The Darkness After: A Novel

by Scott B. Williams

  “I know, I guess you did. I just figured you meant a little plinking with .22 rifles or something. But, yeah, the AR is an accurate rifle, or at least the good ones can be. But around here in these woods, you don’t always get a long shot. Dad wasn’t especially fond of the Smith&Wesson M&P 15 the department issued him, but he had no choice in the matter. All the wildlife officers used to carry riot-style shotguns for anything their pistols wouldn’t handle: Remington Model 870 pumps in 12-gauge, 3-inch Magnum. Dad always said if he was approaching a truckload of out-of-state poachers at two o’clock in the morning, he didn’t want to have to think about aiming if they all of a sudden piled out of the cab and started shooting. That’s where that short pump shotgun comes into its own. You can clear an entire road with it in short order. He petitioned for the right to keep his in addition to the AR, and the department agreed, as long as he qualified with it on a regular basis. So he rarely took the AR out of the rack.”

  “So where is the shotgun? Do you think your sister and her friends took it, too?”

  “Nope. I’m willing to bet it’s locked in that toolbox in back right now. Dad kept it there out of sight when he wasn’t on duty. When he was working a call where he thought he might need it, it was on the passenger’s seat right beside him. Lisa didn’t know where the spare truck keys were, that’s why they broke out the window. I do and I’m going back in the house to get them right now. Then, I’m going to get that horrid meat out of the house so the smell won’t knock you down when you come in.”

  “What are we going to do then? We’re not going to waste time here, are we?”

  “No, but there are things we need. Food for one: I mean non-perishables other than what was in the refrigerator and freezers, of course. I don’t know what Lisa and her friends took but I doubt they got everything. I’ve got some other gear I need to get together, too, and the other weapons we’ll need. Then there are Dad’s topo maps. We’re sure going to need them.”

  “So I guess we’re back to walking, huh? How long is that going to take?”

  “No, we’re not walking. We’re going to take a boat ride.”

  “A boat ride? Back up that creek we just came down?” April looked at the large, flat green aluminum patrol boat sitting on its trailer under the shed. A massive-looking, black outboard motor was mounted on the stern, and the telltale blue lights on elevated poles identified it as a law enforcement boat. “That thing will never run after the pulse.”

  “No,” Mitch sighed. “That Johnson 115 is too big for Black Creek anyway. And Black Creek won’t take us to Hattiesburg, but the Leaf River will. That’s the river Dad uses this boat on.”

  “Well, if it won’t run, then how is it going to do us any good, and how would we get it to another river even if it did run? How far away is the Leaf River from here?”

  “One thing at a time,” Mitch said. “Let me go get that toolbox key so I can get the shotgun out. I’ll feel better having it handy. You never know who may come down the road out there and figure out the lane leads to a house. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  While she waited outside, April looked around the neatly landscaped yard surrounding the Henley family home. It could have been an average middle-class home in suburbia but for the fact that there was no paved street out front, no adjoining lawns nor any sign of a neighboring house in the vicinity. Where the close-cropped grass of the yard ended, a barbed wire fence separated the family’s living area from the domain of the small herd of brown and white cows that grazed in the pasture beyond. The gravel lane that was the only access to the house from the road was shaded by rows of tall pecan trees, their branches intertwining overhead to make the driveway almost tunnel-like. Beyond the pasture in the distance, a wall of evergreen pines marked the transition to more surrounding forest. It was an idyllic setting, but April couldn’t imagine living in such isolation from other people, even with the power working and cell phone and Internet access providing a connection to the rest of the world. The house seemed so far removed from anything else, she had a hard time picturing any refugees finding their way here, but Mitch was sure they eventually would.

