Surviving the Collapse: A Tale Of Survival In A Powerless World- Book 1

by James Hunt

  “We rounded up as much food as we could get from the cars like you said.” Mulls heaved a pillowcase onto the Mercedes’s trunk. “Wasn’t much. We need to find a place to recharge, or these guys aren’t gonna hang around for much longer.”

  Dennis rummaged through the pillowcase with the hand that wasn’t holding the gun. “I don’t know why we need them at all.”

  “Hey!” Mulls stepped close, gritting his teeth. “We don’t know what the hell is going on, and we’ve got a better chance of survival if we stick together.” He frowned, looking Dennis up and down. “You’d have known that if you had any type of loyalty on the inside.”

  Dennis pulled out a Slim Jim and snapped into it greedily. “You were the only friend I needed, Mulls.” He forced a smile then waved everyone forward. “C’mon, fellas! Breakfast is ready!”

  The group limped forward like a zombie horde, rummaging through the sack of chips, crackers, dried meats, and nuts.

  While the rest of the men ate, Mulls pulled Dennis to the side. “So where are we heading? We’ve got to be coming up to a town somewhere soon, right?”

  Dennis practically swallowed the last few bites of his Slim Jim whole. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a map. “I found this in the glove box. I had to check a dozen cars just to find one.” With most cars coming with GPS, maps had gone the way of the dodo. He spread the old New York map across the Mercedes hood, shivering from the cold as he did. “Twelve miles south, we run into Duluth. It looks small, but we’ll find something better than the backseat of a frozen car.”

  Mulls exhaled, an icy puff of air forming around his lips. “Christ, I miss the South. It never snowed in New Orleans.”

  Once breakfast was finished, Dennis led the slow stumble down the highway toward Duluth. Most of the men only nodded when he told them the plan, but a few still looked in high spirits. Dennis was sure the road ahead and the continued cold would take care of that, though.

  And so they walked. What they were walking toward or why they were walking, Dennis still didn’t know, but he had an itch to see people again, preferably a woman. But even aside from the itch of getting laid was the itch to see what the world had become, regardless of its momentary pause. He hadn’t been outside that prison for eighteen years. Just from what he’d seen with some of the cars on the road, he could tell things had changed, and he wanted to see more.

  And maybe old Mulls was right. The men at his back numbered close to forty, and a quarter of them were armed, stealing weapons off the dead guards on their way out. It was more than enough to handle any trouble up here.

  Mile after mile passed, and the longer they trudged, the quieter the group became. A blast of icy wind froze Dennis in his tracks, and it wasn’t until the gust ended that he started up again.

  His feet had grown numb in the paper-thin material of his prison-issued shoes. Bits of ice formed over the thin orange pants, and everything below the waist was numb. Dennis grabbed his crotch, his fingers fumbling over his member, and prayed that frostbite take anything but that.

  His lips quivered and turned blue. After a while, he wasn’t cold anymore, and he knew that was a bad sign. Hypothermia was setting in, and if they didn’t find a warm place soon, he might drop dead on the asphalt.

  An elbow nudged Dennis, and he looked over to find Mulls pointing up ahead. “Hey, what’s that?”

  Dennis squinted, finding a green exit sign. The name of the town below it read Duluth, and next to it was another blue sign with the symbols for food, gas, and lodging.

  A murmur rippled through the men, heads lifting at the sight of civilization. The cars thickened around the exit, and Dennis felt a jolt of adrenaline thrust him toward it, the same chemical imbalance propelling the inmates to follow him.

  The embankment of the turn-off was clogged with cars, all of them abandoned. Ice and snow made the slope slick, and Dennis used the cars to help guide him safely toward the two-lane road that led off the highway.

  He reached into his jacket, removing the map. He unfurled it quickly, like an eager child opening a present. “Shit! Which way is east?”

  “That way,” Mulls pointed, huffing and puffing as he joined Dennis on the road, more and more men following in their path.

