The Borrowed World: A Novel of Post-Apocalyptic Collapse

by Franklin Horton

  “In case you don’t wake up when we leave in the morning, I wish you ladies good luck,” Gary said, addressing Rebecca and Alice.

  “Thanks, Gary,” Alice replied. “I hope you guys get home safely, too.”

  We all settled in for the night – the women in the beds, Gary and I on blankets on the floor. We left the patio door open for fresh air. Outside music still blared. Hispanic rap trying to drown out AC/DC. A woman could be heard crying in the parking lot below our window. A baby cried beyond that.

  “Could you slide that door closed?” Randi asked in the darkness. “I don’t think I can sleep listening to that.”

  I slid the door closed without a word, sealing out the night.

  Chapter 12

  The night was restless and uncomfortable, but somehow we were all asleep when my alarm went off the next morning. I quickly silenced it and the three of us wordlessly threw off our blankets, slipped on our shoes and gathered our stuff. Gary and I used our headlamps to make sure we didn’t miss anything. I gave Randi the backup flashlight from my bag. I had a couple of them in there and I told her to hang onto it in case she needed it later.

  Alice and Rebecca stirred while we packed and we said a few perfunctory good-byes, each of us distracted by the unknowns that lay ahead of us. Once we were all packed and had our gear on, we exited the room, quietly closing the door behind us. We had agreed in the room to maintain strict silence until we were clear of our little interstate community. It was also agreed that I would take the lead until we were clear of town. I removed my headlamp and showed Gary how to carry it with the lens pointing into your hand, just opening your fingers enough to allow sufficient light to escape to where you directed it to. By this method, you could conceal most of the brightness of your light but still see where you needed to go. Randi followed suit and we headed single-file down the hall and into the stairway, shutting the stairwell door as quietly as possible and starting down the stairs.

  When we exited the stairwell near the lobby, I noticed that the lobby was full of people sleeping on the furniture and stretched out on the floor. This was clearly one of the bottom tier rooming plans that the desk clerk had mentioned to us. Despite the unpleasantness of our dark room and the stinking hallway, I was sure it was much quieter and safer than this lobby. I didn’t want to walk through that group of people and take a chance on waking someone. I held out my hand to stop Gary and Randi, then motioned for them to follow. I changed direction and headed down the first floor hallway and away from the lobby. At the end of the hall, we exited to the parking lot, pushing the panic bar on the glass and aluminum door as gently as possible to avoid making unnecessary noise.

  Once free of the building, I breathed a sigh of relief. The air was cool, the early morning quiet. The sky had started to lighten at the horizon. We need to be gone before full light. When I went on backpacking trips, I always awoke to a sensation similar to this – a mixture of relaxation, mild adrenaline, and anticipation. This time, however, it was not about the journey, as those backpacking trips were. This was all about the destination. I was anxious to get this show on the road and get home to my family. It was amazing what we’d been through in just twenty-four hours. It felt like a week ago that that those terrorist attacks had occurred. I hadn’t received a text back from my family and now my phone was probably dead. I would charge it later with the solar charger from my pack and try again.

  We were on the northwest side of the interstate. I pointed toward the highway, to the south, and started walking through the parking lot to the back of the hotel. I could tell that Gary and Randi had expected me to use the access road leading to the hotel, but it was clear to me that there were still too many people in their vehicles. I didn’t want to rouse any suspicion or have anyone see where we were going. I didn’t want to be questioned or followed. Maybe I was just paranoid, but I preferred to think of it as operational security. I also remembered the old saying that you’re not paranoid if people really are out to get you.

  In my bug out bag, I carried a Virginia Gazetteer, which is a large booklet containing topographic maps of the entire state. Since most of my work travel was within the boundaries of Virginia I had always believed that if the shit were to hit the fan when I was on the road odds are it would be on a Virginia road. I also carried a highway map of the southeastern United States that was not as detailed but would point me in the right general direction to get me back to my own state. I even took the trouble of plotting return routes and carrying maps for family vacations with the kids. My goal was never to be caught unprepared and without a plan to get home.