  She looked regretfully at the empty spot in the double carport where Mitch said the old Ford truck should have been parked. It was just one more disappointment and setback keeping her from Kimberly, but like every other time this had happened, Mitch claimed to have an answer. She didn’t know why she continued to trust him, but she had to admit she did feel safer in his company, and while things hadn’t worked out like she’d hoped, none of it had been his fault. He was doing the best he could to help her and to find his sister. Still, it puzzled her how they were going to get there in a boat. Paddling the canoe down Black Creek had been relatively easy, but they had only gone a few miles, and Hattiesburg had to be much farther if they went by water. It would take a long time to cover so much distance that way, even with the help of the current, and she had no idea whether they would be going upstream or down Leaf River.

  When he finally came back out of the house, he was carrying two long guns in addition to the revolver he’d already been wearing from his first trip inside. “I got these out of the safe,” he said. “This old bolt-action Marlin .22 is my favorite all-around hunting rifle. I’ve had it since I was nine years old. It will be useful to keep us well fed, though I still plan to use the bow as much as possible because it’s quieter. And it’s not an AR, but this Ruger Mini 14 is chambered for the same caliber and has thirty-round magazines. I thought you might like it, since you said you’re familiar with ARs. It’s not quite as accurate, but it’s still good enough at the kind of ranges you’re likely to need it for. I’ve got the truck keys, so we’ll have Dad’s shotgun, and there are several pistols in the safe that I’ll show you later so you can pick out what you like.

  “Meanwhile, you can keep the Ruger with you. It’s got a great sling, and it’s short and handy to carry. There’s no point in being caught off guard from now on. The next time we run into trouble, we’ll be ready.”

  April took the short carbine Mitch held out to her. It was compact and felt solid with its dark walnut stock and machined stainless steel receiver. The combination of the straight wooden stock and extended, military-looking black magazine protruding from the receiver gave it the look of a strange hybrid, part hunting rifle and part assault weapon. She opened the bolt halfway to check that the chamber was empty, exposing the double-stacked 5.56mm steel-jacketed rounds that were loaded and waiting to be fed from the magazine as fast as she could pull the trigger.

  April had loved shooting semi-automatic rifles with her dad, burning up ammo at an alarming rate, at least as much as he would allow her. But the last time they had gone shooting together was nearly four years ago. Thinking of that almost brought tears to her eyes as she slowly closed the bolt and slung the Ruger on her shoulder. She was grateful for what he taught her and knew he would be proud of how she’d handled herself in this crisis so far. He would be glad that at last she was properly armed to deal with whatever may lie in store, though she doubted he would have ever imagined her having to face a world as dangerous as hers had suddenly become.

  Mitch climbed up into the truck bed and opened the toolbox while she was examining the rifle. “It’s still here,” he said, holding up an all-black shotgun, which, like the Ruger carbine, was short and fitted with a basic straight stock. The big difference, though, was the massive size of the barrel and the extended tubular magazine that ran full length along the underside of it. “You might not like shooting this one so much. It kicks like a mule, but it can sure sling a lot of lead in a hurry!”

  “You keep it then. I’m happy with the carbine. It feels good and I’ll bet I can hit with it.”

  “You can try it if you like before we get going. There’s no shortage of places to shoot around here. I don’t reckon I need to show you how.”

  “Nope. It’s not much different than the Bushmaster Dad had. No need for lessons with this, but sometime later I still want to tr
y the bow again.”

  “I’ve got a bow in the house for you, too. I haven’t forgotten about that. Hey, you still owe me a lesson in that Kenpo stuff, too.”

  “I know. But first, you want to tell me how we’re supposed to get to Hattiesburg by boat?”

  “Of course. That’s what I was just about to show you.” Mitch hopped down out of the truck bed and opened the driver’s side door, the one with the smashed window. He emerged with a large book he pulled from behind the seat, and opened it, taking out a stack of folded maps from between the pages. “This is a topo atlas of the entire state,” he said, laying out the book on the hood of the truck, where he flipped through it to the page he was looking for. “Those folded maps are more detailed, and we’ll use them to navigate, but look at this: The smaller-scale maps in the atlas show the rivers pretty well.”

