Pilgrimage: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story

by Abrahams, Tom

  “What a tangled web we weave.” Felix laughed as he knotted a hook into place. “I just wish people wouldn’t think me a nut for not trusting my government.”

  “By people,” James clarified, “you mean Mike Kelly?”

  “Yeah.” Felix nodded. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good man. He and Steve Driggers go back farther than I do. Truth be told, I’m only here because my wife is in a book club with Kosia Driggers. I’m the outsider.”

  “Uh.” James raised his hand. “Hello? I think I’m the outsider. Not to steal your title, but we’re the freeloaders here.”

  “True.” Felix looked at James and smiled a toothy grin. “Can’t deny that.”

  ***

  “We should have done this a while ago,” said Kosia. She was pouring liquid silicone onto the first-floor windowsills. “By a while ago, I guess I mean three days ago.”

  Michelle Kelly and Leigh were following Kosia as she moved from sill to sill. Each of them carried bags of broken glass. As Kosia poured the silicone, one of the women would shake out shards of glass onto the sill.

  “This is pretty extreme,” Michelle said. “When that silicone dries, it’s gonna be a pain to remove it.”

  “It’s not as though we’d be sleeping with the windows open anyhow,” Kosia answered. “How are you on glass?”

  “I’m good,” said Leigh. “Plenty of big pieces left.”

  “Me too,” answered Michelle. “Nasty stuff.”

  “Steve looks at it as a deterrent.” Kosia ran her latex-glove-covered finger across the edge of the wooden sill, stopping a drip. “I look at it as a last defense. If somebody gets this close to the house, they’re not deterred.”

  “You think Denise is okay with the kids?” asked Michelle. “She’s babysitting four of them, including my teenagers, who might as well be toddlers.”

  “Denise Starling did this for a living, remember?” said Kosia. “She could watch all of us with her hands tied behind her back. I think she’s getting lunch ready too.”

  “I am getting hungry,” said Michelle.

  “Meals might be a little sparse the next couple of days,” Kosia warned. “We need to make up for the loss of the dry goods and meat that were stolen.”

  “I need some silicone over here,” said Michelle.

  Kosia obliged. “Here’s a dab of it. That good?”

  “Yep.” Michelle stuck a chunk of ragged glass onto the sill.

  “Why did you do this?” asked Leigh.

  “To cut anyone who tries to climb into the windows.” Kosia turned and looked as if Leigh had asked what letter comes after A in the alphabet.

  “No,” clarified Leigh, “why did you move here, build this place, become a prepper?”

  “You say prepper like it’s a bad thing,” Kosia said. Michelle followed with a judgmental stare.

  “I don’t mean it that way,” Leigh explained. “It’s just,” she hedged, “we had a rough time during the pandemic. My husband wanted to be more prepared this time. He read a lot of books and watched countless YouTube videos. But…”

  “But what?” Kosia stopped with the silicone and turned to face Leigh.

  “We never took that big step,” Leigh admitted. “We talked about it. We bought some supplies here and there. But we never did this.” She spread her arms, gesturing at the size of Camp Driggers.

  “I don’t know.” Kosia shook her head. “We just did it without thinking too much about it. We talked about what it would take financially. And once we ran the numbers, we knew we had no excuses. We had to do it.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Michelle offered and then looked at Leigh. “We all are.”

  “Of course we are.” Leigh stiffened. “I think you mistook my tone. I’m beyond grateful to be here. We’re strangers. You opened your home to us. Don’t mistake my curiosity for judgment. I think I wish we’d been more prepared.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered,” said Kosia. “You weren’t meant to plan like we did.”

  “Why is that?” asked Leigh, emptying some glass onto a sill, making sure not to spread too much.

  “You were meant to be here”—Leigh smiled—“with us. Everything happens for a reason, Leigh. I believe that with all of my heart.”

  “Everything?” Michelle questioned, suddenly realizing she was the third wheel in the conversation.

  “Everything,” said Kosia. “Now let’s go eat and relax. It’ll be dark soon. Who knows what that’ll bring.”

