The Search For Home

by C A Bird

  “I expect people to band together to survive!” Mark raised his voice, frowning at the man. “If we fight each other for the limited resources, we’ll all die.”

  “What about our guns?”

  “We’ll just hang onto them.”

  One of the elderly men said, “Can you at least take the boy? He’s only twelve.”

  “No! Grandpa. I won’t go.” The boy jumped to his feet and moved to the old man, throwing his arms around his neck.

  “He doesn’t want to go. Look, I understand that you folks are desperate. That doesn’t allow you to hurt others. We came from Willsburg, a new town just north of Eagle Nest. Took us three days to get here. There’s a growing colony in Eagle Nest, Willsburg and Angel Fire. Get your families and hike on up there. We’ve only made fifteen miles a day so you should be able to get there in four or five days, maybe six.”

  “What if they won’t help us?”

  “If you’ve got any more guns, and you go up there with bullets flying, they sure as hell won’t help you. But if you arrive with a white flag and offer to work, they’ll welcome you with open arms. They need families that will help rebuild. They have schools and a doctor. If you wait until you’re completely out of supplies you’ll never make it.”

  He waved toward the south. “Now, you’ve had a good breakfast. Get the hell out of here, and if you follow us, we’ll kill you.” The men climbed to their feet and left, checking over their shoulders as if they expected treachery.

  When the attackers had crossed over a small rise, blocking them from view, the wagon train moved out. Mark and horses didn’t get along too well, so today he rode on the seat of the front wagon, holding the reins of the mule team.

  Mike called out, “Hey Skillet, why don’t you let one of us drive your rig? Wouldn’t hurt you to walk a bit today.”

  “Screw that. These mustangs are barely trained. If you don’t handle ‘em just right they’ll bolt. You wanna eat on this trip?”

  “Shit, Skillet. Me and my brother trained those cusses real good. They won’t bolt,” Sam Yancey said, as he pulled the third wagon up alongside Skillet’s. Chris was nestled behind him, toward the front of the wagon with Karen sleeping in her arms. Greg Whitehorse, who’d had guard duty that night, slept in the back.

  Greg, a geologist and University professor had come with the explorers to try and find out what had happened to his home in Arizona, and if any of his people, the Navajo, had survived

  The group had four other horses. Matthew Pennington’s magnificent Appaloosa stallion and his mare Tulip, usually ridden by Einstein, were tied to the back of the chuck wagon, the two men sleeping in the back after their night on guard duty. The Yancey’s gelding, Jasper, was ridden by Aaron, and Willy Yancey rode their mare. Willy hung back and watched their rear for any sign of pursuit. Mike, Chang and Carlos, all in their late thirties, were on foot, walking easily beside the wagons. They rotated riding the horses and driving Chris’s wagon, enabling them to make better time.

  “It’s not fair he won’t let anyone else drive his wagon,” Danny complained to Jimbo.

  “Shut up, Danny.”

  The previous day the travelers had come upon Eydie and Bob. They were in bad shape, having survived for over a year with four other people in the small town of Maxwell. Their food had run out and they didn’t know anything about gardening… even if they’d had seeds. The others had all died during the winter, and Bob and Eydie were just waiting to die of starvation when they saw the wagon train coming along the road.

  They thought they were hallucinating.

  Bob had taken off his shirt and was waving it at the wagons, when riders slipped up behind them and covered them with rifles. A long discussion ensued and the wagon folks, convinced the couple were decent people, agreed to let them come along. After cleaning up, eating Skillet’s excellent dinner, and getting a good night’s rest, they had recovered somewhat, but not enough to walk. They rode in the wagon with Chris and the baby. Both joined in when Chris began to sing at the top of her lungs.

  “Head em up, move em out, Rawhide!”

