“Shit on a broomstick! “ I exclaim. “Would you clean up the mess?”
He gets a rag, cleaning it up. “Look at all that grumnatch in the wine. We must have dirty floors, huh?” Eli asks, emphasizing the word ‘grumnatch’, teasing about Grandma’s old lingo.Simon takes a little wine.
“Let’s get out the cards!” Eli grabs the cards. A group follow Eli to the coffee table.
“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “Let’s fuckin’ play cards.”
Jose puts bachata music on and we begin teaching those who want to dance, reviewing what we taught last time. The group shares a relaxing evening together after a rough day.
Thirty-Four
Eliana
Kidnapped
I wake up well rested, meditate, do my affirmations, then yoga. I stroll in for breakfast.
“Eliana, we’ve got the short-wave radio on. We’re getting that safe zone at the U of O again. They’re still welcoming people. They say they have over 300 members now!” Rob is excited. “We’re beginning to get other safe zones in other states and more in Oregon as well!”
It takes a while to get everyone settled for breakfast. There isn’t enough space at the table but this is our main house, where people gather for tea, coffee, and our morning meeting.
“Let’s review any needs that may be arising,” Sam suggests.
“Yes. I’d like to go to Oregon Art Supply if there aren’t higher priorities,” I suggest.
“I’d like to go back to the hospital and raid some other supply closets,” Katie explains.
“How’re our food supplies?” Rob asks.
“I think they’re pretty good for now,” Maddie assures us. “We don’t have a lot of room to store more food. Isn’t this the only house with a cellar?”
“Yeah.” I agree. “As far as I know. Cellars don’t seem to be very common around here. We dug ours to accommodate my needs,” I laugh.
“I have a cellar up at my farm and you have a cellar, right, Savanah?” Jessie reminds me.
“We do,” Savannah acknowledges quietly. “There’s a fair amount of food in it as well.”
“I think it would be helpful to find a large truck,” Rob suggests. “If we ever have to move, we’ll want a way to take our supplies with us.” Some conversation ensues about where to get a large truck. Ideas are thrown around with a number of options near us. After significant discussion, we decide to send out a scavenging group to recover an eighteen-wheeler, to gather medications, and art supplies if it’s safe enough. It turns out Justin has a CDL which will come in handy.
“Who wants to go on this trip?” Rob asks.
“I’d like to go to gather art supplies,” I assert, Sam nodding with me.
“Yeah. Me too,” Sam agrees.
“I’d like to go too,” Morgan adds.
Jonathan, Stephen, and Nate volunteer, Morgan, myself, Sam, and Rob are in, and Justin makes eight. “We’ll cram all eight of us in the pickup and then divide up when we find an eighteen-wheeler. Let’s take some empty gas cans to syphon gas out of other rigs.” Rob continues organizing the trip.
“Then should we go to the art supply store after we find the eighteen-wheeler so we have more room in the pickup?” I ask.
“I think we should head back to the hospital or stop at a pharmacy for medications.” Jonathan puts in.
“Yeah. Let’s put the canopy on for protection,” Rob suggests.
“I can help with that,” Jose offers, following Rob out.
“Let’s pack some lunch,” Maddie suggests, heading into the kitchen to pack fruit and sandwiches.
“Gracie, Dixie, come help, okay?” I ask.
“Sure.” Dixie comes right away, with Gracie trailing dispassionately. “You guys want pickles?” Dixie asks.
“Definitely!”
We pack up fruit and sandwiches, finishing up just as Rob and Jose return. “Let’s blow this pop stand!” Rob slams his hand on the table. “Let’s head to Lowe’s first. I think they have big trucks in back for deliveries.”
We load up and head out. “We’re going to have to face Eighteenth Street.” Rob warns. “Does everyone have guns and knives ready?”
There are murmurs as he starts the truck. “Not necessarily,” I argue. I remind him of a back way that will skirt around the worst of it.
“Good idea. Let’s do that,” Sam agrees, heartily.
The trip is quiet. “Can’t we play music?” Morgan asks.
“Damn straight!” Rob puts on old Tom Petty, which blares out of the speakers as we drive the back way through the hill.
