A Cruel and Violent Storm

by Don M. Esquibel

  I know you’re there, Maya. I feel safer already knowing you’re with me.

  “The night is young,” I say. “Let’s make the most of it.”

  Chapter 4: (Lauren)

  Through the darkened hillside we walk. All around us, homes rise out of the ground like sentinels watching over this narrow valley. If only that were true. From below, I spot the remains of Morgan’s aunt and uncle’s home, a lifetime of memories reduced to ash. In the end, all its grandeur didn’t matter. The strong walls and deadbolted doors may as well been made of straw when the big bad wolf came prowling. I only pray we survive long enough to create a house of brick.

  As we move, I’m all too aware of the noise we make. Labored breaths, heavy footfalls, the general rustling of nearly thirty bodies moving through the night. It’s impossible for a group this size to move silently. I know that. But I can’t keep myself from wincing at every cough or snapping twig. Until we leave this area behind, my nerves are going to be sky high. Not that I’m alone in my anxiety. Nerves and fear swirl in the air around us, its presence more pronounced than the noise. Still, it’s not as bad as it might have been. Morgan’s words helped ease the worst of people’s fears, giving them a sense of hope to cling to. It’s what he does.

  I walk beside him now, at the back of our long procession. It wasn’t his first choice. If it were up to him he would be up front, scouting the route ahead and leading the way. As it is, that duty has fallen to Richard and Felix.

  “I think it’s best if you guard our six,” Richard told Morgan earlier. “You know how to handle yourself. I’ll feel a hell of a lot better knowing you’re there.”

  There’s logic in his argument. Enough so, that Morgan didn’t fight the issue. But I have a feeling the move was more political than anything. Richard fancies himself in charge. It wouldn’t do to have Morgan lead the way. Especially not after his parting speech from the house. Of course, I could be reading too much into it. And in any case, it doesn’t much matter at the moment. We have more pressing concerns to deal with.

  Soon we are past the houses, the street below dark and desolate as we leave Rockridge behind. I wonder where in the darkness the Animals lurk, waiting for us to reveal ourselves. I’m convinced they are out there somewhere, burning for revenge. But no shadows unfurl from the darkness, nor do any sounds reach my ear. Our precaution, it seems, has gotten us out of the hot-zone unscathed.

  We never reach the hill’s crest, but instead carry on horizontally, descending slowly till we dip into another neighborhood. My eyes flicker constantly as we hit the street, simultaneously searching for threats and to reassure myself that Grace is alright. She walks in the middle of our formation beside Leon’s brother, Ray, and two of Morgan’s aunts. Like everyone else, she is armed tonight. The .22 on her hip seems so out of place, a weapon of death on someone as kind as her. Could she really use it? My sister? The girl who collected flowers and wrote poetry until the collapse sent the world into this downward spiral? I feel nauseous just thinking about it.

  We pass three blocks of ghostly houses before finding ourselves at the base of another steep hillside. I breathe more easily once concealed in the treeline, thankful they mapped out our route so well, keeping us exposed on the street only when absolutely necessary. If only we took the same caution last night. Maya might be beside us now if we had. My heart twists at the thought and I have to fight back the pressure building behind my eyes.

  Forget the past. Focus on the future. The words spring in my mind, a well-worn mantra I adopted long before everything fell apart. It does for me what it always has: it keeps me moving forward.

  Our progress up the hillside is slow and fractured. Three times we have to stop altogether to allow members of our party to catch their breaths. Each time, I find my patience thinning. I know it’s not their fault that they are not accustomed to the weight on their backs, or hiking through this sort of terrain as we are. But there are still people out for our blood. And though the night may be dark and the hillside thick with cover, we are not invisible. A passing patrol might notice shadows shift above the homes they prowl, might decide to throw the spotlight up on the hillside on a whim. And there we’ll be—deer caught in the headlights of a predator. It’s not difficult to imagine what would happen then: running, bullets, people dying. It’s all I can do but keep calm.

  Finally, we reach the crest of the hill and stop for yet another breather. I walk forward until I reach the edge of the ridge. From where I stand, I have a decent lay of the land. The thin moonlight does little to accent the features of the town below, leaving me with only a vague feel of the place—like a painting only partially completed. Still, it’s more than enough to highlight the vast difference between here and where I’m from. It’s incredible. There’s a raw beauty to this town the likes of which I’ve never seen. I look to Morgan who helps his Aunt adjust her pack. It must be devastating for him to see how far this place has fallen.

  “She’s sure is something, huh?” comes a voice to my right. I turn to see Morgan’s father soaking in the landscape below. He looks my way with a quick smile. “The town, I mean.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I say. “So much different than the city. I wish I could have seen this place before the collapse.”

  He sighs lowly. “Yeah, it definitely had its moments. Growing up here, I guess it was easy to take it for granted. Never really thought about the fact that most people weren’t surrounded by so much nature—that they couldn’t go for a hike through the woods and mountains whenever felt like, or head to the river with a fishing pole and a tackle box, and throw a line out. All the years I jogged along the river trail, it never really occurred to me how unique it was: all the trees and flowers and plant life surrounding this path that stretched the entire length of town; looking over my shoulder and watching kayaks and rafts navigate the river, or people tubing lazily by.” He pauses, a smile creeping onto his mouth. Morgan may have his mother’s eyes, but he owes his smile to his father. “It definitely never crossed my mind that not everyone sat on their front porch with the love of their life, and watched the sunset each evening.”