  2

  Two weeks after the Great War:

  The rains continued to fall, washing radioactive particles to the ground all around the world. The pattern of fallout was inconsistent, some areas receiving massive amounts of radiation and others receiving almost none. Weather patterns were unusual with prevailing winds blowing from completely different directions than before the war. Dust clouds and rain clouds were blown from southern New Mexico around the Sangre de Cristo Mountains to the four corners region and then northeast, directly across Durango. The clouds were trapped by the mountains surrounding the beautiful town. Although distant from the hydrogen bombs, Durango received a sterilizing dose of radiation. Other towns in the four corners region were spared. Farmington, only fifty miles south of Durango, received very little radiation. As bad as it was, within a few months the radioactive clouds had passed on and the radiation had begun to dissipate.

  Hiroshima and Nagasaki had been directly hit with atomic bombs during World War II, but within a short period of time had begun to recover. The effects of the radiation were felt many years later in the form of various types of cancers, but the cities had rebuilt and before the Great War were thriving, modern metropolises.

  Present day:

  An anemic, morning light flooded the warehouse, penetrating dirty window panes running along the top of the walls. A large rat raced into the corner as Jon pushed a stack of cardboard boxes tightly against the right hand wall. Another stack was already against the wall on the left and the only opening was filled by his thin figure.

  “He’s a cornered rat,” he whispered, and chuckled. “He really is a cornered rat.”

  The only way out was between Jon’s legs. The rat darted to the right, and then juked left, and as it made a mad dash toward freedom, the man smashed down with his boot, trapping it to the floor. The rodent squealed loudly, and twisting, tried to bite the foot holding it down. Jon reached toward it with his hunting knife and deftly sliced off its head. Blood splashed over his boot and the filthy floor. Grabbing the tail, Jon held the rat up to allow the blood to drain from its body. This was the third time he had managed to catch a rat in this warehouse using the trap in the far, back corner.

  As famished as he was, he stuck the rat into a large satchel he had slung over his shoulder and quickly slipped to the roll-up door at the rear of the warehouse. Stacks of boxes and shelves full of auto parts filled the space behind him. He paused to ensure no one lurked in the semi-darkness. Lying down on the floor, he lifted the door a few inches… waiting and listening, peeking out to the alley behind the building. Satisfied it was clear, he raised it another foot and rolled under the door. Leaping to his feet, he crouched down and ran along the back wall to the end of the alley, and made his way east, past Ft. Lewis College, down a street to where the pavement ended and a dirt road continued into the hills.

  A gnarled pinyon pine marked the spot where he had set up one of his snares and his heart leaped when he saw it had a squirrel trapped within. The animal still struggled feebly but Jon made quick work of putting it out of its misery and added the carcass to the satchel. He wiped the knife on the grass that was just beginning to turn green in the early spring, and stuck the weapon in the sheath hooked to his belt.

  Carefully checking his surroundings, he came down out of the hills and made his way to 3rd Street, then jogged several blocks to a residential street north of the downtown area where he slid past a house into the backyard. Slipping over a low, wooden fence into the next lot he paused and stared at a faded, plastic play set that sat in the corner of the yard, a reminder of the happier days before the war. It was half hidden by weeds.

  Jon crossed the street and slid down a bank to the swiftly moving Las Animas River, swollen with the water from the spring snow melt. Slipping the strap of his plastic, one-gallon water container off his shoulder, he took it to the water’s edge and filled it up. Eve
n at eight pounds, he carried it easily. As skinny as he was, he had become stronger over the months since the war.

  Twenty one months ago… when the power went out.

  Durango had been spared the blast effects of the bombs, but clouds of radiation-saturated dust and rain had blown across the town, killing most of the residents, damning them to an agonizing death. Skeletons littered the streets of the picturesque town and were found in most of the houses. Jon tried to stay on the outskirts of town as much as possible to keep away from these wretched remains.

  He ducked through a hole he had created months ago in a chain link fence and snuck through more backyards to a modest wood frame house at the end of the block. Glancing over his shoulder, he moved a rock, and grabbing a key, unlocked a door that led into the dim interior of a small garage. Jon almost sobbed as he went through his house to a door where he descended into the unfinished basement. He was almost knocked off his feet as an emaciated woman threw herself into his arms.