I sing along. “I’m learning to fly, but I ain’t got wings…” We all just listen to the music for a while.
“What now?” Rob asks at an intersection. I direct him to zigzag, heading back to the bigger road when it becomes unavoidable.
“So far so good,” I say.
More singing ensues. As we near the corner, there are infected around the intersection of the large apartment complex. There aren’t many but they are right in the middle, throwing rocks towards the cars. “This is just as bad. Let’s head back,” I suggest.
“Yeah,” Rob agrees, turning around. We return finding fewer infected nearer the other apartments. “We can get past these mother fuckers.” We sail through the intersection attracting infected who turn towards us, throwing things. Nothing hits the truck and we slip through the next, big intersection, observing only a few wandering infected.
“I wonder why this is only a fraction of the infected we’ve seen before?” I ponder.
“Pretty weird,” Sam says. “There were so many before. I wonder what’s going on?”
“Eliana, you worked with people like this before. Did you notice any pattern?” Stephen asks.
“That could be it! People with Bipolar Disorder often have manic moods in the summer, followed by depressed moods. Could these infected have a similar cycle? That would be so cool!” I am excited by this revelation. It could make it safer in the winter, also. “The cycle wasn’t 100% consistent.”
“Even so, it could make a huge difference to us in the coming months!” Rob adds.
“Almost there,” Justin says. We turn into Lowe’s, driving around the back to their truck fleet.
“Okay, let’s head in and find keys,” Justin suggests.
“Let’s fill up these gas cans. Sam and I’ll stand guard, while you guys stay in pairs,” Rob instructs.
We begin checking the trucks. “We’ve got a nearly full tank here.” Justin and Nate head our way with keys. Screams erupt drawing us quickly around the truck to the sound.
“He’s got Morgan!” Jonathan is on one knee, his arms locked in position, aiming his handgun. Everyone freezes in horror as they recognize the Crown Killer. He’s gripping Morgan in a choke hold, using her as a shield against Jonathan’s gun. His other hand is buried in her dark hair, yanking her head back at an unnatural angle. His thin, pockmarked cheeks stretch into an ugly grin, seeing everyone’s fear. He walks slowly backwards, dragging Morgan with him. I see his scar apparent beneath his black wool hat. Morgan gurgles, eyes rolling in terror, struggling to breathe as he compresses her neck. They disappear behind a truck.
“We need to follow him,” Rob says quietly. “Sam, are you willing to go with me? I think we’re the best shots here.”
“Wait,” Stephen objects. “That guy is dangerous”
“We have to follow them,” Sam argues. “You know what will happen if we don’t.”
“We can’t wait here,” Justin says.
“I can’t believe this is happening.” I angrily, scale a ladder to look around. I watch horrified as the Crown Killer drags Morgan across a street and through a field. I drop to the ground as we pile in our pickup. “This is awful!” I whisper. We pull forward as a van pulls up for Morgan and the Killer.
“I know,” Jonathan mumbles. “He grabbed her when my back was turned. She must have forgotten to keep her back to me.”
Behind us I see Justin and Nate load
into an eighteen-wheeler to bring it home.
We’re pulling away from the curb a little behind the van with Morgan in it. “I’m afraid he’ll rape and kill her before we get her back,” I moan, as Rob tries to keep up with the van, weaving around, passing Home Depot, turning up another street, then disappearing.
“I think he pulled in at Lanz Cabinets,” Sam exclaims. We pull in there but don’t see him.
“Maybe around back,” I suggest. He’s not around back either. “I can’t believe we lost him when he was right in front of us. He did pull in here, didn’t he?” I ask, disembarking.
“He did, definitely,” Rob agrees, standing by the pickup.
We look around. There’s a big garage door in the back of Lanz Cabinets. “Do you think he went in there?” I ask.
Rob tries the door, finding it locked. We try any number of methods to get it open but can’t. “Damn. I don’t know what to do. If we had a chain, we could try to yank the door open with the truck, but there’s no way to do it.” The tension is high as we brainstorm, as we’re sure they’re in the cabinet store.
