by Rod Rayborne
There he found her, lying on her stomach in a puddle of blood and vomit, her hands still zip-tied behind her. He dropped the gun and fell forward, cursing silently, pulling the all in one knife from his pocket, cutting the tie. Kneeling, he put his hands on her shoulders to turn her over. A gooey dribble of bile followed her mouth to the puddle beneath her head. Her scalp was torn in a ragged flesh wound two inches above her right eye, bleeding profusely. She opened her eyes and looked at him tiredly.
"I was wondering when you were coming." She never doubted him. He struggled to hold back his emotions.
She looked wearily at his own blood smeared face. "What happened to you?" she asked tiredly.
"There was another one," he said, wiping her mouth with a soft shirt that had been lying nearby. "I'll be fine. How about you?"
"Sick. I feel sick."
"He grazed your scalp."
She shook her head.
"Not that. Something else is wrong. I'm dizzy."
"We gotta get out of here before they come back. Their kind always comes back. Can you stand?"
She shook her head again.
"I'm sorry."
Without another word, Gordon lifted her from the floor amid her cries of pain. Abandoning the .45 and their packs, he raised her in his arms and staggered towards the rear exit. Outside, the world had turned white.
Chapter Sixty Seven
D id you get a reading?" Mika asked Aaron as he came in with the counter.
"It's up."
"How far up?"
Aaron looked uncomfortable. "Three thousand millisieverts. More or less."
"More or less?"
"More," he said unhappily.
Mika looked back out the window, a frightened look on her face. She paced back to the living room to peer out the front window and then back to the kitchen. Aaron stood there, Geiger counter in hand, not sure just what he should do. He looked at it again and then back at Mika. The others were seated around the table, James sitting on a barstool.
Since Rusty and Cyrus had gone, Mika had taken over as de facto leader. She had not offered her services for the position nor had anyone else asked it of her. It just was.
Floyd and Arturo had come back from the tire store location that Conrad had said they were stationed at later that evening, empty handed. They'd seen nothing at all to indicate that Deenie and Conrad had ever been there. Nor were they hugely surprised when Mika told them that Rusty, Cyrus and Conrad had not returned. Despite Rusty's admonition that they leave if he and Cyrus didn't come back, they were in favor of setting out towards the 1600 block to look for them, but Mika shook her head.
"Rusty told us to leave. We stayed. That was last night. Something happened. And now the radiation."
"So, what are we going to do about that, the radiation?" Nate asked.
Mika looked down glumly. "The wind must have shifted. I didn't think the fallout would reach this far, considering the prevailing winds. It shouldn't have. From what we've heard, it was a small yield nuke. Maybe ten kiloton. Shouldn't have gone this far south. Perhaps more nukes were dropped than we thought. Or a cloud drifting west from China. Who knows. We've got to leave."
The men looked at one another and then slowly nodded their heads in agreement. Time was of the essence. First the ash and then the rains. The radiation levels had jumped by 800 millisieverts in that same hour. If they wanted to live, it was now or never.
"What about the man upstairs?" Nate asked.
"God?" James asked.
"Not that far up," Nate said.
"Oh right. Right. Damn. How does he look to you, Nathan?"
"No change. A coma can last for years or he could wake up tomorrow. But if he wakes up and no one is here to help, he may die."
Mika said something then they'd all been thinking to themselves.
"I'll stay behind. When Rusty and Cyrus get back, we'll decide what to do about our guest. One way or other, well catch up with you somewhere on the 5. If we can. But don't wait for us."
"They're not coming back," James said. "You just said so yourself. And no one knows when our guest will wake up."
"If he wakes up," Nate added.
"Right, if he wakes up. You're coming with us."
"I'm not leaving without them."
James looked at Mika and shook his head.
"Either we all go or none of us. Guys?"
The men nodded in unison and looked back at Mika.
"Goddamn," she said irritably. But she hugged each of them. "What about the guy upstairs?"
