The Last Orchard (Prequel): Surviving the Collapse

by Hunt, James

  “Jesus,” Charlie whispered under his breath and slowly turned his attention back to his truck and the sedan, which had crushed together, the metal crinkled like an accordion and the windshield shattered, transformed into crushed white glass.

  Charlie hurried over to check the driver behind the wheel and found the air bag had been deployed. The driver was leaned back in his seat, disoriented. A nasty gash ran across his forehead, and blood dripped down his face.

  Charlie tugged at the handle of the car door, but it only opened a crack. The collision had smashed the metal around the doorframe, preventing it from fully opening.

  “My head,” the driver said, sounding confused and his voice ragged. “I can’t feel my head.”

  “Hang on. I’m going to get you out.” Charlie wedged himself in the narrow opening of the door. He planted both feet, squared his hips, and pushed.

  Metal groaned and cracked, and the muscles along Charlie’s arms trembled, his cheeks reddening from the effort.

  The door opened a few inches, the progress slow, and Charlie doubled down, offering one last push. The metal gave way, and the door opened wide enough to reach the driver.

  Charlie unbuckled the driver, who had blood dripping into his eyes from the gash, then grabbed his arm. “Nice and slow now.” He pulled the driver out of the wreck, the man’s large belly scraping against the steering wheel, and Charlie leaned him up against the car. “How are you feeling?”

  “My head,” the driver repeated, lifting his hand to touch the wound, but Charlie stopped him.

  “It’s fine,” Charlie said. “Just a cut.”

  Charlie examined the rest of the driver. He was overweight, his neck wobbly like a turkey neck. He was bald save for a few wisps of hair that sprouted from the very top of his scalp. He wasn’t old. Charlie guessed midthirties.

  “Just stay put.” Charlie reached for his phone, hoping that it hadn’t broken when he fell to the sidewalk, and glanced down both ends of the road. “What the hell is going on?”

  Charlie finally retrieved his phone from his pants pocket but discovered the screen was black. He pressed the power button, and still nothing. He frowned and looked back at the driver, who was wobbling from side to side, the blood drying to his face and shimmering beneath the sunlight.

  “Let’s get you off the road.” Charlie took the guy’s hand and led him to a bench near one of the storefronts. He then rushed over to his truck and grabbed a towel from behind his seat.

  “Here,” Charlie said, placing the towel in the guy’s hand.

  The driver pressed the rag to his face, smearing the blood before finally removing enough for him to see. He glanced down at his shirt and tie, both stained red. “I can’t go to my meeting like this. Shit!”

  Charlie shook his head. “I don’t think anyone is going to that meeting.” He looked at the nearest store. “I’m going to call for help. Just stay put. I’ll be right back!”

  “Yeah,” the driver said, grimacing as he touched the cut on his forehead. “No problem.”

  Charlie entered a small FedEx office. The lights were shut off, and the patrons inside were staring in confusion at their phones, all of them blank. Just like his.

  Charlie weaved around the frustrated customers and headed for the cashier behind the counter, whose jaw hung slack as he stared through the storefront window at the chaos outside.

  “Hey,” Charlie said, waving his hand in front of the employee’s face.

  The cashier pulled back, surprised by Charlie’s intrusion. “Can I help you?”

  “I need to use your phone,” Charlie answered.

  “It’s dead, man.” The cashier gestured to the store. “Everything’s shut down.” He tapped on the register, which did nothing, to help prove his point. “Sorry, pal.”

  Charlie spun around and found the rest of the customers staring out the window like the cashier, their bodies silhouetted by the sunlight.

  “Hey, are you all right?” the cashier asked.

  “What?” Charlie saw that the employee was staring at his hands. Charlie glanced down and found the driver’s wet blood on his fingers. He rubbed his fingertips together and felt the hotness and slickness of the blood and smelled metallic scent, and his stomach lurched.

  No power. No phones. Drivers losing control of their vehicles. It was more than just a power outage. It was as though the world had stopped spinning.