  He grows quiet for a moment, reflecting, perhaps, on better days gone by. “Times change. People change. That’s just life...But I never thought they could change like this.” A deep silence follows his words, and I’m at a loss on how to fill it. I wonder what he sees as he stares over these darkened streets. Are they lit in memory? Does he see past the crashes and wreckage, and instead remember that simpler time before the world fell apart? It’s easy to see the love he holds for this town. I can’t say I’ve ever felt the same about Denver. Even before the collapse, I had always planned on leaving one day and never looking back. If it weren’t for Grace, I’d have done so a long time ago.

  I look over my shoulder once again to see the group stirring. I watch Morgan teasing his younger cousin Abby, see Felix hauling Grace easily to her feet. “Things have changed...but what’s most important has stayed the same,” I say quietly.

  He tears his eyes away from the town and focuses on me. I get the sensation of being x-rayed as he fixes me with a penetrating stare. Then his eyes light up and his face splits into a smile. “Yeah, you’re right about that,” he says with an agreeing nod. “As my son said, there’s no greater love than family. That includes you and Grace, now too.”

  Pressure builds behind my eyes once more at his words. I don’t know where all this emotion has come from. That’s a lie. It’s this family, no doubt about it. I’ve only just met them, and already they’ve accepted me as one of their own. I’ve never known that kind of acceptance before.

  “C’mon,” he says, throwing his arm around my shoulders. “They’re about to leave us behind.” Even this is new to me, an affectionate arm around my shoulder with no pretense, no agenda—a casual, fatherly gesture he’s undoubtedly done thousands of times. The old me would have shaken it off, would have slipped away somehow. But now I have no inclination to do so, feeling a certain comfor
t as he steers us back to the group.

  We continue north atop the ridgeline until we come across a mountain-bike trail. We use it to descend the hillside, only leaving it as we near the bottom. Limiting our exposure on the street, we skirt around homes and buildings which string up along the way before we hit the edge of a townhouse development. A block down, we hit one of the town’s main thoroughfares, easy to distinguish by the wreckage of dozens of vehicles littering its expanse. The sight is not unfamiliar but is still a harsh reminder. How many lives were lost in the span of minutes as EMP’s tore across our world that day? Better that I don’t know. Being here, surrounded by only a small fraction of that destruction is hard enough to comprehend.

  Navigating the wrecks is a grim affair, and I think all of us breathe easier once we’re past. The street is dark and still. Black windows stare at us like the eyes of watchful guard dogs, observing our passage in silent menace, daring us to come closer. Fortunately, it’s a small neighborhood and it’s not long before we’re through it. I hear the river before I see it, the sound of flowing water easy to distinguish in the quiet. And then we’re at the riverbank, its surface shimmering with silvery flecks.

  “Never thought I’d be happy to see the river so low,” Felix says. “Crossing shouldn’t be a problem.”

  With that, we strip our shoes and socks, stowing them inside our packs to keep them protected and dry. The water is barely knee deep, but the stones lining the bottom make it a slippery crossing. Even as we take our time, a younger cousin and an aunt lose their footing halfway and are completely submerged. A small giggle escapes Abby as she rides atop Morgan’s shoulders. Morgan reaches up and smacks her leg playfully, telling her it’s not funny. But when he turns toward me he can’t hide the grin he wears.

  Once across, we roll on our socks and lace our shoes before continuing. We cut through a muddy field and then pick our way along the base of a small, steep embankment. It should keep us shielded from any prying eyes. As we draw nearer a small cluster of houses, we come across something we have yet to encounter tonight: signs of other people. Light flickers inside the house, shadows rippling through an open window on the second floor. The smell of wood smoke lingers on the air, coupled with the faint aroma of cooking meat. We give the house a wide berth, using the trees dotting the embankment as cover. Soon enough we are past and hit a county road.

  I look to the right and receive a small jolt when I realize I’ve been here before. This is the same road we traveled as we entered town, the pawn shop and Exxon instantly recognizable. Was it only four nights ago? Things have changed so quickly. We were so full of hope then, caught up in the zealotry of arriving here after so long. How were we to know our plight was only beginning?

  Continuing our strategy of concealment, we mirror Florida Rd instead of traveling it. Trees and hills, trees and hills, never have I seen a town so full of them. It makes avoiding the streets and buildings easy. Homes are spaced further apart the further we travel, more and more of which show signs of occupation. Perhaps the violence of town has not spread this far. If so, it’s only a matter of time.

  An hour on, we are concealed in a copse of trees, taking yet another breather. We’ve put in more distance than I thought we would, but we still have a ways to go. And with only a couple hours left till daybreak, we need to decide on how we proceed. Morgan leaves to confer with Felix and Richard, while I take the opportunity to check on Grace.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask her.

