EMP Aftermath Series (Book 1): The Journey Home
Page 7
Kenny stepped out in front of her, his skinny teenage frame dwarfed by the tattooed man's bulky frame.
The man's face split in a sneer, chuckling at Kenny's bravado.
Another large man stepped out of the shop carrying an armful of stolen goods.
"Come on man, get your mind out of the gutter and keep an eye out for the cops. You want to go to prison?" he asked.
The tattooed man took the armful of goods from the other man, a sinister frown appearing on his face.
Amy urged Kenny off the sidewalk and kept her head down as she gave the men a wide berth, avoiding eye contact with either man. They kept walking until they were at the far end of the strip mall. She turned the corner, and then spun Kenny around.
"If that happens again, we run. Don't try to fight someone like that, he could easily kill you Kenny. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you," she said.
"I was just--"
"I know Kenny, and you were very brave, but next time we run. Understand?"
Kenny nodded glumly.
Was she doing the right thing? Was it stupid to bring Kenny out here and put him in danger? She couldn't have left him in the house alone either, though. The truck was her last hope to get Danny home quickly. Now it was gone. The cops were supposed to protect her, yet they took her truck and dumped her off in a terrible neighborhood.
The world was upside down. She needed to find the quickest way out of here and get to Danny. Fast.
Chapter 11
Three hours outside of Kansas City a thunderstorm suddenly came out of the west, overtaking Jack as he made his way east along the highway. Rain poured from the low hanging clouds in sheets, drenching everything in its path. The wall of water reduced visibility to less than twenty feet. The thunder was deafening out in the open, the only noise loud enough to be heard above the chorus of raindrops drumming on car roofs.
Jack limped forward, clutching at the blue tarp held over his body as a makeshift raincoat. The tarp provided some relief from the rain, but did nothing to protect his legs and feet. His shoes were full of water, the wet material rubbing against the blisters on his irritated feet. He had to get out of this rain and find some shelter.
As he blindly stumbled forward through the rain, he spotted a large RV sitting in the median of the highway and hurried over to it. He climbed into the RV and pulled the door shut, shaking off the rain.
It was hot, stuffy and dark inside the vehicle, but at least he was in out of the rain. He dumped his backpack on the floor and flopped into the drivers seat, exhausted. Jack eased his raw feet out of his waterlogged shoes and squeezed the water out of his socks as he stripped them off.
Jack opened his frame pack to grab a pair of dry socks, and was sidetracked by the sight of the backpack the Kansas City cop, Nick, gave him. He rummaged through the bag, taking stock of the contents. A small folding knife, a clear plastic rain poncho, and a number of MRE packages.
The MREs were a welcome sight. He was down to his last bit of food. He tore it open and dug in with the plastic spoon that came with the kit. The MRE was salty and otherwise bland, but he couldn't care less what it tasted like right now, he would have eaten a rubber tire if it had enough salt and ketchup on it.
A phone. All he needed was a damn phone. It seemed so ridiculous that he couldn't make a simple phone call to his wife. A cell phone, a land-line, a pay phone, anything. It was a futile waste of energy getting upset about it, they were all gone and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.
Walking to Kansas City had been a complete waste of time. Four days. Four days of grueling hiking and there was nothing here for him. It was scary to think that the city was already setting up tent camps. The infrastructure was failing so fast.
"Don't move or do anything crazy," a voice said, coming from the darkness at the far end of the RV.
Jack flinched at the voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was in here. I can go," he said.
"Do you have any weapons on you?" the voice asked.
"Just a pocket knife, no guns," Jack said.
"Who are you?"
"Jack Miller"
A large scruffy looking man with a full beard inched forward cautiously out of the darkness, holding a long knife which he leveled at Jack.
"What do you want? Where are you from Jack? You've got a funny accent," the man asked.
"I was just trying to get in out of the rain. I'm from Baltimore."
The man ran his fingers through his brown beard, sizing him up. He lowered the blade, but kept his distance.
"Jack from Baltimore, huh? Well, I'm Dave from Kansas City, Jack from Baltimore. And I guess you can stay here. It's raining pretty bad out there, besides, it's not my rig anyway," he said, chuckling.
"Thanks. It is really coming down out here," Jack said nervously. He wasn't sure what to say, it was his first time talking with an armed man.
"Do you have any food Jack?"
Jack pulled one of the MREs out of his backpack and tossed it over to the man.
"Thanks. I haven't eaten since yesterday. I tried to get past the blockade and go home yesterday, but didn't make it past the cops. They wouldn't let me in without ID. And I'm not going to any government camp. Fascists," Dave said.
"I turned back from the checkpoint too," Jack said.