  Charlie stepped back outside. The crowd along the sidewalks had grown, and people were gawking at the wrecks that dotted the road. He looked at the driver he’d left on the bench, and the man was moaning in discomfort.

  “Hey,” Charlie said, kneeling at the man’s side. “How are you holding up?”

  The man tilted his head to the side, his tone deadpan. “Like I got in a car wreck.”

  Charlie smirked. “The phones are down, but we need to get that cut on your head looked at. Can you walk?”

  “How far?” the man asked.

  Charlie gestured to the south. “Seattle General is about five blocks away. Probably a ten or fifteen-minute walk.” He looked back at the big guy, who was now staring down the road in the same direction, dreading the trip on foot. “Think you can make it?”

  “Do I have a choice?” he asked, grumbling.

  Charlie stood and extended his hand. “Come on. I’ll help you.”

  The man regarded Charlie’s hand then finally grabbed it so he could help him off the bench, and slung his arm around Charlie’s shoulder as he wobbled, unsteady on his legs.

  “What’s your name?” Charlie asked as the pair started their slow limp down the sidewalk.

  “Mel,” he answered. “Short for Melvin.” He then turned a sharp eye at Charlie. “But only my mother gets to call me Melvin.”

  “I’m Charlie. Everybody just calls me Charlie.”

  Mel rolled his eyes at the attempted humor and used his free hand to stem the blood flow from his gash.

  People shouted at one another about who was at fault. People with confused expressions and slack jaws stared up at the dark stoplights. Desperate hands gripped dead phones.

  The longer they walked, the more people stepped outside, crowding the streets, gazing out over the wrecks. Confusion spread through the thickening crowds like wildfire, though reactions varied.

  Arguments were shouted between strangers over the wreckage of vehicles, concern flitted between friends over their disabled phones, and the steady hands of parents wavered as they attempted to calm their children’s fears. And the fears only grew worse with size of the crowds.

  Twice, Charlie was shouldered by men and women running past them. Their paths were directionless. It was motion without purpose, and every time someone in the crowd started to run, two more joined them.

  Uncertainty spread through the street like a virus, a herd mentality taking control, and it wasn’t long until Charlie and Mel were fighting against the panic, their pace too slow for the growing desperation of the mob.

  “Gah! Hey, watch it!” Mel looked behind him at a kid who wasn’t looking and had slammed into Mel’s big body. “What the hell has gotten into people?”

  Charlie’s senses heightened, his mouth going dry as he shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Got to be something with electronics,” Mel said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I tried using my phone while you were calling the cops. And before I crashed, the power steering and car engine shut off. All of that stuff is run by computers, right?” Mel peeled away the towel and examined the fresh blood then grimaced. “Christ, it just won’t stop bleeding.”

  But while Mel was focused on his wound, Charlie lingered on those words. There was definitely a connection. But he knew of nothing capable of turning every piece of technology off like a flip of a light switch.

  “Gah! Hang on.” Mel shuffled to a stop, forcing Charlie to halt as well. His breathing was labored, and his cheeks had gone pale. “I just need a minute.” He gestured to a nearby wi
ndowsill, and Charlie helped him over.

  Mel collapsed back against the window, his head thumping against the tinted glass, and he shut his eyes. “How much farther?”

  Charlie placed his hands on his hips, and the growing crowds forced him close to the window with Mel. They’d barely made it a block. “It’s close.”

  “My head just won’t stop throbbing.” Mel leaned forward, but Charlie pushed him back to an upright position.

  “Just keep pressure on it,” Charlie said. “You might have a concussion.”

  “Christ, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  This time, Charlie let Mel hunch forward but kept pressure with the towel over the cut. But while he held Mel, Charlie still couldn’t peel his eyes away from the panicked pedestrians.

  It was as though everyone had caught the same scent in the air, pushing them toward the edge. The longer he and Mel remained out and exposed like this, the worse Charlie’s anxiety grew.

  “We should go.” Charlie spoke quickly, and his heart pounded in his chest. He looked down both sides of the street then grabbed Mel’s hand and pulled him off the ledge.