  We’ve already established that I’m paranoid.

  I had a compass, too, but I also went one degree better. Two years ago I had bought a new GPS for my backpacking trips. It was a top of the line Garmin with a color touch screen. When I bought it, I retired my old Garmin Etrex to my bug out bag. It was still a good, functional unit and I’d preloaded it with topo maps for the western half of the state, which is all the older unit’s memory would hold. As long as the GPS satellites were still functioning, and I had no reason to think they weren’t, this unit could be invaluable. I also had spare lithium batteries for it, which were both lighter than alkaline and longer lasting.

  Passing through the back lots of the hotel and adjacent buildings we made it to the interstate without meeting another person. At the edge of the right-of-way, we climbed a chain-link safety fence, crossed the four lanes of I-81, climbed another fence, and took stock of our surroundings. Since the businesses were all located on the north side of the highway, there were only a few stray cars here on this side. I could not see any people or any movement. We walked down the shoulder through tall grass and weeds at an angle that would eventually intersect the side road at a point past any parked vehicles. The dampness of the grass and weeds soaked our pants legs. My shoes remained dry since they were good quality Salomon hiking boots. I suspected that Gary was wearing hiking boots of a similar quality. I knew, however, that Randi’s running shoes had to be getting soaked. When the sun heated up later, it would probably dry out our pants and Randi’s shoes. Hopefully it would be before blisters consumed her feet. We stayed in the weeds until we were completely out of sight of the road, then we stepped down onto the pavement and began walking on the flat road surface.

  The road apparently did not lead into any town, and there had been no roadblock of any sort on this side of the interstate. There would be houses and maybe even businesses here, so we would have to remain alert to the possibility of encountering other people. There could also be other travelers, some potentially threatening. It felt strange to be telling myself that I had to consider anyone we encountered as a potential threat, but was that not the world we were now in? How could I make it home thinking any other way?

  Randi lit up a cigarette.

  “You need to quit those things,” I said.

  She looked at me, thinking about her response. It was clear that she was similar to me in that she had a visible reaction to people telling her what to do. She thought before responding, though, seeing that I was not attacking her but just being my normal blunt self.

  “I’ll have to in a day or so anyway,” she said. “I’ve only got one more pack left. This first one of the day is important.”

  I smiled to myself. “Wake and bake, huh?”

  She laughed. “That’s weed, not cigarettes, And without coffee, I need to take what vices I can get.”

  “Don’t get me started on coffee,” I said. “I miss it too.”

  “Now that we can talk,” Gary said, “what’s the plan? How the hell are we getting home?”

  “I’ve literally thought about this for years. I think safety and security has to be our first concern,” I said. “It’s too dangerous to just take the easy route down the interstate. I think we need to take a discreet route with minimal exposure to towns and people. Since we travel to Richmond so often, I established a get home plan from there years back. It involved using
the Appalachian Trail.”

  Gary thought about it, nodding. “I can see the logic in it. It avoids population centers and nearly takes us all the way to Tazewell County. That’s only twenty miles from home for me.”

  “It’s about thirty-five miles from my home,” I said. “That’s still relatively close.”“Isn’t that trail rough?” Randi asked, a little apprehension in her voice. “Up and down mountains, muddy, sleeping in the woods kind of stuff?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ve hiked large sections of it and it is challenging but I think it’s our safest route.”

  “How far are we from the AT now?” Gary asked.

  “Around six miles.”

  “That close? I had no idea.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It parallels the Blue Ridge Parkway not far from here. We can be there by lunchtime.”

  “We can walk six miles in a day?” Randi asked doubtfully. “I ain’t never walked six miles in my life.”

  “Fifteen is a good average day for me,” I said. “I’ve hiked that and longer with a 45 pound pack many times. By the time we get home, you’ll be able to do a twenty or more mile day if you want to. Especially if you’re not smoking cigarettes.”

