Considerable Destruction Series (Book 1): Evasion (

by Hernandez, Erica

  “I guess so,” she says, blushing. “I’m pretty strong.”

  “Wait. That’s nine of us,” I exclaim.

  “You need to go,” Sam says. “Morgan, you can stay, okay?”

  Jedaiah is whining again, clearly not wanting me to go. I snuggle him close, whispering, “You’re safe here. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

  Morgan looks relieved, while Simon looks disappointed. “Yeah, I can help here better.”

  I take my plate to the kitchen, setting Jedaiah on the floor, then grab my keys to Grower’s. I go add a knife to my belt, putting one in my boot. I strap a thin .22 Ruger on my hip, not excited to use it, but know I should take it. I don’t know what I’m going to encounter out there. I also grab some Seroquel, just to be sure we have it. I hug Gracie. “Pray for us, sweetie, okay. Manifest our safe return.”

  Then I hug Eli. “Pray babe, okay? Send those positive vibes out.” Neither of them looks happy about our leaving. I pick Jedaiah up for a snuggle, then hand him to Nadir as he begins to cry.

  “I want Auntie Elli,” he screams repeatedly. Finished with goodbyes, we load into the trucks. Sam, Rob, Jose, and Simon are in one truck, Jake, Jonathan, Nick and I in the other. We can’t avoid the main roads now, needing to face them to reach our destination.

  We manage to turn onto the main road without incident, but up ahead there is a group of crazies near the intersection, clearly visible from the lead truck.

  “As we get close, I’m going to shoot above their heads to see if they’ll move,” Jake reports.

  Jake shoots out the window, pushing the group back a bit, but they continue to encroach on our lane as we slide through. I watch the other truck squeeze by, knocking the frontrunners down. The crazies swarm the intersection again. We drive north, finding the road surprisingly empty as I let out my pent-up energy in a sigh. Nearing the next major intersection, there’s a pileup in the middle of the road. We skirt around it, continuing to Home Depot.

  The street behind Home Depot looks deserted. We arrive at Home Depot, pulling around to the front entrance. Rob parks his truck so the back end is butted up to the main entrance.

  “Jose, Jonathan, Simon and I are going in. The rest of you stand guard, okay? I gave you a walkie talkie, right?”

  “We’re good here. Go ahead.” Sam turns on her walkie talkie.

  Sam and I stand on each side of the entrance as they head in. The waiting is the hardest, despite the empty parking lot. There are cars but no people. We decided to stop at the Fred Meyer Pharmacy last.

  “How are you and Rob doing?” I ask, leaning against the stone wall, feeling the warmth through my jacket.

  “It feels odd, living close again, but he’s been really kind and reads the 12-step book nightly.” Sam gazes off into the distance.

  “Has he been drinking?”

  “No. He’s been doing really well.” She looks at me. “He’s wanted to, but goes straight to hard work.”

  She continues processing her efforts to redevelop trust with him in this new world.

  “Carts full!” Rob laughs as they reappear, proceeding to load them in Jose’s truck. “We need fencing materials also. Let’s drive around for that. We grabbed lots of useful stuff.” Rob chuckles as he loads propane.

  When they’re loaded up, we drive around back where fencing materials are kept, working together to load up. “I think we should drive this home, unload it, then meet you at Grower’s Market. Let’s keep the walkie talkies on,” Rob says.

  “Good point,” Jose agrees. “This is too much to carry across town. We won’t be able to escape a bad situation quickly.” There’s a buzz of debate regarding concerns about being separated, but we realize it isn’t realistic to drive around with a full truck, so they take it home.

  “Does anyone else feel uncomfortable separating besides me?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Jonathan says.

  We drive in silence for a while, leaving industrial Eugene, which remains quiet until we reach the main thoroughfare. Four lanes of partly parked, partly crashed, partly empty street. We all crane our necks for any sign of movement. I consider urging our group north on Blair. If not getting a flu shot is helping people survive as some theorize, the Whittaker neighborhood, an up and coming area attracting the hippy population, seems a likely place for more survivors. They could be crazies, though, and I don’t want to face them if we can avoid it.