  CHAPTER 48

  EVENT +109:54 Hours

  Sweet Valley, Pennsylvania

  The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across Route 4024 from the west. Gooz couldn’t wait any longer. It was time to avenge Vincent’s death.

  “It’s not dark yet,” said Dunk. “Shouldn’t we wait another fifteen minutes?”

  “I agree,” said Bruno. “If it’s dark, they won’t see us.”

  “Ten minutes,” Gooz compromised. “No more than that.”

  The three were lying belly down in the culvert across the road from the main gate, in roughly the same spot where Gooz and Vincent had run reconnaissance the day before.

  Gooz looked through the binoculars, only able to see the east-facing side of the garage and a truck parked in the traffic circle. He didn’t see any people.

  “You think we’re smart to come in the front?” asked Dunk. “Would it be better to hop the fence like we did last night?”

  “I think a frontal attack is better,” said Gooz. “Like we planned, we jump that main gate and split up. The alarm will go off. Somebody will come running outside and we ambush him. Once that hero is down, we hit the house. We take out whoever else is inside.”

  “What if there are kids?” asked Bruno.

  “What if?” Gooz shrugged callously.

  “We’re killing kids now?” Dunk said. “I don’t—”

  “I’ll do it!” snapped Gooz. “This is for Vincent. They’ve got what’s coming.”

  Dunk and Gooz exchanged glances but said nothing.

  From their right they could hear the rumbling of loud engines gunning toward them. The men ducked behind the weeds and pressed themselves as flat as they could to the ground.

  The sound amplified as three large trucks and a SUV approached from the northeast. They slowed as they neared Camp Driggers front gate but didn’t stop. Instead they kept heading along Route 4024 to the southwest, speeding up once they passed the southernmost edge of the property.

  “What was that?” asked Dunk as the rumble faded, blending with the sounds of crickets and frogs.

  “I could only see the guys in one of the trucks,” said Bruno. “They definitely were looking at the camp. No doubt.”

  “I saw that too,” said Gooz. He started to push himself from the ground when the rumbling returned. It was getting louder again. “They’re coming back!”

  On cue, the trucks sped into view, powering over a small rise before stopping just before the main gate, idling in the middle of the road. The SUV trailing the trucks pulled onto the shoulder and parked in the weeds just fifty yards from Vincent’s gang.

  Gooz turned to his left, still on the ground, and watched a muscular man in a white, ribbed tank top, torn jeans, and motorcycle boots hop from the SUV and walk toward the truck leading the caravan. He disappeared behind the truck, but Gooz could see underneath it and could tell the man was stopped at the driver’s side window. He couldn’t hear what they were saying over the engine noise.

  “What are they doing?” Dunk whispered.

  Gooz shook his head as the trucks slipped into reverse, one by one, and backed up to the shoulder ahead of the SUV. The drivers shut off the engines and it was quiet again.

  One by one, a parade of shaved-headed storm troopers jumped from the trucks onto the road. They were all dressed similarly: T-shirts or muscle-baring tanks, jeans, black boots, and sleeves of tattoos on their arms or necks.

  It was nearly dark, but their white shirts made them visible as the
y huddled together just twenty yards from Gooz, Bruno, and Dunk. The childhood friends, partners in crime, had a decision to make.

  “They’re gonna beat us to it,” said Bruno. “They’re here to rob the place.”

  “Who are they?” asked Dunk. “How do they know about it?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gooz. “But I’m going to talk to them.”

  “Wait.” Dunk grabbed Gooz’s arm. “I don’t know about that. There’s, like, ten of them. There’s three of us.”

  “I’m just going to talk to them,” said Gooz. “See if we can work something out.”

  “We should just let this go,” Bruno said, “wait, and see what happens.”

  Gooz shook his head and stood up, brushing himself off. He took a step toward the pavement when eight of the ten skinheads spun around and leveled semiautomatic rifles at him.

  Gooz raised his hands above his head. “Whoa, brothers!” he said as he walked toward the group. “No need for that.”