  “Less than a mile,” Dennis said, smiling. “Hear that, boys? Party in Duluth tonight!”

  The icy grip of winter was shattered as cheers erupted and fists thrust into the afternoon sky. The pack sensed prey, and they were ready to feast. And Dennis prayed that what they found in Duluth was worth their while, because he wasn’t sure how much longer this pack was going to stick together.

  Glass shattered then fell to the carpet inside the house. Rodney had banged on the door for a solid minute, and when no one answered, he decided that no one was home. He knocked away the shards alongside the paneling and then thrust his hand through and grabbed hold of the lock. It clicked when he turned it, and he gently swung the door open.

  Mark, Glen, and Laura stood behind Rodney, Mark carrying his daughter on his shoulder.

  “Hello?” Rodney’s voice echoed in the darkness, but like the knocks on the door, his question remained unanswered. “I think it’s clear.”

  The others followed him inside, and Rodney did a quick sweep of the house while everyone piled into the living room. From what he gathered, it was a vacation home, seeing as how most of the cabinets were bare and there weren’t many decorations on the wall.

  After his quick sweep, Rodney returned to the living room and found everyone huddled by the fireplace. Mark was already stacking some logs in it, and both Glen and Laura stared at it longingly, as though they could wish a fire into existence. Mark wiped his nose and then extended his hand to Rodney.

  “Matches?” Mark asked.

  “And what makes you think I have matches?”

  Mark dropped his head but kept his hand extended. “C’mon, man. Just give me the matches.”

  But instead, Rodney bypassed Mark, leaving him hanging, and knelt in front of the fire himself. “I don’t want to have you waste the whole packet before we actually get a fire started.” He picked up the logs, rearranging them into a cube-like structure. He rose and then headed toward the door. “I’m gonna go find some tinder.”

  Despite Rodney’s eyes adjusting to the darkness, he was still amazed at how black night had become now that the power was off. After he’d spent so much time in New York City, his eyes had become polluted from the constant stream of lights and activity.

  He glanced down the darkened road that they’d used to turn off the highway. He’d picked the spot knowing that housing was sparse and what homes were out here had a lot of space between them. They’d made good time today, but he still would have preferred to be farther north.

  For most people, it was a natural instinct to want to gather, cluster up in towns and groups. And while Rodney might have indulged that instinct a fair amount with the group he acquired getting out of the city, he wasn’t willing to add any more travelers to his destination.

  Most of the trees in the surrounding lots were dead, and he managed to find a few dry twigs that he snapped off to use for kindling and then scooped up some dead leaves, making sure to leave the damp ones in the snow. After he had what he thought was enough, he trudged back into the house.

  Inside, his companions rubbed their hands together quickly in anticipation of the warmth to come. All of them were huddled close behind him, eager for the flames, but Rodney didn’t rush it. Only when he had a good foundation and made sure the chimney vents were open did he strike a match.

  The leaves went up quickly, and Rodney made sure to breathe air into the fire, stoking it until the kindling caught. From there, the logs grew warm, and then caught fire.

  A sigh of relief echoed from nearly every mouth, and the five of them huddled next to the glow of the flames, as their ancestors had done for thousands of years before electricity.

  With the exception of Mark’s daughter, everyone was awake, though G
len looked to be fading quickly. Rodney reached into his pack and passed around some jerky. “Make it last. We still have at least another full day of hard walking ahead.”

  Hands reached for the food carefully.

  “How much farther?” Laura asked, chewing little pieces of the jerky and staring into the fire.

  “Forty miles, probably a little less. Longer if that storm catches us.”

  “You think we’ll make it?” Glen asked, rubbing his eyes.

  “If we hustle, yeah. But we can’t have any slowdowns.” Rodney locked eyes with Glen. “No matter how tired we get.” He addressed the rest of the group. “We can rest when we get to the cabin. We all saw what happened in New York.”