  “Oh Jonathan, where have you been? You’ve never been gone this long.” Her speech was slurred, the result of being hearing impaired since the age of seven, when a severe ear infection had stolen her hearing. She felt, rather than heard, his footsteps on the stairs.

  He signed to her, “I’m so sorry, Mary. The food’s nearly gone and they watch me like a hawk to make sure I don’t run. It’s okay, I’m here now.” They clung together for a minute, and then, gently disengaging her, he moved to the corner of the room. Tears ran down his face as he saw the twins, Jason and Josh, lying on a mattress, their bellies swollen and dull eyes staring up with the barest of recognition. Josh had healing sores on his arms which Jon thought might be a good sign, indicating that his immune system still functioned. He sat down beside them and pulled them into his lap, holding them as though he could will energy into their tiny bodies. They were just over two when the war came, and now at almost four, they hadn’t grown much and showed typical signs of starvation.

  “Here.” He handed her a plastic bag full of cans. “I went back through all the restaurants and stores along Main Street again.”

  “Is this all there was?”

  “Yeah,” he signed. “I’ve already been through every building many times. Before the war, everyone depended on ‘just in time delivery’ to supply their needs. They didn’t keep much inventory.”

  “I know. Me and the boys have gone through all the nearer homes and we haven’t found anything in days.”

  “Mary, please, you need to stay home. If anyone sees you, you have no idea what will happen to you and the boys. These guys are hungry and I can’t catch enough game. If they suspected I was feeding you, they would kill you.”

  “But I can’t bear to see Josh and Jason starving!”

  He tilted her chin up and looked directly in her eyes. He signed quickly, “I will never let you starve.”

  During the war, Mary and Jon had put covers over the windows and stayed in the basement for weeks trying to wait out the radiation, but even with severe rationing, their food and water had run out and he had to risk going into town for supplies. They used the water in the water heater, and the faucets had actually worked for two weeks after the bombs. After that Jon went to the river and filled plastic milk cartons with water he prayed wasn’t contaminated. He always ran as fast as he could, to minimize his exposure to the radiation, and upon returning, left his clothes in the garage… until he ran out of clothes. He hoped by then, three months after the war, the radiation has lessened to a safe level.

  He never got sick.

  Gathering up the clothes, he’d thrown them in a dumpster well away from the house. He took more clothing from his neighbor’s homes and from the stores in town. They lived just east of the river and only a mile north of the historic downtown area.

  Fort Lewis College lay on the east side of town and Jon had spent hours scouring the campus for signs of life. He had found none, just hundreds of rotting corpses. The cafeterias and bookstore had been trashed. He figured much of the food had been eaten before the students had died from radiation poisoning or before the survivors had killed each other over the little that remained. He found evidence of violent death amongst the bodies… bashed in heads and broken bones. Jon scavenged what he could find and had never gone back to the campus.

  During the first winter, he was able to find food in the supermarkets and smaller grocery stores in town, but just like at the college, many of the shelves were empty. Finding sleeping bags and wool blankets in the sporting goods store, they managed to stay warm. Mary and the boys had lived in the basement for months and as spring and summer had come, they spent time in the backyard, never venturing far from home. She and Jon took turns fetching water from the river. She gathered plants and determined if they were edible by chewing them up and spitting them out to see if she got sick. Then she swallowed a small bite and waited a full day before deciding which could be safely eaten. One plant caused a burning sensation when she put it in her mouth and twice she vomited after swallowing a plant. Over time she had a few that they could eat without symptoms. She didn’t know how much nutrition they provided but at least it was food in their bellies.

  Most of the stores were empty after the first winter but Jon had built up a supply of canned goods. He trekked three miles south to Walmart and Home Depot where he found seeds and gardening tools. They’d had a small garden in the summer. Mary tried to save seeds from their vegetables but they didn’t realize the hybrid plants could not produce seeds and wouldn’t grow in subsequent years. Eventually he’d had to enter homes and apartments, gagging on the smell, but finding cans of food that hadn’t been consumed before the occupants died.

