“I don’t doubt that at all,” Mitch said. “And you’ll get there later today, if this car keeps running as good as it is now.”
“I hope you’re right about that. Hey, what was it like, walking that far at night? Weren’t you scared?”
“Not really. I figured that was a lot safer than walking out in the open in broad daylight, even if I wasn’t carrying anything that looked valuable. Even before what happened today, I already knew there was no telling what people might do when they got desperate. Besides that, I didn’t want to get hassled by cops or anyone else for carrying the bow. I knew I would need it for hunting, and it was all I had for self-defense until I could get back home. That couple that fed me and gave me supplies agreed that it might be a good idea to get out that first night, if I insisted on going anyway. Most everyone else was scared and hunkered down, not knowing what was happening so soon after the blackout.
“I figured as long as I kept a low profile and kept to myself, I could likely get out of the city unnoticed. I stayed up on the Interstate all the way out of the city, because it’s mostly elevated over some of the rougher neighborhoods it passes through. I made it almost to the Twin Span Bridge by daylight the next morning, then I laid up for the day in the back of a UPS delivery truck, hidden among the packages. It was hot in there by midday, but I still managed to get some sleep. I started out again as soon as it was dark and got across the bridge and through Slidell the second night.
“I saw a few other people moving about at night while I was walking through the urban areas, especially that first night. Some were huddled in groups around their broken down cars, still waiting, still thinking authorities of some kind were going to come along and rescue them. I felt bad for them, but I couldn’t do anything to help, and my responsibility was to get home to look out for my little sister.
“I walked as fast as I could during the nighttime hours with few breaks. I’m guessing I covered about twenty miles per night. It was easier to keep going at night, because it was so much cooler than in the daytime. By the third night, I was in Mississippi and got off the Interstate and onto Highway 11, just like you did, until I came to where the railroad ran beside it, then I walked on the tracks to make it even less likely I’d be seen. I started feeling better once I was out in the country again. I kept going this morning a while after daylight until I found that place back there where I had finally fallen to sleep till your car woke me up.”
“You’ve got to be worn out then if you walked that far last night and have barely had any sleep.”
“I’m okay. I’m used to walking a lot. I’m in the woods just about every day, all over our land and beyond it, too. It joins up to part of Desoto National Forest on one side. I can do all the roaming I want there.”
“I can’t imagine living in a place like that. I would get bored to death, I guess,” April said. “I suppose I’m just a city girl at heart.”
“I freakin’ hate cities, and just about everything about them. Heck, I don’t even like towns. I didn’t want to go to New Orleans in the first place, but my mom’s best friend—her old college roommate—died of cancer and Dad didn’t want her to have to go to the funeral in Denver alone. I figured that as much as going to New Orleans sucks, it would beat sitting in school all day, and besides, dropping them off meant I would get to use Dad’s new truck the whole time they were gone.
“Hey, speaking of New Orleans, is that where you’re from? I know it’s none of my business, but I was just curious about you having a kid and all. I mean, being on your own and all at eighteen.” He sputtered, hoping he hadn’t gone too far and tried to recover a little by saying, “You mentioned your dad. Where do your parents live?”
He glanced at her nervously. Even if she really was eighteen, like she’d said, she most likely had not finished high school before she got pregnant. He wondered if she had run away from home to live with her boyfriend. Maybe her parents didn’t even know where she was? She sat thinking for a second, and just when it seemed like she was about to answer, she suddenly let off the gas and started to slow down, leaning forward over the wheel as if that would help her see better. The rain was heavy now, and the windshield wipers were having a hard time keeping up with it. Mitch turned his eyes back to the road to see what had gotten her attention.
“There’s something going on up ahead, Mitch. It looks like a roadblock!”
FIVE
April slowed down to around ten miles per hour as she strained to see through the rain-smeared windshield. She had noticed a highway sign that indicated they were approaching a crossroads just before she was able to discern that the road ahead was blocked with a line of vehicles turned perpendicular to the lanes. Now that she was closer she could just make out another sign that showed the junction as Highway 26.
“I’m not surprised,” Mitch said. “This little town has always been notorious for roadblocks and cops that like to throw people passing through in jail.”
“I guess we’ll just have to see what they want,” she said nervously.
April fought to keep her panic in control. She felt more and more trapped the closer they got to the roadblock. She had a strong urge to just turn the car around and speed back the other way. But Kimberly was this way. She had to keep going north to Hattiesburg. Nothing else was more important. She stopped the Mustang ten feet away from the line of cars. Two men wearing police-blue ponchos and Western-style cowboy hats with plastic covers on them stepped out from behind the vehicle barricade. Each of them was cradling a long gun across his chest in one arm, while holding up the other hand in an unmistakable gesture that meant “STOP.” April had learned enough about guns from shooting with her dad to know that one of the weapons was a riot shotgun like the kind most police departments owned and the other one was some kind of military short-barreled rifle or submachine gun. She was sure that, like all cops, they probably wore pistols on their belts, too, but she couldn’t see them because of the ponchos. Both men looked serious, and she felt herself getting almost as tense as when the three men from the house approached her.
“Roll the window down,” Mitch said. “They look like local town cops.”