  We reach a main thoroughfare, turning north. There’s a large group of them ahead. “Let’s go back and try Lincoln Street instead,” I suggest, thinking residential roads should be quieter.

  “That’s a good idea.” Jake does a U-turn, heading back.

  Lincoln Street is quieter, allowing us to travel safely through downtown. Further on, we arrive at Grower’s Market, an almost invisible coop grocery store.

  “Wow, it’s really quiet here.” My voice slows in awe. “I’m not sure what I was expecting but not this. There always used to be people coming out of bars. It’s like a ghost town.”

  “Yeah, and people coming off trains,” Jake adds.

  “So, you have a key?” Nick asks.

  Jake parks in the loading zone.

  “Yeah.” I unlock the door to the dark room. There are no windows and it’s pitch black until we turn on our flash lights, creating a path of light. We go through the small, packaged section loading up canned and packaged goods. We fill shopping carts and load it in the truck. Then we go back for bulk goods including liquids. We fill cart after cart, loading the truck until it’s so full there’s little space for fresh stuff.

  I open the walk-in. “Wow, it’s actually still cold in here! Not as cold as it was but close!” Once again, we’re filling shopping carts. There are cases of citrus fruits and vegetables. There’s cheese, maybe 20 pounds, dates, mushrooms, vegetables, onions, garlic, winter squash. The list goes on, including huge bags of nuts and chocolate. Only the spring greens are spoiled. We start loading the truck with what will fit. We’re under way when I hear the walkie talkies, but it’s not clear what’s being said.

  “Do you think they’re okay?” Concern fills Sam’s voice.

  “They’ve gotta be coming.” I hug her, comforting her.

  I run over, checking the freezers and refrigerators. Everything is defrosted and all the ice cream has melted. What a shame. There’s organic fast food, partly melted corn, and peas. We move toiletries and pasta to the door. Some of the tortillas are still good. There are all kinds of nuts, vegetarian sausage, and condiments.

  “Wow! This is a jack pot.” Jake is impressed. “This is like the best kept secret!”

  “Yeah, the customer pool isn’t huge so how many can be left?” I ask, then faces flash across my mind and sadness descends. The people who shopped here were my community. This stopped being just a grocery store after the first couple years. People here supported me, hugged me after my son died, saved food for me when my kids were sick, shared the abundance of their gardens with me, and I with them. They were friends and now they’re gone. I only succumb for a couple minutes as tears prick my eyes, then back to work.

  Twenty minutes later, light enters the front door. “Who’s there?” I yell.

  “Don’t worry. It’s us,” Rob yells back.

  “Thank God! The truck is overfull and there’s more to load.” Jake claps Rob on the back.

  “You guys are okay?” Sam asks, throwing her arms around Rob’s neck.

  “Nothing going on outside?” I ask.

  “We’re okay. We had some close calls, but we made it through with our wits and our purple crayons!” Rob jokes.

  “And our fucking guns!” Simon adds.

  We start loading Jose’s truck with the remaining jack pot. I was excited to find large boxes of detergent.

  We spend a couple more hours loading.

  “It’s pretty empty here now.” I look around. “Ready to go by the pharmacy? You all still think Fred Meyer is the place to go?” There is a chorus of agreement. Somehow, we t
hought the straight grocery stores would be busier. As we climb in the trucks, I notice a group approaching. There must be eight or ten of them.

  “Now what?” Rob asks, wearily.

  “We could just plow through them if they get in the way,” Nick suggests.

  “Go, guys, let’s make a run for it!” Rob says. We accelerate out of the lot attempting to avoid the group blocking the driveway. Jose’s truck is right behind us. The crazy group jumps back, then surges forward chasing us. I roll the window down a crack to hear what they’re saying.

  “They’re starving us! They’re starving us!” I hear them yelling.

  “I’m going to toss out some bread, we won’t be able to eat it all before it molds.” I roll the window down further, tossing a couple loaves of bread out. They were running at the truck, but stop suddenly to pick up the bread. I toss another loaf.

  “They’re starving us. They’re starving us,” they chant. We head back the way we came, relaxing into a peaceful drive - no sign of life on the roads. We pass under the freeways into residential neighborhoods before turning south. Things continue to be quiet.