  Randi made a snorting sound like she didn’t believe me.

  “You can do it, Randi. But if you’re having second thoughts we’re still close enough to the hotel that you can go back. I’m not trying to run you off, I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting in to. The options are trust the government or bust your ass to get home. That’s the long and the short of it.”

  She finished her smoke and flipped the butt to the pavement, stepping on it. “First off, I will bitch, moan, whine, and complain but I will fucking well make it. Ain’t nothing you guys can do that I can’t, short of peeing standing up. Second, if I have to travel with those women I will go off and hurt someone. No doubt about it, they are not my kind of people.”

  “I think we can all make it, too, but not on the food we’ve got,” Gary said. “We’ll have to resupply somewhere along the way. I’ve got some Clif bars and some dehydrated meals, but it’s probably only three days’ worth. Then I guess there’s whatever was in that bag you gave me last night, the origin of which I shall not ask about.”

  “I confess,” I said. “I busted open the candy machines and we probably have about fifty packs of candy bars, jerky, nuts, and crackers between us.”

  “You damn delinquent!” Randi teased. “What would Alice say?”

  “I know,” I admitted. “In my pack, I’ve got a Gatorade bottle of rice and one of beans. I’ve also got a Ziploc baggie with a couple of boxed macaroni dinners and a few dehydrated meals in it. Not enough to get us home.”

  “Sorry, guys – I got nothing,” Randi said.

  “Don’t worry about it, Randi,” Gary said. “Not everyone is as paranoid as we are.”

  “In light of current circumstances, I would no longer refer to you as paranoid but instead as just prepared,” Randi said.

  “So we’ve maybe got a week’s worth of meals?” Gary said.

  “I’ve got a potential resupply point in mind,” I said. “My best friend from high school, Lloyd Earhart, lives about an hour’s drive from here.”

  “Or a four-day walk at thirteen miles a day,” Randi added sarcastically.

  “Yep, about that long,” I said. “He runs a barber shop in a small town just off the AT. He’s also the mayor.”

  “The mayor?” Gary asked.

  “Yep, think about it. You’ve got a small town of about two hundred fifty people. Who knows more people than the barber? He’s been mayor there for nearly twenty years, usually running unopposed. He listens to people bitch all day long so he’s on top of the issues.”

  “You think we can resupply there?”

  “I’m pretty sure,” I said. “He kind of lives in the past anyway. I’m sure he’s probably holed up in the old building he lives in, sipping moonshine and playing the banjo. He doesn’t really care much for the modern electronic age. He probably has a friend with a store who will help us out.”

  “What’s the name of the town where he lives?” Randi asked.

  “Crawfish.”

  “What about water?” Gary asked. “How are you set for water?”

  “I have six bottles left from my original stash in my pack. I picked up another six from the food tent yesterday when we ate. That’s actually way more water than I prefer to carry. I also have purification tablets and my Katadyn Camper pump filter.”

  “That’s good,” Gary said. “I’ve got four big bottles of spring water and some purification tabs. With your filter we should be in good shape all the way home.”

  “What’s a pump filter?” Randi asked.

  “I use it for backpacking. It allows you to pump water out of lakes, streams, and springs and filter it clean enough to drink. I even used it several times on Roan Mountain in Tennessee to suck water out of puddles during a dry summer hike when a lot of the springs were dried up,” I said.

  “You drank puddle water?” Randi asked, turning up her nose.

  “Yes, I did. And I liked it.”

  “How did it taste?”“Like rotten leaves,” I said. “In case you ever get the chance to drink water filtered from Whitetop Laurel Creek in Damascus, Virginia, that’s the best creek I’ve ever tasted. The leaf water was probably the worst.”

  “All this talk of food and water is making me hungry,” Gary said. “I’m used to fueling up first thing in the morning. Any objection to stopping to divvy up some candy bars and water?”

