by Alex Gunwick
“I’ll check their house.”
“I’ll come with you,” Elijah said. “They may need to pray.”
The men left the church and traveled a mile farther into the valley. They reached a small mobile home. Paul’s pickup truck was still parked outside. Elijah walked up the rickety porch steps. As he knocked on the door, the cheap sheet metal reverberated against his hand, causing a terrible racket.
“Should I check around back?” Turner asked.
“Look in the windows. See if you can see anything.”
As Turner circled around behind the house, Elijah tried peeking in through a window next to the door. He used his sleeve to brush dust off of the glass.
An empty living room appeared hazy though gray curtains. Elijah walked to the other side of the porch and peered into the kitchen. Also empty.
When he tried the front door, it opened. He poked his head inside.
“Emily?” he called Paul’s wife’s name.
No response.
“Ingrid? Oliver?” he called the kid’s names.
Again, no response.
He walked through the house. Although the living room and kitchen seemed intact, the bedrooms told a different story. Dresser drawers hung open, their contents strewn across the floor. In the bathroom, an empty toothbrush holder and the lack of any medication confirmed his suspicion. They’d left in a huge hurry.
“You in here?” Turner called.
“Back here.”
“Looks like they took off in the middle of the night.”
“Or at first light.”
“Patrol didn’t see anything.”
“They could have hiked over any of the hills to get out,” Elijah said. “We need fencing. We need to contain our people.”
“Why would they run?”
“They’re non-believers,” Elijah said. “They didn’t understand that Paul gave his life in service to the Lord.”
Turner nodded solemnly.
“I doubt they’ll come back,” Elijah said. “We should inventory the contents of the house. We can use all the extra supplies and rations for the church. Everyone will benefit from their faithless cowardice.”
“We’ll get this inventoried and distributed to the various supply homes.”
“Good.”
“If anyone asks about them—”
“—faithless non-believers. You tell anyone who asks that the whole family left. No one needs to know that we buried Paul in the cemetery.”
“Yes, sir.”
As they walked back toward the church, Nadine strolled toward them. At five foot ten, she stood almost eye-level with Elijah. Blonde hair tumbled down her back. A red and white halter top dress clung to every curve, and her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. As usual, she was up to no good, and damned if he didn’t get hard just thinking about her filthy mouth.
“I brought you a piece of cherry pie,” she murmured.
She always spoke in a sultry tone, low enough to make Elijah strain to hear what she was saying. Somehow he suspected the twenty-five-year-old knew exactly what she was doing.
“I’ll give you an update tomorrow,” Turner said as he frowned at Nadine.
“Thank you,” Elijah said.
After Turner excused himself, Elijah gently grabbed Nadine’s elbow and guided her toward his office.
“We can share it,” he said.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
After she brushed past him into the office, he closed the door. Before he could turn around, he heard the telltale click of her zipper. He slowly turned the lock on the door—and smiled.
30
After a night filled with the terrifying crack of branches and the chill of fresh snowfall, Luke set out before daybreak. Leaving the protection of the fallen trees behind, he stood and waited. In the predawn darkness, the occasional scamper of a small animal and the whisper of a breeze through the pines were enough to send electric sparks of adrenaline into his legs. Blondie, the man who’d attacked him the previous night, could be out there. Watching. Waiting.
Luke shoved his pistol into the front of his waistband. He carried the rifle at the ready and marched forward, as if on a mission in enemy territory. And make no mistake, anything stopping him from getting home was an enemy.
While trudging down the muddy trail, he swept his gaze from side to side. He scanned every silhouette, looking for a human outline. On high alert, he traveled several miles before reaching a fork in the trail. A small sign nailed to a leaning post indicated the path to Wrightwood.
He’d had just about enough of the damn trail and couldn’t wait to get into town. It took another exhausting five miles to get to the outskirts of town. With better visibility, he was able to relax slightly.
A paved road arced toward the small mountain town. As he walked along the road, he passed abandoned cars. Some doors had been left wide open, fast food wrappers strewn about their floors. A gust of wind blew through, carrying with it a French fry box. It cartwheeled into a nearby pasture.
Several log cabins were set back twenty or more feet from the road. He studied them for any sign of occupation. What he wouldn’t give for another night of peace and protection, preferably without snakes.
As he passed a single-story log cabin, the curtain on the front window moved to the side. A man peered out from behind a sticker depicting the Pacific Crest Trail logo. He swung open the door and called to him.
“Hey, are you a through-hiker?” the man yelled.
“Yeah.”
“Come on up here. I’ve got water and food.”
The man stepped onto the front porch. His hands hung at his sides, weaponless. He grinned at Luke and seemed to be friendly. But so had the men on the trail. Granted, they’d been carrying rifles, so he’d had no illusions as to the potential danger there. And he’d been proven right.
Could he trust another stranger?
“You look like shit, man,” the guy said.
“It’s been a tough journey.”
“Which way were you headed?”
“South.”