  April leaned over the hood beside him, watching as he pointed out the location of the Henley property, the city of Hattiesburg, and the Leaf River. The squiggly blue line representing this river was much larger than the one indicating Black Creek. The Leaf River did indeed run right by Hattiesburg, just to the east of it, close to what he said was the old downtown area, but at no point did it pass near the Henley farm. Instead it ran well to the north of Black Creek, almost parallel to it, both of them curving gradually southeast and eventually merging into the much larger Pascagoula River closer to the coast. “How will that help us? It looks to me like that river’s a long way from here.” April used her fingers to roughly measure the distance with the aid of the mileage scale in the corner of the map. “Isn’t that about fifteen miles? How could we carry a boat that far? It’s too far to even carry the canoe.”

  “Not really. The voyageurs back in the fur trade days used to carry canoes on portages much farther than that, just like the Indians that showed them how did it for no telling how long before they showed up.”

  “Yeah, but we’re not voyageurs . . . or Indians. For the amount of effort it would take to carry a canoe that far, wouldn’t it be easier just to walk all the way to Hattiesburg?”

  “If we didn’t have anything to carry, yes. But we’re going to be well equipped this time: the guns, lots of food, camping gear, extra clothes . . . way too much to carry all the way on foot. And besides, going by river will keep us off the roads and away from most of the problems. The Leaf River runs through woods the whole way, just like Black Creek. Once we get closer to the city, that’s going to be a lot more critical. I know the back roads between here and the Leaf, at least to the closest point that it passes to here. We can get there mostly on gravel roads and probably won’t come in contact with many people on the way.”

  “So what do we do when we get there?” April asked. “It looks like a long way to Hattiesburg going around all those bends. How long will it take us to paddle there?”

  “We’re not going to paddle. It would take way too long because we’re going to be going upstream. We could do it if we had to, but I don’t think we’re going to have to. Come on, let’s go back to the barn and I’ll show you.”

  April wondered what new surprise Mitch had up his sleeve now. The barn was closed from the front with heavy double gates of rough sawn boards hung on massive iron hinges and secured with a big chain and padlock. Mitch had the key to the lock on the same ring as the key to his dad’s truck toolbox, and he opened it and unfastened the chains, swinging back one gate, then the other. The first thing she saw inside was a red tractor, its paint faded and dull wherever its metal surfaces were not covered in rust.

  “My grandpa’s old tractor,” Mitch explained. “It doesn’t look like much, but it still runs just fine. These old Internationals are great.”

  “Is your grandpa still living?” April asked.

  “No, he passed away when I was eleven. He was eighty-four. My grandma had died the year before, and I think he was just tired of living without her. Anyway, there’s nothing on this old diesel engine that would have been affected by the electromagnetic pulse. It ought to run just fine. We used it for bush-hogging mainly. But it can do a lot of things—like pull a boat!”

  April looked where Mitch was pointing and saw a smaller version of the blunt-ended flat-bottomed patrol boat that was parked outside by his dad’s truck. This one was also flat green, but lacked the department markings of the state-issued boat. It was on a much smaller trailer, and April noticed that the tires were almost flat. There was no engine on the back of this one, and nothing inside but bare metal seats and some old fishing poles.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Mitch said. “But this boat is a lot lighter weight than Dad’s state boat. He uses it sometimes when he’s working on Black Creek and needs to go upstream. It’s only fourteen feet long, so it can get in some tight places, and it doesn’t take much to push it.” He walked around the boat to the barn wall on the other side and pulled a dusty feed sack off of something leaning there. April saw that it was a boat motor.

  “Will that run?” she asked, doubtfully.

  “I don’t see why not. It’s just a pull-start Johnson 15, a simple two-stroke engine. Long as it’s got a fuel supply and a clean spark plug it ought to run like a top. It hasn’t been used in a while so the carburetor might be dirty, but that’s not an issue—especially for a top carburetor mechanic like you,” Mitch grinned.

  “Well, if it does run, are you saying we can get it to the river with that old tractor?”

  “Of course. Like I said, it’ll pull a trailer just fine. It won’t run but about 15 miles per hour down the road, but that beats walking, and we can put all our stuff in the boat and haul everything we need.”

