by Rick Tippins
As Jared came abreast the grisly traveler, the woman turned, staring at him with absolutely no emotion.
“What do you want?” she said flatly.
“Nothing, just don’t see too many folks out who aren’t trying to kill me, and thought I’d say hi,” Jared responded.
The woman just stared back, the tragedy of what was happening to the whole place written in the lines of her face like bold 72 font print. This woman was surely used to an easier life than she was living now, Jared could plainly see that. The folks who had it best were oftentimes the ones who suffered the most now. It appeared the criminals were taking the whole event in stride, seeming to thrive in the new environment. The closer you were to living like an animal before the event, the better off it seemed you were now. This woman had not lived like an animal, and she was suffering now, probably dragging the body of her husband in the wagon to who knows where.
“Who’s he?” Jared asked, looking down at the body in the wagon.
The woman looked down at the body as if she’d forgotten it was there, then returned her gaze to Jared. “My husband, Frank,” she answered matter-of-factly. “He died yesterday after his insulin ran out. We knew it would happen and, now, I’m taking him to the park.”
Jared lowered his head respectfully. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The woman nodded her head before softening for a moment and replying, “Why, thank you very much,” then turned and was about to continue when Jared spoke again.
“Why the park?”
The woman paused, looking back at Jared. “That’s where everyone is taking their dead.” With that, she pivoted and continued her journey, leaving Jared behind.
Jared watched her for a few seconds before pedaling on past her without a word. He had only gone a few blocks when the odor struck his nostrils like a sledgehammer. A large park was ahead, and Jared could see the bodies littering the grassy open area. He pulled his shirt up over his face, slowly riding past the ghastly sight, where hundreds of bodies had simply been dumped on the grassy surfaces of the park. The woman was right when she said everyone was bringing their dead to the park.
As he rode past, he saw three more people dragging bodies into the park. He didn’t stop, fearing he would retch if he stayed any longer. The bodies were simply strewn about the park, no one apparently having the inclination to bury their lost loved ones. America had become so soft they couldn’t even dig a shallow hole to cover their family members. Half of them probably didn’t even own a shovel, Jared thought. Hell, he hadn’t owned a shovel.
As he passed the improvised graveyard, he couldn’t stop wondering about the park’s once pristine landscape. Jared shuddered as he thought of the families who had used this park for recreation and now were either lying dead there or dragging their dead family members to the very place they had sought out to enjoy a day of barbequing and relaxation.
Once at the CVS, he ran through his routine of watching the store before going in, then grabbing what he could find. When he didn’t find many bandages for dressing larger wounds, he went to the aisle where the feminine items were kept, loading his pack with as many feminine pads as he could carry. Bart told him if he couldn’t find bandages, then to look for feminine pads first, then paper towels and other absorbent materials. After all, the pads were specifically engineered to absorb blood; heck, he had proven their worth after being shot in the house next to where he found Essie.
After he had the medical supplies, he ran through the food aisles, looking for anything left behind by previous scavengers. The shelves were as bare as he had expected, but he had to check. Jared was about to leave when he saw a bag of Doritos wedged under a bottom shelf, barely visible. He grabbed the bag and gently placed it into the pack, careful not to crush the precious chips inside. This was a find. These days, with most of the food having been devoured for the most part within the first week, he and Bart had been living off rations. The chips would be a welcome treat and not for Bart or himself.
Once Jared had safely returned to the gun store, Bart rounded everyone up in the workshop. Once everyone was settled in, Bart sat back studying the group.
“We have to leave.”
Every head in the room turned in unison. Jared raised an eyebrow.
“We?” Jared queried.
Bart’s face remained placid as he slowly nodded his head in a grave and ominous manner. “I did the math, and I add about twenty percent to your and Essie’s chance of survival.”
“What does that even mean?” Jared blurted out.
Bart took a deep breath before answering, “It’s a numbers game. You’re already about forty-five percent in the red, ’cause frankly I think you detract from yourself a little due to lack of training and life experience.”
Jared frowned at this.
“I felt that after all you detract from the group, my training and experience add enough to call it a twenty percent gain.”
Jared shook his head, chuckling. “You’d be lonely if Essie and I left you, and that’s why you want to come.”
Bart waved the comment off. “With me you got a twenty percent chance of living; without me, you’re both dead.” Bart knew he’d spoken inappropriately even before Jared gave him the “what the fuck” look. He winced, looking at the little waif before saying, “Sorry, Ess, what I meant is everything is fine; we’re all gonna live…as long as I come with you two.”
Jared spent the next four days training and going over what he would need on the road. Bart continued Jared’s training, also packing, unpacking, making lists, ripping them up, and making new lists.
Jared found himself sitting in the middle of a pile of gear, staring at it and understanding what each piece meant to his survival. He was slightly amazed by this since a mere three weeks before, he wouldn’t have been able to name most of the equipment lying at his feet.
Jared found he was spending less and less time feeling sorry for himself and the situation he was in, and more and more time simply dealing with each day’s obstacles. In the old world, people tended to dwell on their tragic lives. People before the event would lose a dog to old age, then hang on to the tragedy for years to come. They would post it all over social media so their friends could also dwell on their enormous loss.