"Well get him some food, water. Put it around the bed for him within reach. It's the best we can do, Mika."
She stood for a moment, hesitating, her brow lined. Then she looked at James, sighed and nodded.
"ok. Get your packs. We need as much food, water and medicine as we can carry. Our cold suits too. Be ready to leave in ten. I'll grab the bikes, pump and extra tubes." She looked hard at the table.
"I'll write a note, leave it here for the boys. Well catch up with them in Mexico. At the border if their government hasn't already closed it. Wouldn't blame them if they did." She ran out the door, heading for the garage.
As they pedaled south, Mika and the men stopped occasionally to recheck the counter readings. In little more that twenty miles, the numbers had fallen from 3400 millisieverts to 350. Still too high but going in the right direction.
From others they'd talked to on the short-wave, they learned that the only two cities in California that had been hit were Los Angeles and Sacramento. That surprised them. They expected San Francisco and San Diego to be choice targets as well, but they weren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. There were a lot of Chinese in San Francisco but that hardly seemed like a reason for China to pass over such a prime target in a war such as this had been.
Riding out of the San Fernando Valley, they passed a few soldiers marching in formation. Most not. These seemed at ease, happy, walking haphazardly, laughing. None of them made an attempt to stop them and many didn't even look their way.
Something's happened, Mika thought, that had changed their mood to one of ebullience. There was a great deal of animated talk going on between individuals and groups as they walked. An atmosphere of camaraderie prevailed.
"Shall I ride over and ask them what's going on?" Nate asked, looking at Mika.
"No, let's not push our luck. The sooner we get out of LA, the better. Road conditions are improving. I think if we can keep to this pace, we should make Oceanside by tomorrow. We want to get out of the fallout zone before it really starts coming down. That could be now... or never. I propose we make it an all nighter. See how far we can get before we poop out."
"Gonna be difficult, considering the clouds. Not going to have much light to go by in a few hours," Aaron said. They rode three and three, close up so that they could speak.
"I'd be willing to push the bikes even when it gets too dark to see well, rather than stay one more day in this city."
"I think the worst of the radiation from LA is moving due east. The climate may have taken a hit as well. Wind patterns have shifted from North East to purely east. I don't think what were seeing now is local. If I had to guess, I say this is coming from China," Floyd said.
"As a result of a US counter offensive?" Mika asked. She refused to use the new designation, NSA.
"That'd be my guess. Took a week to reach us. When Chernobyl exploded, we didn't get any of the residuals for a few days. But after that, we started picking it up in Washington State and Oregon. We were warned to skip apples from there that year. Of course, the industry had different ideas and the numbers weren't that bad anyway.
Worse with Fukushima. That one will be going for decades. But if we hit multiple targets in China, that'll take the cake. We were able to detect pollution in our skies that could be traced back to China. Now it's radiation. Only now, we're to blame. I guess we're taking our own medicine."
"Some medicine. As long as the wind blows, a nuke exploded on
one side of the world will bring destruction to the other side. And back again. What goes around. It only took a few days for Fukushima's radiation flowing west to circle the earth and pass over Japan once more."
As they rode, they encountered more people walking and on bicycles. Even some in vehicles. Before long, they found themselves weaving through the crowds and we're forced to ride two blocks to the west where the crowds were lighter. Some of those on bikes followed them over and it soon felt like they were in a marathon. Finally when the throngs had thinned out, they closed up again and picked up the conversation where they'd left off.
"If all this is true, the winds and radiation, what's the point of heading south? Won't it just follow us no matter where we go?"