  “None at all,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

  We were sitting on the shoulder of the road sucking down water and eating candy bars when I heard the sound of some type of engine in the distance. I finished my second Snickers bar and wiped my hands on my pants. I threw the wrapper on the ground. After I did, I stared at it for a minute and thought about how I had always adhered to Leave No Trace ethics in the woods and made my kids carry out every piece of trash they made. I picked it back up and shoved it in my pocket. I could burn it later in a campfire.

  Randi shook her head.

  “Leave your trash if you want to, but I’m burning mine tonight,” I said. “I can’t make myself do it when I have a choice. I’ve spent too many years cussing other people when I found their trash in otherwise pretty spots.”

  Gary laughed to himself.

  “What’s with you?” Randi asked him.

  “It’s funny, but it’s also not funny at all,” Gary said.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “That you can kill a man and rob a vending machine, but you can’t litter,” he said, no longer laughing.

  “That is pretty funny, now that you put it that way,” I said. “I guess a man has to draw the line somewhere. The wrapper stays in my pocket.”

  The engine noise was getting louder. The road we were walking on was a rural two-lane that passed through fields broken only by the occasional distant farmhouse. Some dogs had barked at us as we walked by, but none had come close. I was sure that people were watching from the houses, though no one came out. The engine noise approaching us had defined itself, and was clearly a tractor.

  “You hear that?” Gary asked. “Should we hide out?”

  “Let’s stay put here on the ground,” I said. “We look less threatening sitting here eating.”

  It was only a moment before an old blue Ford tractor rattled into sight, a hay mowing blade extending from the left side. The tractor carried the blade in a raised position that allowed it to travel down the road without taking out mailboxes. The man noticed us as soon as we saw him, detectable only by a slight swerve in his steering. Other than that swerve, nothing changed until he was directly alongside us. Then he braked, stared at us without expression for a moment and killed the tractor engine.

  He continued to stare, saying nothing. He wore green pants and a matching green shirt, like a mechanic’s uniform, with a white t-shirt underneath. The pan
ts were tucked into dirty rubber boots. The man looked to be in his sixties but it was hard to tell with farmers, they weathered early.

  “Morning,” I said, nodding in his direction.

  He nodded back, then spat tobacco juice onto the road. “You folks lost?”

  “Depends on what you mean by lost,” I said. “We’re a long way from home without a ride, but we do have a plan for getting home.”

  He thought about this for a moment. “Guess you ain’t lost then,” he said. “More like you’re stuck.”

  “That’s about the size of it. We were on our way back home and got caught up in all this mess going on. We were stuck at the exit back there and things were getting ugly. Today they’re making everyone who stayed there go to a FEMA shelter so we made a break for it.”

  The man’s eyes got wide. “FEMA? They’re putting people in camps?”

  “They call them shelters,” Gary said. “But we didn’t trust them so we started walking.”

  “Where’s home?” the man asked.

  “Tazewell and Russell Counties,” I said.

  The man whistled. “That’s a damn far piece.”

  “That’s a fact,” I stated.

  “Ain’t you going in the wrong direction?” he asked, calculating our route in his head. “You need to be going southwest. You’re going south.”

  “We’re heading for the Appalachian Trail. It will take us home without having to pass through a lot of towns.”

  He considered this. “That ain’t a bad idea,” he said. “Hard walking but safer than staying on the roads.”

  “Have you heard any news lately?” Gary asked. “What’s going on out there?”

  The man spat again, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The White House has gone silent is what I’m hearing on the radio. We ain’t got power so I don’t know if television news is working or not. They say the president is holed up in a bunker somewhere until they figure out if there’s going to be more attacks. All the major cities are declaring martial law. They talked about doing martial law nationwide but a reporter interviewed some retired general and he said they don’t have enough troops. Half of what they do have ain’t showing up for work. Gone AWOL to take care of their families, I guess.”