Nowadays there was just so much bad in everyone’s lives, one didn’t have the energy to hang on to anything that had already happened and no longer had an adverse physical effect on their lives. Personally, Jared felt he had to use every ounce of his energy to survive in the here and now. Any reallocation of those energies could result in his and Essie’s deaths.
Jared thought that if the world ever got back to normal, companies like Facebook, Twitter and a myriad of other social media companies simply wouldn’t have the following they’d had before. Jared felt the people who survived these times would focus more on the actual faces of family and less on the screen of some electronic piece of engineering that streamed some insignificant celebrity’s life struggle as they drove around Rodeo Drive in a Range Rover, bitching about another insignificant matter.
People would get back to building actual relationships with other humans. In order to survive, Jared was forced to do just that. He would have never forged a relationship with anyone like Bart in the old days. Now…the old bastard was as close to a best friend as Jared had in the world.
By the end of the fourth day, Bart was satisfied with how they had packed everything into the bike trailer and packs. Jared was shocked at how heavy ammunition was, but Bart insisted on taking as much as they could possibly carry. Jared thought about how difficult it was going to be pedaling with all that ammo slowing him down, while Bart looked at the ammo as a way to eat and protect themselves. After Bart hefted the last case of .223 ammo into the trailer, he smiled at Jared.
“Each round could be a deer, and that’s food for a week, maybe more.” Bart patted the ammo case. “Or it could be a dead bad guy, one less we got to worry about killing us or taking all our stuff.” Ba
rt shook his head and continued, “Actually, come to think of it, taking our stuff would most likely kill us.” He looked meaningfully at Jared, cocking his head. “Remember when the time comes, they won’t just be trying to commit some petty theft, they will be doing something that will end up killing us all, including Essie.”
Jared glanced at Essie, who sat on a crate nearby, quietly watching.
“Remember, your resolve has to run parallel with your convictions, Jared.” Bart became even more serious. “Always, never wavering, you have to be like you were when you found her, lethal, and you have to remain that way for the rest of your life.” Bart stood. “We leave tomorrow.”
The following day found Essie perched atop the packed trailer while Jared pedaled in the lowest gear possible. Bart followed on a second bike, which was laden with saddlebags. Bart had the bike in the back of the shop, and Jared hadn’t even known the old guy had wheels till he brought it out the night before their departure.
Both men wore body armor, which Bart had insisted on until they were at least clear of the populated areas. Bart had both his and Jared’s body armor set up the same. Rifle magazines were attached in front and on both sides along with a couple of pistol magazines and a pistol holstered up high on the chest. Bart told Jared it would be easier to ride the bike without a hip holster. Next to Essie were two day packs with enough supplies for a week.
These were in case something happened and they had to drop the bikes and move on foot. The packs were filled with food, water and ammo. Additionally, they had water-purification systems in both packs in case the two were separated. Each man carried a rifle and a pistol along with a few hundred rounds for the rifles and nearly a hundred rounds for each pistol.
It was slow moving, and Jared was not used to being so weighted down like this, since all his foraging was done with an empty pack on the way out and a single full pack on the way back, sans body armor, rifle and the trailer. He argued against the body armor and rifles, but Bart stood his ground, telling Jared that, when the time came to move and move fast, he’d be able to do it. Lastly, Bart had stuffed a medical kit into the pouch that held Jared’s trauma plate, the hardened metal plate designed to stop high-velocity rifle rounds.
The kit was made by a group called Phokus and had several key pieces of trauma-related gear in it. Additionally, Bart added two Halo chest seals in the event one of them was shot in the chest and needed sealing. This was a double-edged sword, in Jared’s opinion. Although Bart had shown him how each piece of first aid gear was to be applied, he had never actually done it on a live or dying person.
He hoped that if the equipment was needed, Bart would be the one applying it since he seemed to know what he was doing. On the other hand, if Bart were applying the first aid treatment, this would mean Jared had been shot, which wasn’t at all appealing. Even less appealing was the thought of Essie being shot. Either way, if the trauma kits or IFAKs, short for individual first aid kits, had to be used, it was going to suck.
Bart explained that the IFAK and all the other goodies were not a be-all and end-all. They were simply one step in many that would have been taken to save a life back when the world was a much safer place. Bart told Jared the aid they got in the field was a way to give a hospital the best shot at saving someone’s life. Now, they might apply a chest seal or wrap a shattered leg with a tourniquet, but they’d still be missing an essential piece of the survival puzzle. Minus the hospital component, Jared was fairly certain whoever got shot in the post-event world was a goner.
Their movement was made even slower by Bart’s insistence that they recon every square inch of landscape prior to passing through it. He kept saying things like, “Patience will be the difference.” Bart explained that while they sat wasting time, as Jared had put it, they were becoming accustomed to the sights, sounds and smells of the battlefield. This, he told Jared flatly, would place them at a distinct advantage over those acting in a rushed and desperate manner.