  “I bet Broadway would be quiet,” I suggest, Jake turns on this underused street with no argument. Things are quiet until we reach Fred Meyer but it’s the front entrance that’s crowded with crazies. Both groups head for the back entrance from Home Depot as Jose suggested. Nobody is around so we back right up to the door.

  “Alright, let’s leave a couple out here to protect our stuff.” Rob looks around. “Jonathan and Eliana need to go in since you two know the most about medicine. Sam, Simon, and I will back you up. Nick and Jake, can you stand guard?” They agree so we head in, absorbed by the darkness, light only entering through the back door. We keep our flashlights low and our ears peeled.

  “This end looks pretty empty,” Sam whispers. As we near the food section, we hear sounds. We cut around the end of the cash registers to avoid the food section. We can hear people there, but what kind of people isn’t clear. We arrive at the pharmacy, finding the door unlocked. Jonathan scans shelves on one side as I peruse the rest. We duck low, all five of us, trying to stay out of sight.

  “I found them,” Jonathan whispers. Sam passes heavy duty bags around. Jonathan and I start filling the bags with pain medicine, antipsychotics, antibiotics, and others that he deems relevant. There are large gaps in the antibiotics and pain meds but nobody seems interested in the antipsychotics.

  “Look here.” He whispers to me. He notices a back-up storage of antipsychotics in a Rubbermaid box. “I bet these bubble packs were an order for Shelter Care.” We grab them and head out. We make it quietly out of the pharmacy, hearing arguing coming from the food section.

  We scurry down the aisle towards the back, making it past the clothes section before some guys pop out of an aisle, pointing at us.

  “They’re after us. It’s you!” They’re creating a lot of noise. “You’re after us. It’s burning our skin!” They repeat. We’re running towards the back doors but they’re chasing us. I shove a bunch of stuff off an end shelf full of junky crackers, hanging onto a couple boxes. They stumble but keep after us. Then they start throwing heavy pottery at us. We’re ducking but end displays explode nearby. Jake starts throwing paper weights at them, some shatter on the cement floor, but some hit with a thunk, knocking them to the floor, a loud crack as a skull hits the cement. We hide behind a center display, waiting for them to get close, then Jake shoots, drilling a hold right through one’s forehead who falls back on the floor. The other attacks, knocking me to the ground as I scream, kicking at him, dropping the crackers. He’s trying to bite my leg through my jeans with a vice grip on my ankle. My heart is pounding like it could explode from my chest. Rob yanks the guy off me. In one smooth movement he brings his pistol up, shooting the guy through the temple. The body crumples, sliding to the ground. In the sudden silence, I watch his blood ooze across the floor.

  “Rob, are you okay?” I loud whisper.

  “Yeah. You?” I nod.

  “Let’s go.” He pulls me up, snatching the crackers off the floor. We race to the doors, my tail bone aching from the fall.

  “Are you guys okay?” Nick asks as we meet him at the truck.

  “I’m…” I try to say I’m okay, leaning over to vomit.

  “Let’s just get in the truck, then we can talk,” Jake says. He takes my arm, guiding me into the truck. We shut the doors, heading out, avoiding the busy road.

  “Sorry everyone. I didn’t get anyone’s shoes did I?” I ask, trying to be lighthearted in the midst of chaos.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Nick says.

  “That was crazy,” Jonathan adds.

  “Puking is the least of our worries. You let off a little stress. It’s cool.” Jake reaches back to pat my knee. “I think the trucks are too full to go to Hummingbird. We should head back home and make that another day.”

  “I’ve had enough of this,” I agree.

  “I’ll touch base with our mates,” Jonathan offers. “Rob, Jose, come in.”

  “Rob, here, what’s up?”

  “As full as the trucks are, we should head home and go to Hummingbird another day,” Jonathan suggests.

  “We’re with you. Let’s head home.”

  The wetlands surrounding us are quiet, mostly fields with a few scattered trees. We continue through the wetlands, reaching the intersection which is surrounded by businesses. The intersection is full of crashed cars. We slow to avoid them, making it through the intersection without incident. I breathe deeply to calm my churning stomach.

  “Thank God the next intersection looks empty,” Jake sighs.

