to. More signs: “Turn Around Here” An arrow pointed at a crossover to the eastbound lanes; “No Thru Traffic”
and “Have Your Travel Documents Ready.”

  Jersey barriers blocked all lanes and had been positioned beside the road as well, blocking access to a frontage road. No one seemed to be manning the checkpoint in the blizzard, but there was no way through. Karla turned back toward I-80.

  A bulldozed berm blocked access to side roads all the way to the state line. Karla entered Nebraska and scanned for an opening. Beyond an overpass, she saw a cleared field and turned in, pushing through a snow fence. She powered across the uneven ground and spun her way up a shallow angled embankment to the road.

  One direction paralleled the interstate toward Colorado. The other crossed the highway heading east. She figured the frontage road would be blocked and chose east. The road quickly turned south, and a couple turns later, she was back in Colorado alongside the interstate. Just west of the blockade, the barriers stopped and she cut through another field and rejoined the highway, on the eastbound side for two miles before she was able to cross to the proper lanes.

  The snow let up a little as they moved west. Karla calculated the distance remaining. She guessed eight hours to the mountain trails Ray had described. She would not make it in the straight run she had planned. Karla also noticed uneasily that every exit from the interstate was blocked. The barriers were not manned and some could be gotten around, but the message was clear enough.

  Snow drifts remained abundant. She kept her speed up and crashed through several, then hit one that again stopped the truck. She punched through in two passes, getting the hang of them. Still, they slowed travel.

 

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