  “We know, Rodney,” Mark said, the fire flicking light on only the left side of his face. “No need for scare tactics.”

  “I’m not trying to scare anyone.” Rodney got up. “But the truth sounds like that to some people.” He looked at the rest of the group. “Get some rest. Morning will come early.” He gestured to the couch in the room. “Holly can sleep there unless I find a mattress.”

  He left the group in the living room and found two twin beds in a bedroom in the rear of the house. He picked one of the mattresses off the frame and then dragged it from the room. He passed the kitchen and saw the glow of the fire spilling out of the living room when he stopped. They were whispering to one another.

  Curiosity forced Rodney to put the mattress down slowly and then creep to the end of the hall. He leaned as close as he could, being mindful of his shadow. He closed his eyes and concentrated on their voices.

  “Why can’t we stay here?” Laura asked. “I mean, we hardly know him.”

  “And he hardly knows us,” Mark answered. “Glen is right. He helped get us out of the city, and he’s gotten us this far. He might be hard, but he’s got a lot of pressure on him right now.”

  “What pressure?” Laura asked.

  “Keeping us alive.”

  Rodney quietly retreated toward the mattress and sat down. He wiped the tears forming in his eyes before they could fall. Slow, deep breaths calmed him down, but he gave himself a minute to make sure his eyes didn’t stay red.

  Despite his preparation, he’d never truly been in this type of situation before. They were scared. He was scared. And what Mark had said was true. It wasn’t as though he wanted to be the bad guy. But he didn’t want anyone to die. Not on his watch.

  Rodney gave himself another minute and then lifted the mattress and dragged it back into the living room. The whispers ended by the time he returned, and he plopped the mattress just behind Laura. “There’s another one in the room back there. You and Glen can take them, and Holly can take the sofa. Me and Mark will take the floor.” He looked over at Mark. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “At least it’ll be warm.” Mark pushed himself off the floor. “I’ll give you a hand.”

  Rodney led him to the room, and as they positioned themselves on either end of the bed, Mark paused before they lifted it off the frame. “You’re doing a good job. Despite my complaints.”

  Rodney felt the tears coming again and was thankful for the darkness. He knew Mark couldn’t see his face, but just to be sure, he kept his head down. “I appreciate that.”

  “I’m serious.”

  Rodney looked up.

  “You saved my family in that city. For that, I owe you everything.”

  “Well,” Rodney said, starting to feel uncomfortable, “what was I supposed to do?” He cleared his throat and then gripped his end of the mattress. “We should get this moved.”

  They brought it into the living room, and it didn’t take but thirty seconds for everyone to pass out. But while the others slept, Rodney lay restless. For most of his life, he’d stayed behind the walls he’d built for himself. He was safe behind those walls, protected. But now he had ventured from their safety, and he was with people he didn’t know, in a world that wasn’t recognizable. And no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t go back behind those walls anymore. They were gone. And just before exhaustion finally took hold, Rodney whispered a little prayer to not screw it up.

  6

  The temperature inside the cockpit had dropped dramatically once night fell. The bitter cold ate through the layers and gnawed at Kate’s bones. The altitude only made the cold worse. She had shivered for the past two hours. But recently that had stopped, and it wasn’t because she was suddenly warmer.

  Hypothermia wasn’t a welcome passenger, not if she wanted to land this plane safely. She looked at the small wind-up watch she found beneath the dashboard after she was in the air to check her progress. Based off her speed, it was another twenty minutes before she was in Fairfax.

  The trip had taken longer than expected because she adjusted her flight path to avoid the DC airspace. After what Roger had said about the capital being a war zone, she didn’t want to risk making herself a target for either the terrorists or the United States military. But everything she’d experienced so far told her that she was alone in the sky.

  There was no radio chatter, no other planes. And when she peered toward the ground, it was blanketed with darkness, which was going to provide trouble when it came time to land. But the weather had held out, and despite the cold and loneliness, it was a beautiful night to fly.

