Windburn

by Kenny Soward

  “Sit down in that chair.”

  Sara obediently complied by tossing her wet poncho on the tiled floor of the bathroom and sitting down in the chair with her hands resting in her lap. She stared at the array of needles and tubes next to her until a woozy feeling began to turn inside her stomach.

  “They really hooked us up with some good supplies.” Natasha pulled up another chair in front of Sara and slapped on a pair of purple latex gloves. “All the right primary and secondary tubing, needles, and collection tubes. This should go quickly.”

  “Great,” Sara said as a hot wave flashed over her and a layer of sweat formed on her brow. She hated getting stuck with needles, though it seemed silly to be worried about a tiny needle when she’d just been shot at less than two hours ago. She wanted to make a scoffing joke to lighten the mood, though one look over at Tex’s pale skin and shallow breathing and she stifled it. “Do you think it will help him?”

  “I think it’s the best chance he has to survive. Give me your arm.”

  Sara held out her right arm, and Natasha began to swab the area just below her elbow with alcohol. Sara kept her eyes on Tex, noticing how well Natasha had been taking care of him. She’d stripped his shirt off and washed the grime from his chest and arms. She’d even combed his hair back from his forehead in a dignified way that stirred Sara’s heart.

  “You’re going to feel a prick,” Natasha said, though Sara didn’t look down at what the woman was doing. She kept her eyes focused on Tex as the needle entered her skin and Natasha taped the IV line to her arm.

  “How long will it take?” Sara asked, curiously.

  “About ten minutes.” Natasha sat back in her chair.

  “That’s all?” Sara fixed the nurse with a hopeful look.

  “Normally, you would go through a health screening that would last about an hour. Unfortunately, this is a special case. Tex is hanging in there, but his blood pressure and heart rate have been dropping all morning. I’m really surprised he hasn’t gone into shock yet.”

  Sara glanced down the needle in her arm and the line of red filling up the bag in Natasha’s lap. “Small price to pay to save a man’s life.”

  “Very small,” Natasha agreed. “And while we wait, you can fill me in on what happened at Trailmarker’s.”

  Starting with the drive through the desolate back roads of the Tennessee mountains, Sara recounted the events of the morning for Natasha. She told her about the families that had been run out of their homes by the flooding, all their possessions floating around like abandoned memories. She told Natasha about Dion dropping them off in the hills behind Trailmarker’s Urgent Care and the Antler Bar and Grill and how she and Steven had climbed over those hills until they’d come upon the local thugs.

  Haltingly, and without too much bloody detail, she explained how Steven had taken out the first guard before they barred the doors of the Antler and attacked the men and woman laying siege to the urgent care facility.

  “So, my Dion shot at someone?”

  “He did,” Sara replied. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think he hit anyone.”

  “I don’t suppose it matters now,” Natasha said with a sigh. “My feelings about guns pale in comparison to the importance of defending good people from the bad ones.”

  “Who determines who’s good and bad?” Sara asked, more to herself than to Natasha. “I mean, it seemed pretty clear in this case, but how can we tell in all this chaos?”

  “I guess that’s the hard part.” Natasha pulled the needle gently from Sara’s arm and immediately stuck a cotton ball on top of the insertion point. Then she fixed a piece of medical tape across the cotton ball and curled Sara’s arm. “How do you feel?”

  “A little nauseous. I think it’s just from the needle.”

  “Make some instant orange juice and drink a couple glasses of water.” Natasha fixed Sara with a serious expression. “And if you start to feel dizzy, sit down immediately.”

  “Yes, Nurse Gardiner,” Sara said, standing up on tired legs.

  Natasha gave Sara a dry look and then started to attach the bag of Sara’s blood to a nearby stand. “I’ll hook this up to Tex while you get Dion, okay?”

  “I will, Natasha. Thank you.”

  Sara left the master bedroom turned medical ward and stepped into the kitchen. Dion was at the counter pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  “Want some?” he asked without looking up.

