“Oh, Lucas, I don’t know. I mean, it depends on what’s gone wrong. We should be, but then again, maybe not…” she said, a quaver in her voice.
“You think the water’s radioactive?” Lucas asked.
“I…yes, it probably is, but radiation disperses in water, so again, it depends on how it’s getting irradiated. The worst case is that the plant is leaking into the river…”
“Let’s assume the worst,” Lucas said.
“Then we should get as far from the bank as we can. Just to be prudent.”
Axel and Red digested the news, and Lucas stroked Tango’s flank. “Let’s make tracks. Bad enough there are killers we can see we have to watch for. But something invisible like this…not good.”
They mounted up and rode away at a hurried clip. Two hours later, when Lucas estimated they’d put ten miles between themselves and the river, they took a short break. Ruby and Joel sat by their steeds, and Lucas drank from his canteen. Joel cleared his throat before speaking.
“Portland’s on that river, isn’t it?”
Lucas nodded. “You’ve got the same map I do.”
“And where we’re going is, too,” he finished.
“That’s right. But it’s almost two hundred miles from the plant.”
“Eventually it’ll reach there, won’t it? The water will carry it,” Joel said, the question more of a statement.
“Maybe. I don’t know enough about that sort of thing,” Lucas admitted. “But we’re only going to drop off the vaccine, and then we can get out of there.”
“What if it’s already making people sick?”
“Then we’ll radio Elliot from there and figure out what to do next.” Distant thunder interrupted Lucas, and he glanced up at the sky. “Looks like it’s fixing to rain.”
Axel approached and sat by Joel. “Will the rain be radioactive? You said the guy told you that steam was escaping from the plant.”
“The rain?” Lucas shook his head. “I doubt it. What do you think, Ruby?”
“Depends. We don’t have enough information. If the storm’s coming from the ocean, probably not. If it’s moving from north to south, maybe, but maybe not. I just don’t know.”
“Probably best we stay out of it, though, don’t you think?” Axel pressed.
Lucas nodded. “If we can find shelter, we should.”
“What about the horses?” Red asked.
Lucas unfolded his map and considered the topography. “There’s a town an hour’s ride from here. We can wait it out there if we can make it in time.”
“What if there are bad guys?” Joel asked. “I thought our idea was to avoid any inhabited areas.”
“Which scares you more – bullets or radiation?” Ruby asked before Lucas could answer.
Axel frowned. “This sucks.”
Lucas sighed. “It does,” he agreed.
“As if we didn’t have enough problems…” Joel said.
“Not much that complaining about it’s going to accomplish,” Lucas said. “Let’s ride as fast as we can, and we’ll deal with whatever we find when we get there. Chances are, given the size on the map, nobody’s left. We’ve crossed a lot of country with the same story – most everyone moved to the cities.”
Red narrowed his brows. “Let’s hope so.”
Lucas met his stare. “Not like I did this to us, Red. I’m not happy about it either.”
Red blew out a long breath. “I know.”
The gunmen strode back to their horses, and Ruby leaned into Lucas. “You think they’re going to be a problem?”
Lucas rose and looked up at the darkening sky. “Storm’s moving pretty quickly. Best to hit it before it lets loose.”
“We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?” Joel asked, his voice tight.
“You know as much as I do,” Lucas said, and made for Tango, who was watching him with unblinking calm. Joel stared at him as he walked away, and Ruby shook her head and nudged him.
“We’re all in this together, Joel. Nothing Lucas does is going to change the way things are. But one thing we can do is keep from getting wet.”
“You think there’s a real risk from the rain?”
“If enough steam’s escaping and it’s condensing in the atmosphere, anything’s possible. I didn’t spend much of my school time on radiation sickness or fallout. But I know when I looked at bomb blasts, the wind would carry it from west to east on the jet stream, so I don’t think we should take unnecessary chances.”
Joel’s expression soured further. “How many nuclear plants are there in the U.S.?”
“I have no idea,” Ruby said.
“Something like this could be happening at more than one, though, right?”
“I suppose so. Nobody planned for the end of the world in their fault-tolerance equations, I’d bet. But our current problem is the one upriver. Let’s deal with that first, and then we can worry about the rest.”
“Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse…”
Ruby returned his frown, her eyes hard. “I know.”
Chapter 6
Dark clouds roiled overhead as a scattering of houses came into view across miles of field. Lucas spurred Tango on as the light went out of the sky. The booms of thunder were closer now, and an occasional tree of lightning seared across the horizon. He counted from one of the flashes, and when the accompanying thunder shook the ground, calculated that the storm was no more than a few miles off.
The air felt heavy with moisture, and an astringent note of ozone stung his nose as he drove the big stallion harder, the others racing along for all they were worth. Even Jax had apparently intuited that behind them lay danger, and the mule’s short legs were working double speed to keep up with the horses, his burdens barely slowing him as he soldiered forward with the determination of a freight train.
Lucas slowed as they neared a partially collapsed wooden fence and signaled for the others to stop. When they did, he peered through his binoculars at a farmhouse half a mile away. After several long moments, he dropped the glasses against his chest and called out, “Looks deserted, but it has a barn that seems like it’s in decent shape. Let’s make for that, but keep your weapons close. Don’t want to be bushwhacked by anything we didn’t see coming.”