  He had to go further and further from home as he tried to keep his family fed. In the beginning he hunted with a rifle, a .22 caliber he’d found in a sporting goods store, but there was very little game. He knew that if they were going to survive he had to find other people or figure out a way to leave town.

  As Jon foraged, he had seen few signs of life. He was becoming desperate to find other people they could join up with and he began to actively search for fellow survivors. In his zeal, he became careless.

  In September, just over a year since the war, he was crossing the street to the Durango and Silverton Narrow Gauge Railway Station when he was shocked to see three men sitting on a bench in front of the station. One of the men had long legs stuck out in front. He looked like he was well over six feet tall. One man was small, and Jon was amused to see that he wore a stained, rumpled suit, complete with a bow tie. The third man looked Asian. The Asian man was clean shaven but the other two had long, unkempt hair and heavy beards.

  He didn’t see the liquor bottles and handguns until he was too close to retreat. He waved tentatively and they waved back and smiled, but when he got close enough they grabbed him, threw him to the ground and kicked him in the ribs until he could barely breathe.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the tall man asked.

  “I’m Jon,” he wheezed. “I just came into town from Pagosa Springs.” He had realized the danger too late and lied to keep the whereabouts of his family secret.

  “Well, you came to the wrong town,” the man wearing the suit told him. He picked up his gun. “Let’s kill him, Vance.”

  “No, Ben’s gonna want to see him.” The large man jerked Jon up by his hair and he gasped as pain shot through his chest.

  They shoved him ahead of them, laughing at his discomfort, to the Parker Hotel located at the north end of the railway station. They went up the back steps, through double doors and past the registration desk. There were three men and two women sitting in beautiful, Victorian chairs around a table.

  One of the men came to his feet. “What you got there?” he asked.

  “Hey, Ben. This guy just walked right up to us over at the railroad. Says he came from Pagosa Springs.”

  Ben walked over to Jon. He was about Jon’s height, just under six feet, with long brown hair, a scraggly beard and musta
che, and large, hazel eyes. He shook back his hair as he walked around Jon, eyeing him up and down.

  “Who are you? How have you managed to stay alive all this time?”

  “Jon... I’m Jon. I’m a hunter,” he lied. “I catch game with snares and traps.”

  “Yeah, where’s Pagosa Springs? Are there people there?”

  “Ah… It’s east of here. About sixty miles. I hiked it. Nobody’s left. That’s why I came here.”

  “Well, we just came down from Telluride and we’re having some trouble finding game. Jessica, what do you think?”

  “We might just keep you alive if you can make yourself useful,” one of the women told him. She looked tall, with wavy brown hair and dark eyes, and even without makeup had flawless skin. Sitting in one of the gorgeous, Victorian chairs, her legs crossed, she sounded like she was used to commanding. “We definitely need someone who can hunt.”

  Jon was bent over, holding his ribs. “I can help, but I’m hurt. Can I rest?”

  “Fuck that,” Ben said. “Here’s the deal. You can stay here at the hotel. The rooms are great and the beds are super comfortable. We’ll feed you. Now get out and scour this town for stuff we can eat. Stu is going with you. If you try to leave town, we’ll kill you. Slowly.”

  He waved Jon away in dismissal and pointed at the big man that had beaten him. “Make sure he doesn’t bolt. Switch off with Kim and Shane until we know we can trust him.”

  Since then, almost eight months, he had continued to scavenge what food he could find in town, and set traps in the forest. After a couple of weeks they let him hunt alone and he was finally able to get back to Mary and the kids. He split the food and game between Ben’s group and his family, knowing full well that if they caught him skimming food, they would kill him. And if they found Mary and the boys he knew what would happen… they would kill his twins and Mary would become their plaything. Before the war these people had been civilized businessmen and businesswomen, but hunger and cold and helplessness had turned them into animals.