She did as he said, ignoring the rain that splattered on the doorsill and into the car. The one carrying the shotgun walked up to the open window, while the other held his position in front of the car, as if to cover him in case something went wrong. April fought back a panicked thought: What if these officers had somehow found out she had killed a man back there on the road, and that her companion had killed two? Maybe they even thought the two of them had killed the older couple Mitch had seen inside the house?
But then she got a hold of herself. How could they possibly know what had happened back there already? No one was around to see and even if someone did, they would not have been able to call anyone here unless maybe they had a two-way radio of some kind that was somehow still working. It was at least fifteen miles back to the house and no other vehicles had overtaken them on the road, nor had they even seen another running car.
“Well, what have we got here?” the officer asked, as he looked at her through the open window and then bent down to get a better view of Mitch in the passenger seat. “What are you two kids doing out on the road? Do you understand how dangerous it is to be traveling right now? And where did you get a running car, especially a classic Mustang? Did you steal it in New Orleans or somewhere?”
April didn’t know which of this barrage of questions to respond to first. “We’re going to Hattiesburg,” she said, truthfully. “My baby is there, with her grandparents. I haven’t seen her since the power went off. This is my fiancé’s car.”
“Fiancé? That boy there? I don’t think either one of you looks old enough to be engaged, much less have a baby. Where are your parents? Are you running away from home or something because the power is out?”
“No, sir. He’s not my fiancé. This is my friend, Mitch. My fiancé, David, is in Hattiesburg with our little girl, at his parent’
s house. I am old enough. I’m eighteen and my parents are both dead, so I can’t really run away.” She was aware of Mitch’s surprise when she said this, but he kept quiet. The officer seemed completely unconvinced. He stood there, indifferent to the rain that splattered off his hat and poncho, and looked at both of them as if he were trying to decide whether to lock them up or not. Before she could protest, he reached for the door latch and opened the driver’s side door.
“I’m going to have to ask you both to step out of the car, miss. Both of you, keep your hands up where I can see them, and walk around to the back of the car.”
“But it’s pouring!” April said.
“GET OUT! You won’t melt. C’mon move it, I’m not going to ask you again!”
April knew there was no point in arguing with him now. At this last command, the other man, the one with the weapon that looked like a submachine gun, had brought his muzzle to bear in their direction, holding it at the ready with both hands as if he were just waiting for an excuse to use it. April did as she was told, climbing out of the seat. She put her hands up and stepped out into the rain, then moved to the rear of the car at the same time Mitch did.
“Don’t tell them any more than we have to,” Mitch whispered.
“Have you got any weapons in this car? What about dope? I’ll bet I’m going to find something, so you’d better tell me now, because it’ll be a lot worse on you if you say you don’t and I find it anyway.”
“I don’t do drugs!” April said. “And neither does he!”
“We don’t have any guns,” Mitch said. “My bow and arrows are in the car, and I’ve got my hunting knife, but those aren’t weapons.” He kept quiet about April’s knife, knowing she probably still had it in her pocket. “Look, I’m just trying to get back to my folks’ place up in Perry County. I was stuck in New Orleans when the power went off. I walked most of the way until she offered me a ride. She’s telling the truth, she’s just trying to get to her baby in Hattiesburg.”
“I’ll decide what the truth is,” the officer said. “First of all, I want to see some I.D.”
April told him that her driver’s license was in her small purse that she’d shoved under the driver’s seat. Mitch said his was in his wallet, and the man directed him to remove it slowly and hand it over. He left them standing there in the rain and then sat down in the driver’s seat of the car while the other man, who had moved around to the passenger side to keep them in view, covered them with his weapon at point blank range. Standing there in the rain, they were both soaked through in a matter of minutes while the officer inside the car seemed to be in no hurry as he rummaged through the interior. When he finally got back out of the car, he had Mitch’s bow and quiver in one hand, as well as April’s purse and the plastic grocery bag full of the food she’d brought from the apartment.
“I’ve got some questions for both of you,” he said. “Take ’em over there to the store, Ladner,” he said to the other officer. “Get ’em out of the rain. I’m going to check the trunk, and then I’ll be right over there.”
“But we have to go!” April said. “I have to get to Hattiesburg today!”
“You’re not going anywhere until you answer some questions. Now go with him, out of the rain.”
April looked at Mitch and he nodded. They had no choice. They walked the way the officer indicated, while the other followed behind them with his weapon at their backs. They squeezed between the vehicles forming the makeshift roadblock and crossed the intersection to a deserted convenience store on the other side. There was a large metal awning covering the self-service gas pumps, and a long bench probably used in normal times by customers who sat there drinking coffee and exchanging small-town gossip.
The officer ordered them both to have a seat. It was only another minute before the other one joined them, carrying Mitch’s bow and quiver, which he propped against a soda machine beside the bench. April saw that he also had the bucket and the piece of hose Mitch had used to siphon the gas. He set these down on the pavement and held up their driver’s licenses and some folded papers he had stuck in the plastic bag to protect them from the rain. He waved these in their faces as if they were somehow incriminating pieces of evidence.