The approach to the farmhouse was more cautious than the flat-out run from the river, and the group fanned out as they closed in on the structure, the instinct to separate second nature after weeks on the trail. When they were a hundred yards away, Lucas looked to his left, where Ruby was holding her AR-15, her jaw clenched and her chin held high. He contrasted that to Joel, jittery as a rabbit, and guided Tango forward, scanning the buildings for signs of life.
The sky opened up with a clap of thunder as he neared the yawning maw of the barn, and he drove Tango into the interior, Ruby right behind him. Inside it was immediately apparent that the building was deserted; everything was coated in dust and soot, but the tin roof was watertight.
A cry sounded from outside, and Lucas jumped from the saddle, rifle at the ready, and ran to the door as Axel and Red rode through. A look outside told the story - in his haste to make it to the barn, Joel’s horse had misstepped, and horse and rider had tumbled into the mud.
“You okay?” Lucas asked as the horse struggled to regain its footing.
Joel lay in the mud as the rain pelted him. “My leg…” he said, his face contorted in pain.
The horse leapt up and bolted for the barn, leaving Joel sprawled twenty feet from the door. Lucas eyed the clouds and the sheets of rain streaming across the field, and cursed under his breath.
“Hang on,” he said, and ran to where the younger man was clawing at the mud in an effort to rise.
Lucas had him on his feet within seconds, and Joel leaned on him for support as they made their way back to shelter. Once inside, Lucas lowered Joel to the ground and set his M4 down. The others kept their distance, their expressions conveying the fear of the unknown represented by the rain that s
oaked them both. Lucas ignored them and knelt beside Joel to probe his leg.
“Feel broken?” Lucas asked in a low voice.
Joel shook his head. “I…I don’t think so. My hip and the saddlebags took the worst of it. But the damned horse landed practically on top of me.”
“Can you bend it?”
Joel tried, and his knee flexed. “Yeah. I think it’s just bunged up. Hurts like a bitch, but not like a break. I’ve had enough of those to know the difference.”
“Probably have a hell of a bruise. You sure you’re okay?”
“It went numb there, so I couldn’t tell. But now I can feel it. Boy, can I ever.” Joel paused and met his eye. “Thanks for coming out to get me.”
Lucas turned away. “Might want to dig out a change of clothes and leave these wet ones for posterity. Just in case.”
“You took a risk. I owe you one,” Joel pressed.
“Any of you would have done the same for me.”
Joel looked over at where Axel, Red, and Ruby were huddled at the other end of the barn, busying themselves with their animals. “But you’re the only one who actually did.”
“I was closest.”
Joel tested his leg again and winced. “Right.”
Lucas looked over at Tango and then back to Joel. “Got to tend to my horse. Sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Give me a minute. I’ll be fine.”
“Might want to change before you do much more. If we got a little dose, the longer we’re in these clothes, the worse it probably is.”
Joel gathered his strength and struggled to his feet. Lucas moved to Tango and withdrew another set of jeans and a shirt from his oversized saddlebags. He stripped down without embarrassment, nudity familiar to them all in the intimate confines of a trail team. He pulled on the new clothes and carted his wet jacket and flak vest to the side of the barn entrance. “We can rinse these off after the rain stops.”
“Think radiation just rinses off?” Joel asked skeptically.
“That’s how they do it in the movies, isn’t it?” Lucas said. “Ruby, what do you think?”
“In the old days, I would have had an answer for you in under a minute by checking the web, but now…seems reasonable, but again, I can’t be sure,” she said.
“Then probably better than nothing,” Lucas affirmed, and hoisted the saddle off Tango’s back and set it down beside him.
Joel rummaged through his nearest saddlebag and stopped, searching around. After a long moment he walked around the horse and ferreted around in the other bag before retrieving his kit bag and setting it at his feet, his face clouded with pain. He changed with the movements of an old man, taking a moment to study his discoloring thigh and hip with a shake of his head, and then dried off his horse with a spare blanket, which he carried with his clothes to the barn door and set beside Lucas’s.
He spent a good half hour staring out at the storm as the water came down around them, obviously agitated. Lucas eventually walked over to him and spoke quietly.
“Don’t sweat it, Joel. What’s done is done. Besides, the more I think about it, the likelihood of the rain being radioactive is pretty slim. Looked like the storm was moving in from the east, so we’re probably in the clear.”
“Words like probably and slim aren’t all that encouraging right now.”
“Fact is we could have been killed any day on this trip, Joel. Still could be, on the way to Astoria. There aren’t any givens. I’d be more worried about marauders or the gang out of Portland than I would some rain.”
Joel’s voice dropped to a murmur. “But we have no way of knowing for sure.”
“Nope. Welcome to the new world.”
Lucas returned to Ruby, who had watched the exchange with pursed lips. “Is he going to be okay?” she whispered.
“He’s just shaken up. Damn near broke his hip, and now he’s worried that his skin’s going to melt off. He’ll get over it when he doesn’t die.”
Ruby studied Lucas’s profile. “Charming bedside manner.”