  One of the two men not holding a rifle stepped toward Gooz. He was wiry and muscular like a runner. “Who are you?” he demanded as he marched.

  “Hey.” Gooz slowed and offered his hand. “I’m Gooz. And it looks like we share a similar interest.”

  “What interest is that?” Malcolm Kepler looked at Gooz’s hand but didn’t shake it.

  “The camp right here.” Gooz nodded toward the fence to his right. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

  “Why I’m here has nothing to do with you.” Kepler folded his arms across his chest, sticking his thumbs under his biceps to make them appear larger. “You should leave.”

  “I can’t do that.” Gooz smiled and shook his head. “I’ve got some personal business in there.”

  “I don’t care what your business is,” said Kepler. “I told you to leave.” He uncrossed his arms and put one hand behind his back.

  “I don’t think you understand,” Gooz explained, turning to point at the camp. “My—”

  The bullet hit Gooz right behind his left ear. He never finished his explanation. Instead, his neck snapped to the side and he fell over like a tree. Kepler stepped over to Gooz’s convulsing body and put another bullet in his temple.

  He stared at Gooz for a moment, kneeling down beside his face to watch the life seep from his eyes. There was something about a dead man’s eyes that fascinated Kepler. He could have stared into them for an hour if it had not been for the blood pooling under his boots or the noise he heard in the weeds about fifteen yards ahead of him.

  “Who’s there?” he called, standing to step over Gooz’s body. “You best get up or you’re gonna die in the dirt.” Kepler looked back at his men and nodded for a couple of them to join him.

  Berger and another thug, gripping their rifles with one hand, the stocks stuck into their armpits as they moved, marched to their leader. They caught up with him in time to see two men rising from the weeds, their trembling hands above their heads.

  “We didn’t see anything,” called the more muscular of the two. “We’ll just take off.”

  “That isn’t happening,” Kepler snarled. He stopped at the edge of the road, his arms at his sides. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Dunk,” said the muscular one. “This is Bruno.”

  “Why are you here?” Kepler raised his right arm, leveling his handgun at Dunk.

  “Same reason you are,” answered Dunk. “We just—”

  The first bullet hit Dunk in the chest, the second in his forehead. He grunted once and crumpled into the weeds. Bruno’s arms started shaking violently.

  “You don’t know why I’m here,” Kepler said to Bruno, aiming at his chest. “Why are you here?”

  “We’re here to kill the owner and take his stash.” Bruno’s voice was as unsteady as his legs. “But you can take it.”

  “Thank you,” Kepler sneered. “Where is the stash?”

  “It’s in a barn at the back left corner of the property. There’s a main house and a smaller house in front of it. From the road here, you can see the garage. I don’t think there’s anything in the garage. But I don’t know.”

  Kepler snorted and spit into the weeds. “Now, I want you to leave. And I want you to tell all of your friends what just happened here. My name is Kepler. We are the United Brothers. Got that?”

  Bruno nodded, his elbows dropping to his sides.

  “Repeat it,” Kepler ordered.

  “You’re K-K-Kepler,” Bruno stuttered. “And you are the United Brothers.”

  “Good boy.” Kepler waved the gun to the left, toward the northeast. “Now get going.”

  Bruno ran toward his truck, but Kepler called after him. “Not the truck,” he said. “Walk!”

  Bruno bypassed the truck and kept running. He disappeared into the darkness.

  “Why’d you let him live?” Berger stepped to his boss. “He’s just gonna rat us out.”

  “That’s the point.” Kepler tucked the gun in his waistband and strode to the abandoned truck. “I want him telling people. You leave a survivor, someone to tell the tale of your brutality, and the legend grows. Kill everyone, and nobody has a clue what you’re capable of doing.”

  They reached the truck and found a couple of shotguns in the bed. There was nothing else of value. Kepler left the guns in the truck.

  “We’ll take this when we leave,” he said. “Now it’s time to do our thing.”