  “I can’t,” Sara said. “I just gave blood.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” Dion turned and started to put the cup to his lips until Sara shook her head to stop him.

  “And you can’t either,” she said. “Your A positive blood is also required. Go see Natasha. Now.”

  Dion looked crestfallen as he set the coffee cup down and stepped past Sara and into the master bedroom. Sara reached out and touched his arm as he went by.

  “Is Barbara still upstairs with Todd?”

  “Yes, but she seems cool,” Dion said, then his eyebrows furrowed. “A little intense, but not dangerous. Do you think we should watch her?”

  Sara shrugged and then replied with her own question. “Did she say how she was getting home?” She realized how silly the question sounded given the current state of the world. Who said the young woman even had a home at all? There were undoubtedly thousands left homeless by the flooding and chaos, and there was a good chance Barbara was one of them.

  “She didn’t say. She made Todd comfortable, though, and she watches him like a hawk. He seems to like her.”

  Astro barked, and Sara glanced over to see Zoe playing with the dogs in the living room, dangling a Cool Ranch Dorito above their heads while they sat attentively and waited for it to drop.

  “Don’t encourage them to beg, Zoe,” Sara called out.

  “Sorry, Mom.” Zoe tossed the chip into her mouth and crunched down, much to the dogs’ dismay.

  “Thanks, Dion. I’ll go check on them in a bit.” Her voice was distant as her eyes drifted up to Todd’s room where the door was shut.

  After Dion walked away, Sara went to the kitchen counter, opened the cupboard, and searched for a packet of instant orange juice. Natasha had rearranged some of their stocks and dishes, so it took Sara a moment to find where she’d put the powdered drinks.

  Once acquired, Sara poured the dry orange powder into a glass and then filled it with water, stirring the mixture with a spoon. The first sip tasted sweet and cool, but not too sugary. A ravenous thirst roared in her throat, so Sara finished the drink in a half-dozen gulps and then made herself another.

  Chapter 7

  Jake, Boston, Massachusetts | 4:15 p.m., Thursday

  After a long interview with a stoic woman at the FEMA outpost, Jake, Marcy, Ashley, and the kids were driven into the Providence camp and released to a camp guide. A man with the FEMA Corps T-shirt guided them to the southwest edge of the camp and assigned them a single large tent with four cots, one of which the kids would share.

  The Corps leader took Alice and Timothy’s names and added them to a database which would alert the FEMA workers when Stephie George asked after her children. Then he gave them directions to the food and water stores.

  Ashley and Alice went with the man to secure some supplies while Jake, Marcy, and Timothy stood on the edge of the camp and looked southwest over a stretch of tall grass and then a high, barbed wire fence to a cluster of subdivisions that were left untouched by the worst of the storms. Several broken-down military vehicles and other failed pieces of equipment were parked near their tent, and off to the side was a slight rise whereupon a tarp-covered piece of equipment sat unused. The edge of the tarp fluttered up, exposing a large, round dish. Jake thought he recognized it as a SATCOM dish, but he couldn’t be sure from where he stood.

  It turned out they were not actually in Providence, but rather just north of Pawtucket in a massive parking lot belonging to a Home Depot and several other department stores. The space had been converted into a t
ent city, and turning a full circle, all Jake could see was a sea of white in almost every direction. Aside from the department stores, Jake spotted a shipping center across the road where eighteen-wheelers entered and exited, presumably transporting supplies.

  Several kids ran through the camp laughing and playing as they wove between the tents and disappeared. Jake saw the longing expressions on Timothy’s face, and he knew it would be just a matter of time before the boy and his sister joined in with the other kids.

  “Food and water have been secured,” Ashley said, coming up behind them with a grinning Alice in tow. “Three days’ worth of food, two small crates tucked neatly into our tent and accounted for.” Then she reached into a pack and handed out granola bars to everyone.

  “Thanks.” Jake took the proffered snack, opened it up, and took a crunchy bite. Then he said, half-jokingly, “Here’s a suggestion. You might want to take a break from organizing us. I mean, we’ve reached civilization.”