About twenty minutes into one of Bart’s recon missions, Jared found himself getting fidgety. He just wanted to move on so they could clear the city before dark. Jared saw them just as Bart laid a hand on his leg, slowly gesturing down the street at the three figures. Jared’s body doused him with an unhealthy measure of adrenalin as an icy blanket enveloped his heart.
Jared and Bart glanced back where Essie was huddled under some bushes, then back at the three men in the distance.
Bart slowly brought the binoculars to his eyes, scanning the area before leaning into Jared’s ear. “Three guys, all armed.”
Jared could see the men, one stood in a storefront alcove while the other two sat on the ground behind an abandoned car. It was apparent they were waiting for targets of opportunity and, if Jared’s little group had simply rolled up the street without seeing these fellows first, it was pretty clear what would have happened. Jared shifted, feeling the heavy weight of the body armor, pack, and all the ammunition he was carrying. He thought about the discomfort he felt after being nearly beaten to death in that supermarket near his home, and came to the conclusion he would rather be loaded down than shot or beaten down.
Again, Bart leaned into Jared’s ear. “Two options—we try to shoot all three, or we go around.”
Jared cocked his head and just stared at Bart, who shrugged. “I figure we got about a seventy-five percent chance of success if we ambush these boys, and around a ninety-eight percent success rate if we go around.”
“Just kill ’em?” Jared whispered.
Bart nodded. “I’m pretty sure we would get two. The third will most likely run, which makes for a hard shot. If he did get away, we’d have one very dangerous dude lurking around the area with a pretty good reason to want to do us harm.”
“I vote for going around,” Jared breathed.
Bart pursed his lips and nodded his agreement. “Although it sure would be nice to smoke those fuckers. They’re gonna cause someone real trouble.”
Both men crawled back to Essie and began moving away from the three men waiting in the distance.
Jared and his group picked their way through the city to the outskirts, where they actually saw a few people, none of whom spoke a word to the group, and none of whom were armed.
Bart stopped just as the sun’s rays were beginning to wane, wiped his sweaty brow, and surveyed the surrounding area. There was a golf course to his left and Mt. Hamilton Road to the right. Bart looked up Mt. Hamilton Road and then back over at the golf course and then around at the surrounding houses. Without a word, Bart pushed his bicycle off to the left, down a small embankment and, through some trees before stopping at a chainlink fence, where he rummaged through his gear, produced a small pair of bolt cutters, sliced through the fence, and then motioned for Jared to follow him onto the golf course.
Jared gingerly made his way down the embankment and through the freshly cut fence, being careful not to dislodge Essie in the process. Bart pushed the heavily laden bike about three hundred yards into the property before pulling up under a grove of trees. As Jared caught up, Bart dropped his pack and began pulling items from the saddlebags.
“We’ll camp here for the night.”
Jared looked around questioningly. “Here in the middle of a golf course?”
“Yep, look at all that open real estate someone would have to pass over to get to us. Come nightfall the moon is up, and those greens will look like the sun’s out.” Bart stopped unpacking for a second and gestured back towards the road. “We head up Mt. Hamilton and we’re going to run into country folks. They have two things I don’t think we should deal with at night—dogs and guns. This is the safest place within miles.”
Bart went back to setting up camp, pulling out a small stove he used to heat water, which he added to a large packet of food. He mixed the water and food before sealing the packet and setting it aside. Next, he and Jared set up a small two-man tent under some of the heavier brush. Bart stacked more foliage around and over the top of the tiny tent. Once
this was done, Bart walked out into the open and inspected their encampment, satisfied they would not easily be seen from outside the trees. Bart returned to the food packet and promptly devoured a quarter of it before it seemed he took a breath.
Jared had unpacked his trailer and was about to start hauling items to the tent when Bart stopped him.
“Sleeping bags and weapons, everything else needs to stay packed and ready to move. If we have problems tonight and have to run, the only things we’ll lose are the tent, one sleeping bag, and Essie’s bag.”
Jared didn’t say a word, instead opting to just repack all the gear he intended to take into the tent. After finishing up, he grabbed his sleeping bag and started towards the tent.
Bart interjected, “We can share my bag. One of us has to be awake at all times.” Bart reached in a jacket pocket and pulled out a watch. Days before, Bart had asked that Jared pick up several wind-up watches. He then built a small sundial, simply proclaiming the time was high noon. Having an accurate timepiece was not really that important to Jared, but what seemed more important was having two watches in the event they had to separate and wanted to meet at a certain time.
Bart held the watch up, inspecting the timepiece, then began winding the thing. “Gotta wind these things every day or they stop working.” Bart finished winding the watch and tossed it to Jared.
Jared decided he’d take the first watch and reset the old timepiece to 10:00.
After the trio had eaten and Essie was safely tucked in her sleeping bag, Bart started for the tent as well, but stopped short, turning to Jared.
“Don’t fucking fall asleep,” Bart croaked.
Jared nodded ever so slightly.
“I’m serious about this. Sleeping sentries have no goddamn friends, boy. If one of the crazies out there don’t kill you, I will, so don’t get lazy. All our lives depend on you being awake and alert.” Bart gestured to the tent, where Essie was sleeping, as if to drive his point home.