  CHAPTER 49

  EVENT +110:00 Hours

  Sweet Valley, Pennsylvania

  “Rock, did you hear gunshots?” Leigh asked James. They were sitting in bed in the main house, having decided it was safer to have everybody together.

  “I did,” James said. “Four of them. They were close.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Max. He was on the floor, performing a “puppet show” for Sloane. Noodle was the star.

  “I don’t know,” James said. “It could be a hunter.”

  “Or those guys coming back?” Max suggested.

  “I don’t—”

  “James? Leigh?” Steve was at their door, knocking loudly. “James?”

  “Come on in,” James said, and Steve swung open the door, bounding into the room.

  “We have a problem.” Steve was pale, his breathing interfering with his speech.

  “What?” James got up from the bed and led Steve out into the hallway, closing the door behind them. “What’s wrong?”

  “There are eight to ten men outside of our gate.” Steve’s eyes were wide with fear. “Maybe there are a dozen of them.” He was talking with his hands. “I can’t tell. It’s dark and the infrared on the cameras just gives me green blurry shapes.”

  “Tell me more.” James tried to keep Steve calm. This was the first time he’d seen his host flustered.

  “They’re armed. Heavily.” He huffed. “And I don’t know what happened out there, but they already killed at least one person.”

  “The gunshots?”

  “Yes.” Steve pointed toward the front of the house. “I know they killed one. I could see the body drop on the camera to the right of the gate. There are two cameras, actually. They both captured it.”

  “You think they killed more?”

  “Well”—Steve was searching for words—“they, uh, walked out of frame. Then, uh, there were, uh, two more gunshots. So I don’t know. But one camera at the far northeast corner, next to the fence, caught one person running away.”

  “Is everyone here accounted for?” James asked. “Is everyone in the house?”

  Steve nodded. “Everyone is heading to the basement. Do you think we activate the plan?”

  “Yes.” Calm swept over James as he talked, as he listened. His mind was clear. He was focused. It was the same sensation he’d felt on Peaks Island when he watched the red and purple glow bloom on the horizon. He knew what had to be done. He would make it happen.

  “But with that many men?” Steve questioned. “Can we hold them off?”

  “We don’t h
ave a choice,” James said. His voice was even and soothing. “Our job is to protect our families and your resources. They will take both from us if we don’t fight. Do you understand, Steve?”

  Steve nodded, but his mind was somewhere else. Somewhere dark. He’d gone to the worst possible outcome and let it control him.

  “Steve.” James put his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “Look at me. We can do this. Now go down to the basement. I’ll get my family. We’ll meet you there. And then we act.”

  “Okay.” Steve sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. “Okay.” He turned and walked down the long hall to the stairs.

  James opened the bedroom door. His family was together on the bed. Sloane was in Leigh’s lap. Max had his arm around his mother. They were looking for comfort James couldn’t give them.

  “We need to go to the basement,” James said. “Everybody’s down there. It will be safe there. We’ll be okay, but we need to hurry.”

  “There’s no hunter, Dad.” Max pushed his body closer to his mom. “Is there?”

  “No, son,” James admitted. “There isn’t.”

  CHAPTER 50

  EVENT +110:15 Hours

  Sweet Valley, Pennsylvania

  Reggie checked the hook. It was securely looped through the winch line, which ran from the front of his truck through the left side of the main entry gate. His was one of two trucks equipped with an automatic winch on the front end. Both were ready to go.

  “They’re secure,” Reggie told Kepler. “We can start.”

  Kepler turned to Berger and the other men standing in the middle of Route 4024. The men looked like mercenaries. Kepler nodded his approval.

  They were armed with matching Sig Sauer SIG516 Patrol rifles. The gas-piston-operated killing machines were loaded with detachable thirty-round magazines. They were super light, at just over seven pounds, and packed a lethal punch. Kepler got a dozen of them in a trade for a kilo of glass-grade crystal meth a few months earlier. It was street value for wholesale trade. At the time, Berger questioned the fairness of it, thinking Kepler got taken. But as Kepler stood in the street, reviewing the troops, he knew he got the better end of the deal.