"I walked seventy miles to get back here, after my car died, coming back from St. Louis. I figured I'd wander around the city and find another way in. There's always another way. How about you Jack from Baltimore? Where were you when it happened? Whatever the hell it was that did all this. Where are you trying to get to?"
"Home," he said simply.
"And I thought my hike was something. Wow. Baltimore. Man. You've got one hell of a walk in front of you Jack. Got any kids back home? Family?"
"A wife and two boys."
"I've got a girlfriend and a four year old boy in the city waiting for me. He’s a handsome little devil. I didn't have much before I had the boy. Nothing worth giving a damn about, anyway. Gives you something to fight for, doesn't it?" Dave asked.
"Yes it does," Jack said.
"So how did you end up in Kansas City? Why aren't you in Baltimore?"
Jack relayed his story of walking from Clinton to Kansas City after the EMP, leaving out the death of Tom. It was still too fresh and painful in his mind.
"Things are coming apart at the seams pretty quick Jack. I walked down Interstate 70 coming here, and by the second day I couldn't find a thing to eat. Every damn convenience store was picked clean of food, I grabbed a couple packs of bubble gum," Dave said.
Convenience stores already picked clean? It had only been five days since the EMP. Surely he must be wrong.
"Is it that bad along the highway? I started walking down I-70 because it's the most direct route home. I guess I didn't think about where to get food. The gas stations were picked clean, you're sure?"
Dave nodded. "To the bone. There are more people driving on the highway than you realize when you get out and walk. After the cars stopped working, I was just one man in a crowd. Hundreds of us were walking. Hey, you must have missed all that. You probably didn't have any traffic issues coming up from Clinton, did you?"
"No. I passed a couple of other people, and that was it. The locals seemed to be staying put. I'm starting to think walking I70 might be a bad idea," Jack said.
"If you think you got a warm welcome in Kansas City, just wait a month from now. The big pinch is coming."
The big pinch. The man was more right than he realized. How was he going to get home? Interstate 70 went through a lot of heavily populated areas. The suburbs extended from major metropolises in both directions. He had no way of telling how bad things were in other cities right now. How bad they would be when he made his way through them, weeks from now, at the snails pace he'd been traveling?
Would there be any food left? Would anybody give food out to a stranger, just passing through? Would he even be allowed to walk through?
His only option was to travel the back roads and avoid large cities, if he wanted to find food and stay out of trouble.
The long trip home had just become longer. Baltimore was over a thousand miles from Kansas City by traveling the interstate highway, which was nearly a straight shot from west to east. Walking along the meandering back roads through the countryside and skirting large cities would add hundreds of miles.
"Shit," Jack said.
"That about sums it up. For all of us," Dave said.
He did the mental math, his heart plummeting as he calculated. If he walked three miles an hour for ten hours a day, he'd be home in about 45 days. But he couldn't walk ten hours a day. His feet would be worn down to the bone by then at that pace. Even the long walk from Clinton to Kansas City was nothing compared to that distance, and that had been a tortuous journey.
That was optimistic, because he didn't have enough food to last long. He would have to go looking for it, which would add time. How long these MREs would last was anybody's best guess, but they wouldn't last until Baltimore, that much was for certain.
Jack clenched his fists and took his Oriole's cap off his head with a swipe, running his white knuckled fingers through his hair. He had failed in the one thing he thought he was ready for. He had failed to prepare for what would happen after a catastrophe. How many times had he told other people that there was a good chance something like this would happen in their lifetime? So why was he out of town when the EMP hit? Why did he work at a job that required travel? Why hadn't he gotten a job closer to home?
All he wanted right now was to be home with his family, to be there with them, experiencing everything they were going through with them. He felt like an idiot. It was naive to think he was prepared for an event like this. One person couldn't ever be truly prepared for something like this. He'd trade anything, and he'd give anything, just to be home right now.
Jack closed his eyes and forced himself to stop the self-pity. All he could do now was to figure out how to get home, and put that plan into action.
"No offense Dave, but I'm tired, wet, and done thinking for the day. I've had enough. It's too much. I'm going to get some sleep," Jack said.
"Amen to that brother. Thanks for the food," Dave said.
Jack leaned against the side of the RV and closed his eyes. The idea of walking the back roads home seemed like the best option, but it would take so long. There had to be an alternative. Staying in Kansas City, or anywhere else hoping that the current situation would blow over wasn't a solution. There was only was solution. He had to walk home.
Hours later, dawn peeked through the window. He couldn't hear the rain anymore, just Dave's rhythmic snore at the other end of the RV. Jack took a dry pair of socks out of his backpack and slipped them on before he laced his shoes up, ignoring the pain in his feet.