  “I’ll take that under consideration,” Ashley said. “But it’s not likely to happen any time soon.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Jake chuckled.

  “So, what do we do now?” Marcy looked around like she didn’t know what to do with herself.

  “That’s a great question,” Jake replied in a mockingly dry tone. “While I appreciate the charm of the Northeast, I think I’d like to have a quick meal and be on my way home.”

  “Me, too,” Marcy said, then she pointed back to the expressway. “I-95 South is right behind us. I wonder if one of those cargo trucks could take us home, or close to it.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Jake agreed, glancing to his right toward the truck supply depot. It was bustling like crazy, and it dawned on him how much effort it took to feed a hundred thousand people bunched up in one place. “We probably need to ask around.”

  “Maybe we can find that FEMA guy again,” Marcy said. “Actually, there are a ton of FEMA workers around. We could ask any one of them.”

  “Or them.” Jake nodded toward a group of three soldiers patrolling the edge of the camp. They were two young men and a young woman who bore themselves casually, and they looked friendly enough except for the rifles cradled in their arms with the barrels pointing down. He recognized one of the soldiers as Riley, the one who’d brought them in. “I’ll bet Riley could help.”

  The soldiers were chatting quietly as their eyes roamed across the subdivisions to the south before sweeping back to camp.

  “Hey, Riley.” Jake stepped forward and waved the soldiers down. Two instantly stepped back, weapons raising slightly as they sized Jake up from head to toe with one glance. It struck Jake that these soldiers were on edge for a reason. They were stationed on the edge of a camp, protecting people from hostile forces in their own country.

  “Take it easy,” Jake said, slowing down and offering a friendly smile. “I’m not one of the bad guys. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  “I know this guy,” Riley said to the other two soldiers. “He’s okay.”

  The soldiers lowered their weapons, just barely.

  “New assignment?” Jake asked him.

  “They like to switch us around a lot,” Riley replied with a smile. “Keeps things interesting. I’m on foot patrol the rest of the week.”

  “The FEMA workers can answer any questions you have about the facilities.” The woman soldier wore a tag on her chest that read Sigmund.

  “I don’t need to know about the camp,” Jake replied. “Actually, I need to know how to get out of it.”

  “Can’t leave,” the second male soldier said, a guy with the name tag of Jones. “Against camp rules.”

  “See, that’s not going to work.” Jake put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “My family is back in Tennessee waiting for me.” Then he glanced over his shoulder at Marcy. “And her family is back in Indianapolis. We—”

  “None of us want to be here,” Sigmund said with a smirk, “but we are. So suck it up.”

  “Yeah, suck it up,” Jones added. “Besides, you can’t leave unless you get a pass from Captain Sanchez.”

  “Captain Sanchez? Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Jake ignored Sigmund and Jones and addressed Riley directly, since he knew he’d have better luck with him. “How do I get in touch with Captain Sanchez?”

  “You can’t,” Jones said with a mean inflection. “He’s got a lot more to do than waste his time writing passes.”

  “It’s hard to get in to see Captain Sanchez,” Riley agreed, seemingly caught between helping Jake and staying on the good side of his fellow soldiers.

  “Why don’t you let him decide that?” Jake asked, hardening his tone.

  “You’re interrupting our patrol,” Sigmund said, her shoulders tensing with annoyance.

  “Hey, I just…” Jake tried to think about how he could get on Sigmund’s and Jones’s good sides, although the look in their eyes told him they were losing their patience with him. He glanced around, eyes falling on just the thing that might get him an audience with Captain Sanchez.

  Jake pursed his lips and took a deep breath, staring back and forth between the soldiers for a moment. Then he let out the air in a burst and walked right past them.

  “Hey!” Sigmund said, grabbing at his arm.

  Jake was not as fit as a trained soldier, but he’d been out in the wild streets of Boston for four weeks and had dealt with a lot of tough situations. He easily shrugged out of the woman’s grasp and kept walking. The two men cursed, and their boots made thudding sounds as they rushed to grab him.