“I’m not here to coddle anyone. He’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.”
“You sound so confident.”
“Little rain isn’t going to kill me, Ruby. Been through enough by now to be pretty sure of that.”
She smiled grimly. “How long are we going to stay here?”
“Till it blows by. Then we keep moving.”
Ruby exhaled with resignation. “No rest for the wicked, is there?”
“Get some shut-eye while you can. No telling when the storm will break, but when it does, we’ll need to make up for lost time. Steering clear of the river’s going to add at least a day to our trip, maybe more. So enjoy it while it lasts.”
She looked around at the filthy interior and gave him a wan smile. “You know your way to a woman’s heart, Lucas. A real charmer sometimes.”
Lucas nodded, his face a mask. “I’ve been told.”
Chapter 7
Astoria, Oregon
Three men passed the guard outpost that was one of two town access gates and made their way east through a sea of tents toward a long shack that had been constructed along the shore. Its walls were cobbled together with old tarps and pallets; sheets of corrugated metal had been wired together for a roof. A collection of miserable humanity loitered around small campfires in the temporary squatter camp that had formed outside the town’s perimeter wall. The fringe area had grown from a few dozen refugees from Portland and Seattle drawn by rumors of plentiful fish and sea breezes to almost nine hundred as increasing numbers fled the ongoing violence of the bigger cities.
Astoria had made the decision early on not to accept more residents than it could comfortably sustain, and now what had been viewed as a transitory problem had become a permanent one, straining the town’s patience as well as the resources of the land around it. Field latrines had been dug in long ditches downwind of the camp, although many of the residents simply used the bay for their sewage, and enterprising residents of the purgatory had set up water-delivery services from a nearby creek that flowed into the brackish bay.
As with most things post-collapse, the resourceful had engineered ways to eke out existences by catering to their fellow survivors, and the tent city was no different. One of the original townspeople, a grizzled ex-marine known as the General, who lived on a property beyond the town’s defenses that had been in his family for six generations, had seen a need and filled it: he’d built the shack that now served as the area bar, open by torchlight and serving some of the meanest moonshine in the area, made by the General from anything he could reliably harvest.
The town had a no-alcohol policy established by the city council, which leaned hard toward religious sanctimony and favored a puritanical lifestyle. Many in Astoria believed that they had been spared due to some divine plan, and had resolved after the collapse to atone for any sins deliberate or inadvertent by living in chastity and humility.
The General, having been through four tours of duty, wanted no part of it, and had steered clear of the town for anything but trading the items that he bartered for his rotgut. He was ornery as a wounded bear on the best of days and had no patience for the political infighting that had become Astoria’s dominant feature once the initial phase of the collapse had run its course and it had become obvious that not everyone was going to die. He’d helped bury the dead and establish the town’s defenses, but had kept clear of any further involvement as the dynamic had changed from one where hardcore preppers (many of them ex-military who knew what they were doing) called the shots in an authoritarian fashion – the most efficient chain of command approach in an emergency – to one where the other townspeople demanded a voice in self-governance and had displaced many of the original decision makers – in his view, to everyone’s detriment.
The tent city was only one example of an out-of-control situation he would have taken a flamethrower to if he’d been running things. But he hadn’t been asked, so he’d decided to benefit from i
t as best he could, and now ran his bar on a spit of land three hundred yards along the shore from the guard post.
Human nature being what it was, many of the townspeople could also be spotted sneaking out for an evening of drink any given night. The trio now en route was a typical example: two of the engineering types who served as resident experts on everything, and the local physician, a man in his late forties crowned with prematurely white hair and a lean face that boasted a long, thin nose.
All three were well known to the staff, who observed the confidentiality of those who frequented the little speakeasy with the sanctity of priests taking confession. The bar was a place where the mighty could come and unwind without their nosy peers judging them and the low could salve their wounds. Those desiring a few hours of friendly companionship could find willing sellers of the same, and those looking for patrons could meet their match. Every population center had at least one destination like the General’s, and the crowd was largely well behaved, any would-be troublemakers cowed by the General’s security men and his formidable physical presence, even in the winter of his years.
A pair of drifters played acoustic guitars in a corner of the room as the mostly male drinkers nursed their tumblers of white lightning, some quaffing a locally brewed fruit wine so potent it was rumored to cause hallucinations if consumed to excess. The doctor and his companions counted more than twenty lost souls at the crates that served as tables; a few youngish women were interspersed among them, their profession announced by their come-hither smiles and bawdy laughter.
He signaled to one of the servers and held up three fingers. The young man nodded – the doctor was a regular, his order predictable: three cups of the local wine to start, and depending on their mood, many more until the bar closed in the wee hours of the morning.
The General wasn’t working, and the doctor and his friends didn’t recognize the bartender or the server; but the staff of the place tended to be as fluid as the camp, some staying for a few months, others for years. There was no expectation of stability or certainty in the new world – only today and whatever it brought. So many had died from freak accidents or marauder raids or a disease that would have been easily cured before the collapse that each day had the feeling of a gift, and it was a rare man who questioned it.
The Day After Never - Insurrection (Book 5) Page 4