“Killer. Way to buck the trend. Most people head north. Although I guess it makes sense since it’s October now. When did you get on the trail?”
“A week ago.”
“Are you an ultra-marathon runner or something?” the man laughed. “Don’t tell me you started in Canada because I know that’s bullshit. The trail record is around sixty days. No way you did it in a week.”
“I didn’t get on in Canada, I was over by LA.”
“When the bombs hit?” the man’s eyes went wide.
“No. After. I was in San Jose when they hit.”
“Good thing you weren’t in San Francisco.”
“I saw that one hit…well, I saw the explosion.”
“Crazy. How’d you get down here from Nor Cal?”
“Driving. Hiking.”
“Killer. Where are you headed?”
“Orange County. I need to get home to my family.”
“I get you. Look, I’m a trail angel. I help out PCT hikers during the season. I wasn’t expecting to see a hiker outside this time of year, or after the bombs. But I still have a lot of food, so I’m happy to share.”
“You should preserve all you can,” Luke said. “Who knows when food shipments will start again.”
“Oh man. Dude…you haven’t heard about it…”
“About what?”
“They hit us with an EMP.”
“What?” Luke set his pack down on the porch rail.
“Yeah. It happened yesterday. I was waxing my snowboard, you know, getting it ready for winter, and bam! The lights go out. I’m like, what the hell? So I go out and some guy’s parked down the road a bit. He walks up and tells me his car just died. I mean, I thought they might get us with an EMP, but it’s so sci-fi, man. Can you believe that shit?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I went into town. Some of the older cars still work, but all the power�
�s out. Anything with a circuit is fried. We figured it out when some people tried to run computers with their generators. Everything was cooked. But at least my generator still works. It’s old as shit, but I guess my old man was good for something. He did maintenance on it every year until he died last year. Now I maintain it.”
Luke couldn’t even begin to formulate a response. Numbness seeped into his bones. In the back of his mind, he’d been holding onto a fantasy about getting to the Cajon Pass and hitching a ride to Orange County. It wasn’t realistic, even before the news of an EMP, but the extra hurdle an EMP posed literally sucked up the rest of his energy.
He followed his host into the cabin.
“I’m Brock, by the way.”
“Luke.”
“It’s short for Broccoli. It’s my trail name. I’m also vegan, so there’s that. I hope you like freeze-dried tofu.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“Ha! You’ll change your mind after you’ve had my Kung Pao broccoli tofu.”
“I’m honestly looking forward to it. Anything other than food in bar form sounds good to me.”
“Sweet.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
“Nah, I got this. Just kick back in a hammock and chill.”
Luke headed into the living room area of the cabin and selected one of two hammocks hanging from hooks in the wall. He selected the one that looked less worn, assuming the other belonged to Brock.
As he crawled into the hammock, the cloth contraption spun, spitting him out the other side.
“You okay?” Brock asked.
“Yeah. Tricky sucker.”
“It takes some getting used to.”
On his second attempt, Luke managed to get into it without flipping. He lay back. Every ache and pain flared as the hammock cradled his sore muscles. It took several minutes for his nerves to calm down enough for his muscles to relax.
“You live alone?” Luke asked.
“Yeah. My girlfriend took off with a through-hiker last year. Didn’t see that coming. I was pretty cut up for a while until I realized how many hot females come through town. Now I’m a trail angel and I get more pus—girls than I ever dreamed of. It’s a sweet gig.”
“What’s a trail angel?”
“I pass out food and water. I let people ship re-supplies to my house. It’s pretty cool. I meet maybe thirty to fifty people every season.”
“How can you afford to host so many people?” Luke asked.
“I sell wood art to tourists in town. Everybody seems to want bears these days. Personally I prefer wolves or fish, but I’ve got to make what sells. It helps to own the land. I grow everything I need in the summer and can for the winter.”
“Sounds like you have it all figured out.”
“It can get lonely in the off season, but overall, I love my life. I do have one regret though. I’ve been saving up to get off-grid. I guess I should have saved faster or bought more solar panels. I’ve got a couple out back, but it’s not enough to run much more than the water heater. A hot shower is something I’m not willing to compromise on.
“I don’t care if my food’s cold or if I need to fire up the wood-burning stove to keep warm because I’m free. I’m not tied down to a greedy, materialistic society. I don’t have to tie a noose around my neck and drive an hour to an office job I hate with coworkers I’d love to strangle with my bare hands. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna strangle you.”
Luke laughed. The guy wasn’t small, but he wasn’t big enough to get the jump on Luke either.
“Anyway, a few more years and I would have been off-grid. I guess an EMP’s one way to speed up your timeline. What’s your deal? You mentioned a family?”
“Wife, kids, noose. I guess I’m a typical American. My wife talked about moving to the country and living off the land. I was so caught up in saving for a bigger house, a faster car, a better 401k. I lost sight of what’s most important.”
“Family?”
“Yeah.”
“Mine’s dead.”
“I’m sorry. What happened?” Luke asked.