"Well, the fallout, once it starts to fall, should be done in a few days. Supposedly it would be safe to come out after that. Supposedly. That's provided we found sufficient protection to survive those few days. That doesn't mean it won't still be plenty hot. It will be for at least several weeks more. Not to mention the kind of world we would crawl out too. As far as we know, the war was only in the northern hemisphere. Wind patterns generally stay in their hemisphere. North tends to stay north, south, south. And they travel in opposite directions. Winds on the north flow in a clockwise direction and on the southern side in a counter-clockwise direction. So generally they don't mix too much. There's some debate about that of late. Climate change seems to be changing wind patterns as well, or so say some scientists. But for now, it may be that most of what happens in the north stays in the north," Floyd answered.
"That's provided India and Pakistan didn't decide to throw down in the confusion. And Israel and Iran. They might have thought this a good opportunity to set things 'to rights', if you know what I mean," Aaron said.
"We don't even know if Israel has nukes."
"None they've admitted too. Officially, at least. But most people assume they do. They're surrounded by twenty-two Arab nations with varying degrees of animosity against them. And they're our strongest ally in the region. If I had to guess, I'd say they have nukes."
"So if they did drop them..."
"They're smaller in size and there are fewer. We already know the north is toast. We might as well take our chances in the south."
Mika slowed to a stop and waited for the others to do the same. Then she said, "We've gone forty miles this afternoon. Aaron, what kind of reading are we getting now?"
Aaron pulled the Geiger counter out of a satchel hanging around his neck and left arm. When he turned it on, it began its usual clicking noise, but slower now, more deliberate.
"Down to less than one hundred CPM, one microsievert. Not much more than normal background radiation. I'd say for us, that particular emergency has passed."
"For now, but the dust from China just hasn't made it this far south yet. By this time tomorrow, this whole place might be hot. We keep going."
"I say we try for Chile. Best place in the world to see the stars. All in favor?" Nate asked.
He swerved around a massive pothole then, just missing Floyd by an inch before straightening out again.
"You'll be seeing stars if you crash into me with that bike, Nate, Ol' boy."
"Let's just wait and see if we can even get out of the country first before we start planning our vacation, shall we?" Mika said.
"I hope Rusty and Cyrus are ok. And Deenie. And they jettison that asshole, Conrad."
"If Deenie's not with them when they get to Mexico, Conrad won't be either."
"If they make it to Mexico." The others grew quiet, each lost in his and her own thoughts. Then they began to pedal in earnest.
In a bedroom on the second story of an old wood frame house in south Los Angeles, on a bed surrounded by food and bottles of frozen water, a man stirred.
Chapter Sixty Eight
T he old chocolate brown pickup truck still managed to shine despite the heavy layer of dust that covered it. The tires were white wall, a running board between them on either side of the fenders. Large raised letters standing out from the rear gate announced FORD to those graced enough to be driving behind her. All in all, she was a beauty of curved body and careful restoration, something one would have expected to see in a parade or car show along with cherry red Model T's, duotone '57 Chevy's and wood paneled milk trucks.
But the authenticity of the restoration was of little interest to Hershel as he ran around it, looking to see if was unlocked. As he supposed would be the case, it was shut up tighter than a drum. Laying Rabbit carefully on the browned lawn, he walked around the truck, feeling beneath the metal work for a key box. If worse came to worse, he'd find a rock to break the window. He wasn't worried about starting it. He had learned how to hot-wire a car decades ago as part of his initiation into adolescence.
He peered through the window, holding his head against the glass to block out the smoky glare from the sun. Inside, a long bench seat covered in the traditional cheap cotton blanket sporting an Indian motif, a shiny pearl plastic steering wheel and long gear shift topped by a golden billiard ball spoke to the loving care the truck had received these many long years since it was first purchased. How many others like it had been run into the ground Hershel couldn't imagine but this one was still a looker. Hershel let out a low whistle.
He looked around for a stone, finding several sticking out of the ground where they'd been placed as a garden surround. Hefting one, he walked back to the driver's side window when he saw movement coming towards him on the house side of the vehicle.
"Looking for these?" a gravelly voice intoned.