“Okay, Mr. Mitchell Henley and Miss April Gibbs. I have the registration and insurance papers for one 1969 Ford Mustang right here, and I don’t see either of your names on the paperwork anywhere. It seems this car belongs to a Mr. David Greene, of New Orleans, Louisiana. His address on these documents doesn’t match the one on your license, Miss Gibbs. Now, do you want to tell me again what you are doing trying to drive through my town in Mr. Greene’s car?”
“I told you the truth already,” April said. “David Greene is my fiancé. It is his car. We weren’t living together when I got my license, that’s why the address doesn’t match mine. That’s my old address from when I lived with my mother. He drove my car to Hattiesburg before the blackout to go pick up our baby, Kimberly, but when all the newer cars got shut down by this electric pulse thing, of course he couldn’t get back. That’s why I’m driving the Mustang there, because this is one of the few cars that will run.”
The policeman said nothing. He had taken his plastic-wrapped cowboy hat off now that they were out of the rain, revealing a close-cropped military-style crew cut. The other one he’d called Ladner was still silently pointing his weapon at them. She guessed that the one asking them the questions was in charge; maybe he was even the chief of police. Whoever he was, he was obviously used to wielding his authority, even if his jurisdiction was nothing but a small south Mississippi town of a few thousand people. Before he spoke again, he picked up the bucket and the piece of hose he’d placed in it. “You want to tell me what you were doing with this?” He was looking at both of them when he asked the question.
“Sure,” Mitch said. “I used it to siphon some gas, because when I met her, she had just run out and was stranded and alone in the middle of Highway 11.”
“So, who did you steal the gas from, son? Did you just help yourself from somebody’s car?”
“Just a few gallons, and it was an abandoned vehicle, like the hundreds that are abandoned everywhere. It’s not like you can just buy gas anymore. I only took enough so we could get to my family’s farm up in Perry County. We’ve got gas and diesel up there. I’m going to give her more when we get there, so she can make it the rest of the way to Hattiesburg.”
“Stealing gas is against the law, regardless of the reason, son. I could arrest you both just for that, but I’ve got another question for you.” He set the bucket down and then reached for the quiver of arrows. “I’d like to know what you’ve been shooting with those arrows, son. This is fresh blood.”
He pointed to the matted, bloodstained fletching of the arrow Mitch had picked up out of the grass, the one that had passed completely through a man’s neck. Although Mitch had wiped it off in the grass as best he could, there was still a lot of congealed blood in the feathers. As disgusting as it was to him, he had put it back in his quiver because he only had a few arrows and could not afford to waste it.
April could hardly breath and her stomach twisted into tight knots as she waited to see what Mitch would say. She wondered again if these policemen somehow already knew what had happened and had set the roadblock up just for them, as they would in any circumstance to catch suspected murderers.
“It was a dog,” Mitch said. “A wild dog. There was a pack of them. They ran out of the woods at me while I was walking down the railroad this morning. I killed one with that arrow and hit another one that ran off before the rest of them turned back and left me alone.”
“How do I know you aren’t lying about that, boy? How do I know you haven’t just shot a deer out of season? What are you doing hunting this time of year anyway?” He was looking Mitch up and down, eyeing the head to toe camouflage.
“I wasn’t deer hunting out of season, officer. My dad is a game warden up in Perry County. I know when deer season is. But
I had my bow and gear with me in the truck because I hunt wild hogs year ’round on our land, and that’s perfectly legal. If you’ve got a game warden here in town, he probably knows my dad. His name is Doug Henley. You know Perry County is just two counties over, east of here.”
April began to breathe easier at this turn in the conversation. It was clear now that the policeman questioning them had not even suspected that Mitch had killed a person with his bow and arrows. He was just worried about whether he had broken some stupid wildlife law—as if that mattered in a situation where lots of people were probably going to have to kill whatever animals they could just to survive.
“Never heard of him,” the man said. “You heard of a warden named Doug Henley, Ladner?”
“No, sir, but I don’t keep up with the wildlife folks outside our jurisdiction. Ol’ Warden Miller would know, but hell, I ain’t seen him since the blackout.”
“I’m not going to say you’re not telling the truth about your dad, son. And I’m not going to confiscate your bow, even if you did kill a game animal out of season. I’m not even going to lock you up for stealing gas, even though you’ve admitted to it. I’ve got enough people around here already that are probably going to fill up my jail, so I’m going to let you two go. What I can’t do, though, is let that Mustang leave here until I get some proof that it’s not stolen.”
“You have proof!” Mitch said. “You have the registration papers right there in your hand. She’s telling the truth. The car belongs to her fiancé.”
“How long have you two known each other, son? And do you know this Mr. David Greene? These papers show that the car belongs to him. They don’t say nothing about her.” The officer looked at April again, as if he were trying to see inside her mind.
“If you had a baby with the man that owns that car, miss, why aren’t the two of you married? Didn’t anybody ever tell you that you’re supposed to get married before you have a child together? Now, if you were married, and this driver’s license of yours showed that your last name was Greene, just like his, then I could let you drive that car away. But since you can’t prove a thing, the car stays here until you come back with one Mr. David Greene to get it.”
The Darkness After: A Novel Page 4