“Dad had a heart attack. Mom died from cancer. I don’t smoke, drink, or eat meat. I don’t want the same fate.”
“I hear you. I spend a lot of time in airports eating airport food.”
“That stuff will kill you,” Brock said.
“Probably.”
“Dinner’s ready. I hope you don’t mind, but I only eat at the table.”
“No problem.”
Luke rolled out and landed on his feet. He joined Brock at a small, polished redwood table.
“Did you finish this yourself?” Luke asked.
“Yep. I got the piece from someone who was going to throw it out. All it needed was some sanding and polishing. No one wants to do any work anymore. They think everything’s disposable when all it really needs is some elbow grease.”
“Now you sound like my dad,” Luke said.
“Smart man.”
“He’s got a farm in Tennessee. He keeps everything. You should see his scrap metal pile. You’d think he was building a stairway to heaven.”
“Great, now I’m going to have that song stuck in my head,” Brock grumbled.
“It’s a great song.”
“You know they were accused of stealing it, right?”
“Really?”
“Some of the chords, anyway. The original song was Taurus by the band Spirit. They actually went to court over it last year.”
“No shit.”
“Zeppelin won. It was a crazy trial though. The jury didn’t even get to hear the artist’s recordings. They had an expert play the sheet music and had to render a verdict on that alone.”
“A lot of music is influenced by other music,” Luke said. “Doesn’t mean it was copyright infringement.”
“True. I forgot to ask, are you allergic to peanuts?”
“No.”
“Good. I added some.”
As Luke dug into a bowl of brown rice, rehydrated tofu, fresh broccoli, and spicy Kung Pao sauce, his stomach clenched. He wasn’t used to eating so much food, or so much roughage. It had only taken his stomach a week to shrink down to the size of a granola bar.
After dinner, Luke helped clean up.
“I was thinking about your family,” Brock said. “Have you talked to them since the attack?”
“No. I tried calling and texting but the lines were down. Then my phone died.”
“I’ve got a satellite phone you could use.”
“It’s still working?” Luke couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.
“I think so. It’s in my Faraday cage. I built it myself.”
“How?”
“I took a shoebox and wrapped it in foil about ten times. Then I stuck it inside a cardboard box and wrapped that another ten times. I made it a habit to keep my satellite phone in it.”
“How do you run the battery?”
“I have an adapter for my solar panels. We could hook it up and see what happens,” Brock said.
“Okay.”
Luke tried to tamp down his excitement as Brock retrieved a tinfoil-wrapped box from a closet. He opened the box and pulled out a shoebox, also covered in multiple layers of tinfoil.
“I’ll go get the adapter and battery,” Brock said.
As Luke waited for him to return, he eyed the phone. This was it. If he could just hear his wife’s voice, if he could hear his kids, it would make the hellish journey all worth it. If the phone didn’t work, he’d be devastated. Not knowing the fate of his family was a cancer eating away at his soul.
He needed to hear their voices. The prospect of battling through another hundred miles of unknown dangers wouldn’t be bearable unless he knew he was returning home to his family. If they were all dead, he’d have nothing to live for anymore. Nothing.
Brock brought in the adapter and battery. He hooked everything up before handing the phone to Luke.
“Good luck, man.”
&
nbsp; Luke headed outside into the open space behind the home. With a clear view of the sky, there was nothing to block the call. He opened the antenna, pointed it up, and turned on the phone. The display flashed for a second.
Searching for Network…
Registering with Network…
It beeped.
Ready for Service…
His heart raced as he dialed his country code, area code, and finally his home number. Then he waited.
Dialing…
He waited and waited, but it didn’t connect. They were probably at the cabin. He disconnected and then reconnected to get service. After punching in the number to the satellite phone at the cabin, he waited.
Dialing…
31
Luke paced back and forth in Brock’s backyard. The line rang so long that he almost couldn’t believe it when Kyle finally answered the phone. His son’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“Hello?”
“Kyle?”
“Dad, oh my God! Dad, is that really you?”
“Yes.” Luke fought the sudden deluge of tears. He couldn’t speak for several seconds. “How are you doing, son?”
“Where are you?”
“Wrightwood. It’s a small town near the Pacific Crest Trail.”
“What’s the Pacific Crest Trail?” Kyle asked.
“You pass over it on the way to Hodge, that place we go to shoot guns… in the desert.”
“Uh…”
“Remember when we shot up the old TV?”
“Oh yeah, that place! It’s really far from here,” Kyle said.
“Are you at the cabin?”
“Yep. We’ve been here since a few days after the bombs dropped.”
“Is your mom there? How about Sierra?” he asked before Kyle had a chance to respond.
“Yeah, Mom and Sierra are here but they are pissed at each other right now.”
“Why?”
“All I know is that they were yelling at each other about some insane preacher guy that I think Mom shot and—”
“Wait! What did you say? She shot someone?” Luke scrubbed his hand across his face.
“The guys were sneaking up to the house. She had to.”
“What guys?”