  “Whoa, man. Take it easy.” Mel tried to resist, but he was too weak to fight back. “My head is killing me, my back hurts, I’m tired, and I don’t—”

  Several quick pops created a forced silence in the crowded streets. Every head turned in unison toward the commotion coming from a few blocks down.

  Charlie frowned and squeezed Mel’s arm tighter. “Was that…”

  Gunshots and screams broke the silence, this time triggering a massive tidal wave of pedestrians into a sprint, clamoring over one another and flooding the streets.

  Bodies flew past Charlie and Mel, nearly knocking the pair over as the ripple effect was exacerbated by more people screaming and running, all brought on by more gunshots that grew louder and drew nearer.

  “Oh my god,” Mel whispered with trembling lips.

  But as the tides of chaos heightened, Charlie kept his eyes focused on the cross street two blocks down. It was the source of the flood of people, and while fear gripped Charlie, his curiosity forced him to watch. He needed to see what it was. He needed to see what they were facing.

  “Charlie, c’mon!” Mel tugged harder, and Charlie relinquished a step. “What are you doing?”

  Charlie looked back toward Mel and saw the fear spread across the man’s face, the exposed gash on his forehead, and the sea of bodies flooding past them on the sidewalk. But he turned to face the source of the gunfire just in time to witness the masked men emerging from the street, shooting at anything that moved.

  3

  Flashes ejected from the rifle muzzles in rhythm with the gunfire. The masked men fired without mercy, without hesitation.

  Random members of the fleeing crowd dropped, their bodies flung forward, and they crashed into the pavement and lay motionless as the gunmen advanced down the street, widening their kill zone.

  “Charlie!”

  Mel’s voice broke through the daze of anger and fear that muddled Charlie’s senses, and pulled him back to the present.

  “C’mon!” Mel tugged at Charlie’s arm, and they joined the streams of retreating human targets screaming in a stampede of chaos away from the wolves on the hunt.

  Charlie fell into stride with Mel. The big man moved quickly now, the sudden burst of speed and endurance derived from a release of adrenaline.

  Charlie turned at the waist, away from the screams, gunfire, gunmen, and death as they progressed down the street. They needed to get off the main road and out of the shooters’ path.

  Charlie skidded to a stop, forcing Mel to stop with him. Bodies slammed against them, and people scrambled to get around the pair, nearly trampling the two of them in the process.

  “Where are you going?” Mel asked.

  Charlie tugged him down a side street, steering them away from the crowds and their unchoreographed escape, and pushed a reluctant Mel down a dark alley, the tall buildings on either side blocking out the sun.

  “Just keep going.” Charlie shoved Mel toward the light at the end of their dark tunnel, and just before they reached the end of the alley, Charlie turned back to find the crowds gone.

  For a few seconds, it was nothing but empty roads, then another gunshot announced the shooters’ presence, and the line of masked men filled the alleyway’s narrow view of the street.

  One of the masked men pivoted toward the alley and stopped when he locked eyes with Charlie, and time slowed.

  The gunman aimed at Charlie, who spun around and pushed Mel harder and faster toward safety at the alley’s end.

  Sunlight was only steps away when gunshots thundered, and Charlie turned a sharp right out of the alley and onto the street, his speed and momentum sending both himself and Mel to the concrete.

  Both men landed violently on the hot pavement, but Charlie scrambled to his feet first and pushed himself back up against the wall of the building near the alley’s exit.

  “What the fuck, man?” Mel wallowed on the pavement like a walrus, flopping over from his belly to his back with a strained effort.

  Charlie peered around the corner, only a sliver of his skull viewable from the other end of the alley, but the army of monsters in masks had already passed, the thunderous gunshots and terrified screams fading farther north.

  Charlie pulled away from the end of the alley and kept his back flush up against the wall. He shut his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest, and the heat from the sun overwhelming his senses.

  “Hey!”

  Charlie opened his eyes and looked at the hand on his shoulder then at Mel, whose face was covered in a fresh coat of crimson.