  “Sir, wait,” Riley said, all the humor gone from his tone. He grabbed Jake’s arm in a firm grip, and Jake jerked himself free and kept on walking.

  “Hey, buddy.” Jones’s voice rose in pitch to a near yell, and his weapon made a mechanical click. “If you don’t comply with me right now, I’ll be forced to shoot you.”

  “We’re not shooting anyone,” Riley said, now in full contention with his fellow soldiers.

  “Jake?” That was Marcy’s voice, rising with sudden urgency. “What are you doing? Jake?”

  Just before the soldiers issued another warning, or worse, shot him, Jake stopped in front of the big, tarp-covered piece of equipment at the top of the rise. He stooped down and lifted one corner of the tarp and looked beneath it.

  “What are you doing, sir?” Riley asked, and Jake glanced up to see the soldiers standing around him with their weapons trained on him, except for Riley who kept his barrel turned away. “That equipment is off limits.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Jake stood up and turned to the soldiers, placing his hands on his hips once more.

  “What’s that?” Sigmund was angry, although she seemed relieved that Jake had at least stopped walking.

  Jake gave them the friendliest, most innocent smile he could muster. “This is an IB-280 SATCOM terminal, isn’t it?”

  Sigmund and Jones shook their heads, and Riley stared at him intently before answering. “Yeah, you familiar with it?”

  “Familiar with it? I worked on one of these a few years ago.” Jake’s confidence started to grow. “Back then, it was just a prototype; this puppy looks a bit more advanced.”

  “What’s an IB-280 SATCOM?” Jones asked, clearly not privy to information regarding the communication equipment his unit used.

  “It’s a secure communication device,” Jake replied. “You can mount it on a Humvee and use it for long-range communication while you’re on the move. Unfortunately, this one looks broken.”

  “Terrorists hit it last week when we were out on patrol,” Riley said, his interest in Jake growing by the second. “We’ve got a few others, of course, though this kind of equipment is like gold out here.”

  “I’m not sure what this has to do with you disobeying our orders,” Sigmund said, her eyes stern as she spoke through tight lips. “Now, if you’d—”

  “Call Captain Sanchez,” Jake said with a wide grin. “Tell
him I’ll fix his SATCOM terminal, but I’m going to need a favor in return.”

  Chapter 8

  Sara, Gatlinburg, Tennessee | 6:17 p.m., Thursday

  Sara woke up with a groan, rolling over on the couch’s smooth, faux-leather material. Something lay across her legs, and Sara looked down to see that a blanket covered her, and Rex was snuggled into the back of her knees. Smiling softly, Sara pushed him away and finished turning over onto her right side, and the German Shepherd readjusted his position so that he stretched against her legs, the animal pleasantly warming her in the chilly cabin.

  Sara sighed as the events of the past day returned to her. The raid on Trailmarker’s to free Todd. The cycling thoughts of her shooting the front door of the Antler, and the screams of those inside as her bullets pierced their flesh. The subsequent return to the cabin and her giving blood so that Tex might have a chance at life. Happy to have Todd back, but exhausted, Sara had made her way to the couch where she’d laid down and fallen into the welcome arms of a dreamless black sleep.

  Glancing up at one of the wall clocks, Sara saw it was just past 6:00 p.m. Rain fell gently against the window, interspersed with sudden gusts of wind that caused a rattle of glass. The weather had been growing more violent over the past twenty-four hours, and Sara thought it might be wise to check her internet sources to see what was in store for them now that Todd was safe and sound.

  Sara sat up with a groan, reluctant to leave the warmth of the couch and the dog who’d happily cuddled next to her. She looked around and saw that someone had lit a few candles, placing one on the counter and two on the mantel above the fireplace. They gave off a warm glow that only made her want to lie back down, though something drove her to get up and see what everyone was doing.

  “Hello, Missus Walton,” came a soft voice from the kitchen.