He strapped his frame pack on and stepped out of the RV and started walking eastward on Interstate 70.
A renewed sense of determination filled him. It might have been caused by sleep deprivation or exhaustion, but it didn't matter. He picked up his pace, eager to get started on the impossibly long journey. This was going to be his last few miles of walking on the interstate highway. At the first exit ramp, he would set out along the back roads. He would place his faith in the good will and charity of rural Americans. His fate was in the hands of strangers. He would trust in his fellow man, so that he could get home to his family.
Chapter 12
A dark cloud of smoke hovered above the city of Baltimore, obscuring the city skyline and blocking out the sun. From her current vantage point, she could see that the fires had kept burning through the night in the suburbs. Areas that weren't on fire were scorched black, columns of black smoke rising into the air from the burnt out wrecks of homes that remained after the fire ran out of fuel. Hardly any part of the city was untouched.
By the time she got to Danny and they got back home, would they have a home left to return them to?
"How are we going to get to the Lamberti's house without the truck? This is so messed up. The cops stole our truck. Seriously, that doesn't even happen in my video games," Kenny said.
"I know Kenny. They did what they thought was right. The same thing we are doing. If we have to, we'll walk there--"
The sound of a car engine interrupted their conversation, and she looked over her shoulder at the sound of the approaching car. The sound was distinctive and couldn't have stood out more if it were a rocket taking off. Aside from the screams and shouts of people, the city was silent, devoid of the noise of every day life.
An ancient looking rusted out pickup truck from the 1950's went roaring by, the bed of the truck packed with uniformed police. They were armed to the teeth with tactical weapons, body armor, and riot shields, scanning the streets as they drove by. It was good to see the police out, but they were gone as quickly as they arrived.
Without the police, she felt naked and exposed. She stuck out like a sore thumb here. Everything about her, her hairstyle, her clothes, the way she walked screamed 'I don't belong here'. Kenny had a natural swagger that seemed to fit right in, and with the baggy hooded sweatshirt he wore pulled over his head, he blended in naturally. She kept her head down, mimicking the way Kenny walked. They had enough trouble without calling the attention of undesirables to themselves.
They kept walking, and over the rise of a small hill, Amy spotted something that brought her a shimmer of hope. A department store stood a few blocks away down the slope. The store's sign was usually lit up, the LED backlighting visible from quite a distance, but was now dark and unremarkable.
"Come on Kenny, I've got an idea," she said, running down the hill.
A mob of people crowded around the front of the store, clamoring to get in. It was a miracle that against all odds the store was open. If she could swap her uncomfortable flats and Kenny's sneakers for two pairs of running shoes, they could run to the Lamberti's. She could finally put all her hours spent running to a practical purpose. Kenny was a cross-country runner, and wouldn't have any trouble keeping up.
As she drew closer, her spirits fell as she saw her mistake. It wasn't a line of shoppers waiting for the store to open. There were people looting the store, carrying armfuls of inventory through the broken glass of the front doors.
People pushed shopping carts filled to the brim with goods; computers, DVD players, stereos, and televisions. Did they not know that this stuff was worthless now? They should be taking food and water. These people were either optimists or idiots.
It did present an opportunity. They could walk on by and let the mobs pick the place clean, or she could run into the store, get a few vital items that would allow her to reach Danny, and get out. It was stealing and she knew it was wrong, but she could rationalize her actions later. The police had effectively stolen her truck and left her in this tight spot, so this was karma coming back around to make up for it.
"Kenny, stick with me. We're going to go get a few things and get out. Don't draw attention to yourself."
"Wait, what are we doing?" he asked.
"Just stay with me," she said.
She kept her head down as they approached the entrance, and scooted into the store behind a pair of large women pushing a cart, loudly talking to each other about what they wanted to steal.
Once inside the door, she grabbed Kenny's hand and pulled him along behind her, sticking to the side of the store closest to the wall. She moved quickly between racks of shirts and pants, stepping over the mess on the floor left by the looters.
Amy took a black backpack off of a discount rack and slipped the strap over her shoulder. It was the
perfect size to fit all of the items they would need to bring with them. She ripped the little plastic 'T' and the price tags off and dropped to the floor.
The women's clothing section started several aisles over from where she picked up the backpack. She picked out a black running top and a grey pair of running shorts, and pair of running socks. The top and shorts were made of a moisture wicking material, which was crucial to running in the heat. Without it she would overheat and become dehydrated before the run was half way over, not something she could risk with her children on the line.
"Kenny, go to the young men's section and get yourself a pair of running shorts, a shirt, socks for yourself and find another set of clothes for your brother, and then meet me in the shoe section," she said.