  Kate wiggled in her seat, trying to get the blood pumping again, and her thoughts drifted to Mark and Holly. She wondered how close they were to the cabin. She wondered if Holly was feeling better. She wondered if they were even still alive.

  Stop it.

  Of course they were still alive. Rodney knew what he was doing. They’d all still be fighting for their lives in the city if it weren’t for him. The shivers returned after a few minutes of moving around, and she exhaled relief. She wasn’t freezing to death. Not yet, at least.

  It had been a while since she was up in the air like this, alone. At least six years. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed it. There was something intimate about flying a two-seater by yourself.

  She remembered her first solo flight at night. It was cross country. No flight instructor to help her prepare the aircraft, just her and the plane.

  She had flown from Atlanta to Phoenix, and it was the first of many hours logged that she needed to acquire for her pilot’s license. It was the worst mixture of excitement and nerves that she’d ever experienced. Earlier that day, she had dropped Luke off at the house of a friend whom she used frequently to watch him while she was attending school. He was two at the time and going through that “terrible” phase so popular among toddlers.

  But that day when Kate dropped him off, he called for her just when she was at the door. Kate stopped, turned, and watched Luke sprint over on his chubby little legs, and he flung his arms around her knees.

  “I love you, Mom.” He raised his head and smiled. “Fly good.”

  Kate scooped him up off the floor and kissed him until he squealed. And that was all it took for the nerves to disappear. Because as much as she enjoyed flying and for as long as she had wanted to be a pilot, there was a different purpose to her flight education once Luke was born. She was flying so she could make sure her kid had food and clothes and shelter.

  The flight had gone off without a hitch, and she landed safely in Phoenix, finishing her required solo trip with ease. The next week, she took her pilot’s exam and passed with flying colors. It was the beginning of something great for her and her son. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t have to look back on the past and dwell on it. The higher she flew, the farther she separated herself from her past mistakes. And even after all the years since, she was still flying for her son.

  Kate descended to fifteen hundred feet so she had a better view of the ground. Her eyes had slowly adjusted to the dark, but it was still difficult to find a suitable landing site. After ten minutes, she saw a field break the monotony of trees. It was more box than rectangle, but it was still doable.

  She practiced her
approach twice, making sure that she had the timing down. With no lights, no tower, and in a plane that was older than her grandfather, she couldn’t afford a mistake. And then, knowing it was as good as it could get, Kate began her final approach and descent.

  The altimeter wound down, and Kate used it until the last four hundred feet, and then she eyeballed it, making sure she had clearance of the trees. The stick rumbled defiantly in her hands, but she kept the plane steady. The nose dipped twice, the engine waning and waxing due to the wobbly descent. She cleared the tree line on the field’s edge and then dropped quickly, knowing her runway was short.

  Kate pulled on the stick to level out, and the cockpit rumbled as the wheels made contact. She pulled back on the throttle quickly, hitting the brakes before she ran out of field, exhaling as she slowed to a stop.

  Kate cut the engine, peeling her fingers off the stick. Stiff from the cold, she groaned as she exited the aircraft and landed awkwardly on her feet. Her back hurt, and a spasm from her hip made her wince on impact, but she was alive. She’d made it.

  With the plane’s engine cut, and the roar of the wind gone, the night was dead quiet. No cars, no people, no bugs, just silence. And in this kind of quiet, anyone within twenty miles would have heard her plane landing, and that was attention she could do without.

  Kate searched the edge of the woods and found a small clearing in the trees. With some strained effort, she managed to push the Skyranger into it. Between the darkness, trees, and the branches she found, the plane was fairly well hidden.

  One final sweep of the cockpit provided her with the map and her pack, and she checked the remaining bullets in her revolver. Only three shots left. She snapped the barrel shut and prayed that she wouldn’t have to use any of them then limped into the forest.