  “It looks like the group is surrounding the apartments,” Jonathan warns. “Let’s be ready.” He and Nick roll down their windows, guns ready if necessary. There is a gang that seems intent on getting into apartments. As we drive by, they swarm into one, then exit, swarming into the next one. I wonder if they are looking for food. We turn east as I observe the houses, bigger lots, and two churches in the quarter mile it takes to get to our street. Todd street looks quiet and I wonder what has become of Bud, our neighborhood crazy.

  Twenty-Three

  Simon

  Testosterone High

  “That was a crazy fucking trip, man!” Simon exclaims, the trucks laying lower with the weight. His heart is pumping. It’s an adrenalin high doing reconnaissance missions. He wonders why Eli doesn’t want to go. I’m gonna have to push him to go to Hummingbird, Simon decides.

  “That was beyond crazy. The whole world is fucking weird now,” Jake agrees. “The screwiest part is that could be me out there if you guys hadn’t come and drugged me into submission!” He chuckles, obviously joking.

  “Oh, we’re just power hungry!” Simon jokes, right back. He’s a cool guy, obviously knowing his way around a gun, boosting Simon’s respect for him.

  Twenty-Four

  Eliana

  Trauma Inside

  We park in the driveway to unload. Nadir, Alex, Katie, and Jessie come pouring out of the house. “Are you guys okay?” Katie asks, Jedaiah racing out, jumping in my arms.

  “Shook up, but okay,” I tell her, and to Jedaiah, “Hi cutie pie.” I nuzzle his hair.

  “Can you guys manage the unloading, so Rob and I can get started on the well?” Jose asks.

  “We’ve got it,” Jessie tells him, gimping to the truck. Then to the rest of us, “you go eat. It’s way past lunch. You guys must be starving. Send the others out and we can unload.”

  “Fair enough,” Nick says.

  We traipse inside. “Gracie, Eli!”

  “Mom, you’re okay?” Gracie’s eyes are full of questions and concern.

  “I’m fine.” I hug her tight, Jedaiah between us, then Eli. “You guys go help unload while we eat.” Eli, Gracie, Morgan, and Dixie head outside.

  “Peanut butter jelly time!” I tease.

  “Make way,” Nick says and we crowd around the butcher block spreading peanut b
utter and home-made jam on fresh baked bread. I set Jedaiah down, grabbing some cashew butter since it’s still available and better for my gut. I sink my teeth into the fresh bread, thinking, what a relief. I’m starving after losing my breakfast at Fred Meyer.

  Soon we’re back outside unloading the food.

  Katie takes a couple medicine bags. “I’m going to check on Faith. She’s been really sick, recuperating from that knife wound.”

  “You go ahead.” We continue unloading, carrying bags and buckets of grains and beans, filling the shelves in the garage, inventorying. Then we take food to the cellar. It’s hard work, loading box after box down to the cellar, but it’s also relaxing, seeing all the food, knowing that we’re set for a while. We may even have to can some of the vegetables to make them last. “You know,” I say, carrying another box through the garage, “It might make more sense to carry this into the kitchen to can rather than down to the cellar.”

  “You’re thinking about making pickled beets?” Sam asks. “I bet yours are great! Wasn’t there fresh dill in one of the boxes?”

  “Yes. And we can make Sour Kraut and Latin Cortido with the cabbage. We should be able to store it for six months in the cellar. It could get us through the winter.”

  “Excellent,” Sam says, carrying a box into the kitchen, and finding the dill.

  “God, all we do is work!” Gracie moans.

  “It’s keeping us alive young lady.” My tone is harsh. We’re all working hard and I don’t appreciate her whining.

  “Do you have a recipe for this?” Dixie asks.

  “Look in my recipe box,” I say. “I bet you’ll find one. If not, you’ll find a canning cookbook on the shelf.” I go over to Gracie. “Can I talk to you outside a second?” I wrap my arm around her to guide her out back.

  “Okay…” she says, dully.

  “Listen,” I say, sitting at the table, “I know this is a ton of work, but right now we don’t know what’s going to happen. We don’t know if there will be stores to go to, or if we need to survive on what we can put up for the winter. We’ve also never done this before so all we have to go on is Sam’s prepper knowledge about how many pounds of food we need per person.”