“Let’s try to get in the front,” Stephen suggests.
“Some of us should wait out here in case they leave,” Rob says emphatically.
“I’ll wait with you,” Sam offers.
Stephen, Jonathan, and I go inside, searching the store. “This is crazy. They can’t have just disappeared!” Jonathan hisses.
“There must be a door from this part of the shop to the garage,” I insist, searching the back wall, finally discovering a door disguised by a large cupboard. We move the cupboard so we can access the door. Jonathan picks the lock.
“There!” He gets it open. We enter, finding lots of storage, but no truck. “He must have left already, knowing we were coming. Hurry, let’s go out and see if we can catch him.” We throw open the garage door, but there’s no sign of the van. Sam and Rob are gone. My walkie talkie is crackling.
“Eliana, Sam here. We’re following them. I shot out a tire so they’re going slow, but I’m not sure she’s with them. It only looks like two in the van.”
“Keep us posted,” I tell her. “And be careful. We’ll go back in and look around.” I can’t believe he got Morgan. My gut roils thinking of what he’s going to do to her. “Maybe Morgan is locked up inside somewhere?” We race back inside, searching the area, silent, heavy with worry. We open closets and cupboards, move things, call out, and find nothing.
Sam strides in, “Eliana, gang, where are you guys?”
“Any luck?” I ask.
“He got away. I don’t think Morgan was with him,” Rob says. “We were doing well, but he managed to get to a place where others covered for him and there were too many shooters for us to have a chance. Morgan wasn’t with them.”
“What could have happened to her?” Sam practically shrieks.
“We’ve looked everywhere here,” Jonathan interjects.
“Let’s radio the house and let them know. Maybe she escaped somehow? Maybe we interrupted something when we came…” I pick up my walkie talkie, trying the channel for home.
“Mom, is that you?” Gracie asks.
“Yes. Can I talk to Jose?” I don’t want to tell Gracie unless we have to.
“I’ll look out back,” she offers. “Papa!? Mama quiere hablarte.” Mama wants to talk to you. “He’s coming.”
“¿Como estan?” he asks.
“We’re fine. But Morgan’s not. The Crown Killer got her! We followed them as far as we could, but we can’t find her. Keep your eye out. Maybe a few could drive toward Lowes while we search for her?”
“Claro que si.” Of course. “You guys finish your job. Justin is back. He’ll know your route.”
We sign off. “Justin made it back. Some of them will retrace our steps looking for Morgan in case she escaped. Let’s search for her outside?”
We head outside looking for rustling in the bushes. “What was that?” Stephen asks. It sounded like a cry or a meow. “A cat?”
“Let’s look around the back of the building, just on the off chance,” Jonathan suggests. The back of the building is filled in with thick underbrush, and further still are fields and wetlands. We walk through the bushes.
“Morgan! If you’re out here, make noise so we can find you,” I shout.
“You’re safe,” Stephen adds.
“He’s gone. We chased him away,” Jonathan explains.
There’s a cry deep in the bushes. “Did you hear that?” Stephen asks.
“Yes.” We struggle through brambles, getting scratched in the process, to where the cry came from.
“There,” Jonathan points.
“Morgan!” I call, seeing her ahead. Her clothes are ripped and bloody.
“Stay with her, I’ll run for my medical bag,” Jonathan says, rushing off. Stephen and I flank her. I put my hand gently on her head, beginning reiki.
“We’ll stay with you. Jonathan will be right back. Can you talk?” Stephen asks quietly.
I am silent, moving deep into a meditative state, connecting with my spirit guides. I sense a broken arm and move my hands over the arm, not touching it but staying close to the break infusing it with healing energy. I sense trauma, fear, bruises, and scratches, but no rape.
“Hurts,” Morgan says.
“What hurts?” Stephen asks.
“Arm is worst,” she says.
“Did I hear the arm is the worst?” Jonathan asks.
Stephen moves aside to make room. Jonathan feels her arm gently. “It’s definitely broken,” he murmurs. Then he begins to feel her neck and check her head. “Does anything else hurt as bad as your arm?”