The old man stopped and glanced down at the small bundle wrapped in a blanket laying near the truck, still holding his keys out towards Hershel.
"What goes on here, mister?" He looked back at Hershel. "You aiming to kidnap this girl in my truck?"
"It's nothing like that, Sir. She's sick. The radiation. She's going to die if I don't get her south."
"And you just happen to need my truck to get her there, eh? That ain't a very convincing story, boy. There are newer cars all over the place. But you need my honey pot? You know what this truck is worth? I s'pect you do. You back away now. Go on, get back there. And you'll be leaving this child with me. We'll look after her."
The old man walked around the truck and now Hershel could see that he was carrying an old shotgun.
"Damn, they grow 'em big where you come from, heh?"
"Please, I can pay you for its use. I promise I'll bring it back just as soon as I can. I need to get the girl south. Mexico maybe or somewhere farther. Somewhere out of the fallout. She'll die if I don't."
"Well mister, that's a real good yarn your telling but I stopped trusting people seventy years ago. Your kind 'specially. You boys just never give up, do you? Car jacking and liquor stores and such. Shooting up. See, I know your slang."
"Mister..." Hershel began.
"Now, you just ease that there gun offa your shoulder and drop it in the street there. Real nice now. Real, real nice. I don't want to hafta shoot you but I will if'n you don't."
Hershel lifted his hands palms up and then slowly slid the strap from his shoulder. He laid the Mossberg down in the street and used one foot to push it towards the old man. He raised his hands once more to show they were empty.
"There's a good boy," The old man said, slowly bending over to pick up the gun. He kept his eyes and his own weapon trained on Hershel as he did.
"It ain't that I'm prejudiced. I want you to know that. I just don't like nigras. But I ain't prejudiced. You can see the difference, right?"
"Mister…" Hershel said again, low.
"You know how long I've owned this truck? Bought her back in '55. Took my Dolly to the Spring Dance in it. Got drafted right after that. I was eighteen years young. That's how they say it nowadays. Years young. Don't that just beat all? We was living in Mobile. I got back the following year with an medical discharge on account of I couldn't hardly see without my glasses. Legally blind. Was with Doll
y after that. Dead now. I just live by myself these days. Well, me and my daughter since that bum ran out on her. Guess how old I am."
"Mister, I'm sorry, I gotta go. I gotta take your truck. I'll bring it back."
"Ninety two. That's how old I am. Ninety two in twenty nine. And never no one ever stole from me a'fore. Me and this truck been together near seventy four years. Normally I'd be calling up the po-lice about now but I'd be letting you go on account of this little trouble we've been having these few days. I s'pect they's plenty busy. So's this is your lucky day. Now you just go on. I'll look after the young'un. Call up the authorities. They'll know what to do."
The old man approached Hershel, gun in both hands, aimed at his midsection.
Hershel took a step back and looked around uncertainly. His options were few. Then he stood still in the middle of the street. The man closed the distance between them, pushing the barrel of the shotgun into his stomach. He pushed again but Hershel stood his ground. Then the man clicked back first one hammer and then the other.
"I'm sorry to have to do this to you but you forced my hand," the old man said.
Hershel swept his arm sideways, letting it just touch the man's head. He had hoped to stun the man enough to make him drop the gun, but the old man fell like a rock. As soon as he did, Hershel heard a scream erupt from the house the man had come from and a middle aged woman ran towards him, fists clenched.
"You killed him! You killed my daddy, you dirty coon!"
Hershel knelt next to the old man. He felt for a pulse, finding none.
"No, I didn't hit you that hard. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you that hard. C'mon, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
He reached out and lifted the old man, walking towards the house from which he had come. By this time the woman caught up with him. She was screaming at him, beating him with her fists, demanding that he put the old man down. Then people began to emerge from other houses on the block, drawn by the woman's screams. Seeing Hershel's size and supposing they were witnessing the aftermath of a murder, they hung back, shouting curses and threats at him.