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m fine,” she says. “I was on the trail just as long as you were. This is nothing.” She’s right. Tonight is nothing we haven’t faced before. All the hardships and ugliness the trail threw at us was weathered by her just as much as me. Sometimes I forget how much she’s grown.

  “I know,” I say. I lower my voice, making sure nobody looks our way. “Are you hungry? I still have half a protein bar from earlier.”

  She huffs, shaking her head. “Then you should eat it,” she chides. “Seriously, Lauren. We’re hardly eating anything as it is.” She’s not wrong. What little food Morgan’s family had was stolen by the Animals the day his cousins were taken. The past few days we’ve been surviving solely off the provisions Elroy gifted us. But with so many people, already we are dangerously low. I only hope things turn around when we reach the farm.

  “Hey, what do I always tell you?” I ask, attempting a smile. “It’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around.” She doesn’t look amused, continuing to glare at me. “Fine. I’ll eat it, ok?” I relent. “Soon as we get to the farm.”

  “Promise?” she asks.

  “You can even watch me if you like,” I say. She nods her head, satisfied. I don’t allow myself to feel guilt at my lie. I’ll save it, hoard it, make sure I have something in case things get really bad. I won’t let my sister starve even if the rest of us do.

  Morgan joins us, his face worried. “We’re going to push through,” he says before I can ask. “Farm’s about five hours out. We won’t make it by sunrise, but being so close, our best option is to continue on.”

  We do just that, eventually leaving the protection of the hillside and crossing Florida only to be swallowed by forest once again. Dawn approaches, the blackness slowly ebbing from the sky as we travel. We enter a small clearing, the air around us now an inky blue. Soon light will spill over the eastern horizon, chasing away any remnants of the night. Halfway through the clearing, my heart stops, a single, thundering gunshot shattering the silence.

  On instinct we drop, roll, scramble for cover that isn’t there. Guns leap into hands, eyes frantically searching for the shooter. But the light is low, and inside the treeline all is dark. For a long moment, it’s as if somebody has hit pause over the scene. There’s no movement. No sounds. Nothing. And then a voice rings out, eerie in the early morning gloom.

  “What did we tell you pricks the other day?” the voice asks. “You assholes keep testing us and now here we are. What is it going to take for you to get the message? Do we have to kill all of you? Because that’s about where we’re at.”

  There’s anger in his voice, but more than that there’s aggravation. Either way, it’s clear he thinks we are someone else.

  “I’m sorry sir, but you have us mistaken for someone else,” Morgan yells out. Before I know what’s happening, he’s squeezing my knee and rises to his feet. He walks forward, his hands raised and weapons left behind. “We have nothing to do with whoever you’re having problems with. We’re just passing through.”

  The voice scoffs. “Awful lot of you to just be passing through,” he challenges.

  “Big family,” Morgan says with an attempt at humor. It doesn’t sway the voice. He doesn’t respond at any rate. “Look, I know how this must seem to you. Especially if you’re having problems with other people, but I swear that’s not us. We’re just trying to relocate to my friend's farm. Figured staying off the road was a smart move...doesn’t seem so smart right about now though.”

  The voice doesn’t immediately answer, staying silent so long I half expect it not to answer at all. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” he asks. “How do I know you’re not the same bastards who’ve been stealing from us?”

  “I understand your dilemma,” Morgan says. “Things have been hard on all of us. But put your fear aside for a moment really look at us. Do we look like we’re about to try and raid somewhere?” Morgan pauses, allowing the voice the chance to answer. I wonder what the voice has gone through, what has led him to this point. What does he see when he looks at us? A ragtag coalition of people surviving this crazy world the best they can? Or does he see what he fears—predators after what is his?

  “We have women...children,” Morgan pushes. “We’re just trying to survive the best we can.”

  Another long pause, tension lying over us all, thick and heavy. And then: “Everyone stand, and walk forward slowly,” the voice says. “Anyone raises a weapon, we open fire on all of you.”

&n
bsp; Slowly, we rise to our feet and shuffle forward. I can make out the forms of men and women the closer that we draw, their silhouettes standing just inside the treeline.

  “Eric?” Morgan’s mother asks uncertainly.

  I hear the voice curse, matching it with a thickset man with a furry beard. “Marie?” he asks. “Is that you?”

  “Yes it’s me, you beautiful bastard,” she says with an incredulous laugh. “Now would you mind getting those damn guns out of our faces?”

  The voice returns the laugh. “Stand down,” he says. One by one they lower their weapons. “They’re friends,” he says.

  Chapter 5: (Morgan)

  I watch my mother work her magic. For as long as I can remember, she’s had a natural charm—an ability to make everyone feel welcome. Even complete strangers, she would laugh and joke with them as if she had known them for years. Most of the time I had no idea one way or another. Half the town seemed to know her. I’ve shaken countless hands and been introduced to innumerable people whose faces I will never remember over the years. It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest to be doing so again.

  “You remember my kids? Emily and Morgan?” she asks.

  Eric laughs. “Of course,” he says, offering us his hand to shake. “You two sure have grown. Last time I saw the two of you must've been, what, ten years ago?” He looks to my mother for clarification.