“Sweetie,” I look deeply into her eyes. “I need to ask you this. Were you raped?”
“No. Just scared.” Morgan sounds shaken. “I jumped out of the van before he could. He threatened me that it was coming. That’s when I broke my arm.”
“Okay, we’re going to help you up. Can you walk?” Jonathan asks.
“I don’t know.” Morgan tries to move and cries out.
Stephen and Jonathan manage to get her up. “Where else does it hurt?” Jonathan asks.
“My chest and neck.” They help her to the building, finding Sam and Rob have returned in the pickup.
“I’m going to feel your ribs,” Jonathan says, crouching next to her, moving his hands lightly down her sides. She cries out pitifully. “I think you have broken ribs. I’m going to give you pain medicine.”
“Thank God!” she cries.
“I should radio the house. Hopefully we can stop the search team.” I take out the walkie talkie again. “Hello?”
“Eliana, we’re just pulling out to look for her,” Justin assures me.
“It’s not necessary. We found her in the bushes. She must have escaped. She’s alive.”
“Thank God. Okay, Be careful!”
I sign off. “Do you think she’ll be okay while we go to Oregon Art Supply and for meds, or should we head home?” I ask Jonathan. “I’ve got CBD oil I can give her. It’ll work fast.”
“Yeah, give her that and I’ll give her some opiates before gently putting salve on her. I will splint her arm, then, when the pain meds kick in, we’ll go.” Jonathan gives me a hand into the truck bed, cuts the sleeve of her coat and shirt, pealing them back to allow access. “Be careful over the humerus.” He motions over her upper arm. I nod, taking the CBD oil out of my fanny pack, I place some under her tongue. She visibly relaxes. Jonathan gives her a couple Norco while I take the salve from my pouch, gently applying it to her arm.
She moans, saying, “I’ll put that on my ribs myself.” I pass her the salve.
“She’s going to need a new coat.”
“There’s no rush, she won’t be going out right away.” Jonathan brushes off my concern. “I’ll stay back here with her. You go ahead.” While I climb out, he’s pulling the sleeves back down to keep her warm and puts the splint on.
Everyone piles in and we’re off.
“So, it’s still okay to go to the art supply store and for meds?” Rob asks, driving toward downtown.
“I wonder how long these roads will remain functional for driving?” I muse.
“Probably a couple years at least, depending on how bad the freezes are,” Rob says.
“Jonathan says Morgan will be confined for a while with those broken bones, but she’s going to need a new coat,” I point out. We cruise easily down the back roads.
“It’s amazing how few crazies we’ve seen today!” Sam stares intently out the window. “Where do you suppose they’ve gone?”
“I don’t know. I wonder if there is some sort of mood component to this causing hibernation?” I keep wondering about this. Could they be getting depressed for the winter? If so, will they stop coming outside? Will they eat? Will some of them die?
“That’s an interesting theory. It does seem like there are fewer, but I wasn’t sure. We haven’t been in Eugene for very long,” Stephen muses.
“There are way fewer,” Sam adds. “You have to really look for them now and you don’t hear them. It’s quieter.”
“That’s true,” Jonathan adds. “It’s like a morgue out here.”
“I wonder if they’ll go into some kind of hibernation or if you’re right and they’re just getting depressed. That would be amazing! It would make the winter so much easier.” Rob sounds kind of excited.
We turn, heading towards downtown. “Wow, look at that couple there in the yard! They seem catatonic, not violent!” I giggle nervously. “They could die over the winter.”
We turn again, avoiding bigger roads. “This is kind of weird, isn’t it?” Sam asks. “It’s bizarre. The last few of us would have to repopulate the Earth.”
“Or just fade into the woodwork!” Stephen chuckles.
“I don’t think I have a problem if the healthy among us survive,” Rob comments dryly.
“There are a few milling around the fair-grounds but they look confused,” Stephen points as we pass. We’re quiet, watching our world change before our eyes. Rob turns again towards the art store. Soon we’re parking. It looks pristine, like no one has thought of getting art supplies.
Considerable Destruction Series (Book 1): Evasion ( Page 34