  “I wish we could just drive it to Hattiesburg,” April sighed. “But all the other refugees will see us coming. And I’m sure there will be more roadblocks like the one we already went through. Things are bound to be getting worse by the day.”

  Mitch nodded. “We need to slip in by the back door, and that back door is the river. Like you saw from the map, it’s only about fifteen miles from here to the closest point on the Leaf from which we can launch. Once we get this tractor running and get hitched up, we can be there in about an hour and a half if we don’t run into trouble. Then, we launch the boat and head upriver. It’s about thirty-five to forty river miles with all the bends between where we’ll launch and Hattiesburg. This little outboard isn’t fast, but even so, it shouldn’t take more than three or four hours. We’ll time it so we’re running at night—less chance of running into anybody on the river that way.”

  “I hope you mean tonight,” April said.

  “Of course. It’s only about one in the afternoon right now. There’s a lot to do, but we’ve got time if we get busy.”

  SIXTEEN

  Mitch and April worked through most of the afternoon making preparations to travel once again. This trip would be a lot different. They would be much more prepared with food supplies, detailed maps, camping gear, and—most comforting of all—good weapons to defend themselves with. But before they began gathering their supplies, the first thing Mitch did was bag up all the rotting meat from the freezers in heavy-duty trash bags and haul them out to a ditch in the woods opposite the cow pasture. The coyotes and vultures would make short work of that, and he figured the smell in the house would eventually dissipate. Then he lit some scented candles from his mom’s bathroom to make it more tolerable inside as they sorted through the remaining non-perishable foods and other stuff they would need.

  Getting the tractor going took longer than they expected. It had not been used for a while, so the battery was dead and the tires were nearly flat. Mitch was able to start it by jumping it off with the fresh, heavy-duty battery he removed from his dad’s state truck, and he and April took turns with a bicycle pump to bring the big rear tires of the tractor and boat trailer up to an acceptable pressure.

  There was enough diesel in two jerry cans stored in the barn to nearly fill the tractor’s fuel tank, and once again using his Mississippi Credit Card trick—this time
cutting a piece of old hose from his mom’s garden—he siphoned enough regular gasoline from the Trailblazer and the truck to run the small outboard. Between the large portable gas tank in his dad’s patrol boat and several smaller gas cans used for the lawnmower, he was able to round up a supply that he was sure would be more than enough to run the little John boat up the Leaf River to Hattiesburg and back. The old Johnson was the two-stroke type, requiring a mixture of oil with the gasoline, but that was no issue as there was plenty of two-stroke oil around the Henley farm for use in the weed-eaters, chainsaws, and other tools.

  “Ever drove a tractor?” Mitch asked April, after he backed it into position and hitched the boat trailer to it.

  “You ought to know the answer to that, but I’ll bet I can figure it out.”

  “Yeah, I guess you haven’t had many opportunities to cut hay where you grew up. Here, give it a try.” Mitch showed her the throttle, clutch, and shifter and stepped down after she settled into the seat. “Just take it easy and pull around right in front of the house. We’ll load everything in the boat and get going.”

  Mitch watched as she pulled off smoothly with the boat in tow. He knew she was in a hurry to get to her daughter, but every minute she was still hanging out with him was a good one, as far as he was concerned. He dreaded their inevitable parting, which would come soon enough despite the setbacks that had kept her with him this long. Even though the journey to Hattiesburg would give him more time with her, it wouldn’t be much, and then he would have to face the fact that he had no idea how he was going to find Lisa, Stacy, and Jason.

  They could be anywhere. They might be in Hattiesburg looking for Stacy and Jason’s mom if they had not already found her, back at the Burns’ house in Brooklyn, or anywhere in between. Mitch knew that traveling there in these conditions to look for three or four people was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Never mind the difficulty of actually getting somewhere without cars and trucks, it was the loss of instant communication that made everything seem so impossible. If only he could call Lisa and find out where she was. Cell phones, even landlines, were a technology he had taken for granted just like everyone else.