  “You all right?” Mel wiped at his face, but his sleeves were already so covered with blood he only succeeded in spreading the blood instead of ridding himself of it.

  “Yeah,” Charlie said, pushing himself off the wall. “I’m fine.”

  Charlie stepped out into the street, his attention focused south. More car wrecks dotted the roads, but the streets were less crowded, at least by the living.

  Bodies were sprawled out over the pavement, facedown, faceup, blood seeping from their clothes and running over the roads like a river.

  “I can’t see shit, man,” Mel said, and he started to cry, smearing blood over his eyes. “I just want to go home.”

  “You need stitches,” Charlie said. “The hospital’s close. C’mon.” Charlie grabbed Mel’s arm and placed it back over his shoulders, then he led him down the sidewalk.

  Charlie kept his attention everywhere but on Mel. He didn’t want them to get snuck up on, and the last thing he needed was another surprise.

  But while the gunfire died down and the screams faded, Charlie noticed other sounds replacing death and fear. The crash of glass.

  The large window of a retail store full of clothes on the opposite side of the street was suddenly smashed with a rock. Dozens of hands reached for anything they could grab, then the people sprinted away with their loot.

  Two men wearing saggy gym pants, sneakers, and tank tops quickly flung open the passenger-side door of an E-Class Mercedes and grabbed whatever they could carry then sprinted to the next car, where they repeated the process.

  More glass shattered along the storefronts that Charlie and Mel passed, and the number of bodies scurrying from shattered windows to shattered windows multiplied.

  Clothes, bags, jewelry, electronics, food, liquor—anything and everything that could be carried in arms and hands was trucked away from the stores as fast as the people carrying them could flee.

  “Christ, people are losing their minds,” Mel said, breathing heavily and struggling to keep pace with Charlie’s strides.

  The number of people joining the looting multiplied. It was like an airborne disease, the symptoms violently contagious and infecting anyone that was close.

  “Just keep your head down and keep moving.” Charlie kept hold of Mel, forcing the big man past his point of f
ailure. But as they neared the hospital, the crowds thickened, the world devolving into violence and chaos.

  Charlie veered into the road, weaving around the never-ending line of car wrecks that clogged the streets.

  “Help!”

  Charlie frowned. “Did you hear that?” He glanced left and right, still propping Mel up.

  “I can’t hear, I can’t see, and I can’t fucking walk anymore, man.” Mel sagged lower, and Charlie struggled to keep him upright.

  “Please! Help!”

  Charlie’s ears perked up again. The cry for aid had been faint and muffled. “There.” He spun another few degrees and looked past a bad wreck where a cluster of men scurried past with their arms crammed full of clothes.

  Charlie shuffled Mel over to a nearby SUV and propped him up against it, ignoring the big man’s questions as he darted over to the source of the cries for help.

  “My daughter! Please, help!”

  Charlie followed the woman’s voice to a car turned over on its roof. The doors were mangled, and half of the roof had caved in. Charlie dropped to his hands and knees, peered into the shattered driver’s side window, and found a bloodied woman in a business suit.

  She cried when she saw Charlie. “My daughter.” Her voice wavered, and she tried to turn around, but the wreck had pinned her in. “I can’t see her.” Her lips quivered. “I can’t hear her.”

  “Just hang on, ma’am.” Charlie investigated the back seat and saw a pair of legs lying motionless on the ceiling.

  The rear driver’s side door was completely sealed off, so Charlie hurried around to the other side and slammed into a young man sprinting in the opposite direction.

  “Fuck you, man!” the kid shouted but didn’t stop running, and Charlie didn’t bother to stop, already on his hands and knees on the other side.

  And when Charlie ducked his head low enough to get a view of the back seat,.

  “Is she okay?” the mother asked, shouting from the front seat.

  “She’s fine.” Charlie couldn’t fit his whole body inside the small sliver of space, and his arm scraped against some pieces of glass, drawing blood, but he managed to grab hold of the girl’s calf and pulled.