by Bowman, Dave
A man. No, two men. And a woman.
Intruders in her own house!
The voices were muffled, and she only caught a few words here and there.
“I'm telling you . . .”
“But I don't care . . .”
“And when it runs out?”
They were discussing something. One of the men was trying to convince the others of something. Their voices were rising in intensity. There was a disagreement.
Annie inched toward the table, then picked the screwdriver up and clutched it tightly.
She fought back panic. The people must have been in the backyard when Annie entered the house from the side. They didn't know Annie was upstairs. They probably didn't know Charlotte was waiting at the front curb, either.
There were three of them, and they had Jack's gun.
Annie was alone. With a screwdriver.
8
Jack held his breath and waited for the pursuer to find them.
He heard the guy's footsteps stop. He was deciding where to go. To the right was the hiding place of Jack, Brent, and Naomi.
His footsteps resumed. This time, they were getting quieter.
He had turned to the left.
The guy was searching the backyard of one of the houses. Brent shifted slightly where he crouched, just a tiny movement.
Jack could see the whites of Naomi's and Brent's eyes. They were petrified.
Jack could fight off just one guy. But if the guy called his friends over, that might be a problem. He held his breath.
A sudden, creaking noise came from a back door a couple houses down. Then, the sound of an older man's voice.
“Get the hell off my property, kid.”
“Whoa, take it easy, bro.”
The teenager sounded scared. Jack imagined one of the homeowners had opened his back door and was pointing a gun at him.
“Now!”
“I'm going, I'm going.”
Footsteps again. He was running. Jack again held his breath and listened.
The guy made it to the path between the houses. He hesitated.
Finally, he turned toward the street.
“Hey, they're not back there. Let's get out of here,” the kid said to his partner on the street.
They could hear the footsteps of the people running off again, back in the direction they had come from. Finally, the neighborhood was silent again.
Jack and the others exhaled. Their pursuers hadn't found them. Jack felt his pulse slow down a bit. He looked up at the rotting boards of the porch, then over at Brent and Naomi. No one dared say a word.
They had avoided a run-in, but they still had to slip out of the porch undetected.
They crawled out, careful to make as little noise as possible. Once they were back on the street, Jack swept his head left and right. He saw no one.
The coast was clear. At least for now.
They set out walking again in the direction they needed to go: east.
Jack was worried. They had walked out of the abandoned drug den house less than an hour before, and already someone was ready to attack them and try to steal their gear.
“I guess that old guy knew what he was talking about after all,” Brent said after they had put a few blocks behind them. “At least we had a head start.”
Jack nodded. “I guess so. Not bad for a can of soda.”
He looked at Naomi. She was quiet again, with her face burrowed down in her sweatshirt. Jack again felt concern for her, but he didn't know what he could do to help her. She knew she could talk to him or Brent if she wanted – they had both told her as much – but she seemed to want to keep to herself. Time, more than anything, would probably be best. She needed time to process it all, and time to heal.
Using Naomi's street map of LA, they kept heading east. Their plan was to make their way toward the interstate. Jack figured they could keep to the access road as much as possible to maintain a lower profile.
They still had so far to go before they even got out of the city and its urban sprawl. At the rate they were going, it would take them two or three months to make it to Central Texas.
That was much too long.
The thought was completely overwhelming. He was filled with frustration and impatience. The urge to escape that neighborhood – the entire state – was powerful. He had so few options. But he knew how high the stakes were.
He knew that somewhere, over 1,000 miles away, Annie needed him. She was on her own, probably terrified. He shook his head to think of his wife in danger.
Jack sighed and rubbed the long stubble on his jaw. He had to get a car.
They were too vulnerable on foot. They had a lot of states and cities to get through.
And he imagined all of them were full of predators.
Some of them were just opportunistic, small-time criminals, ready to take advantage of the collapsing society. He figured that the young guys on their trail earlier belonged to that category. The overstuffed bags that he, Brent, and Naomi carried were like gift-wrapped packages to petty criminals. With so many people trying to survive after the biggest disaster the country had ever seen, the food and water the trio carried had become high commodities. Thieves could either use their supplies themselves, or trade them for something better. Now that money was useless, basic essentials were the new currency. And the streets were now full of people emboldened to try their hand at theft.
But no doubt there were others, like Naomi's stepfather, Frank, who were more skilled at crime. Not only would the lack of law enforcement give them a wide open opportunity to do what they wanted, but the lack of working vehicles meant that everyone was walking around on the street. That would give them a lot of prey. A lot of targets.
And the really ambitious ones would try to organize. Take over neighborhoods, maybe even entire towns. A scared, frightened populace would be easy to manipulate. People would be looking for someone to put their trust in.
“Hey, Jack,” Brent said under his breath as he caught up to walk by Jack's side. Naomi walked behind them, out of earshot. “Do you think Naomi is okay? She seems . . . kind of out of it.”
Jack glanced back to see her expressionless face, her eyes down as she walked.
“She'll be all right. She's been through a lot. But she's still walking. That means she's still fighting. She'll get through this.”
Brent thought about that.
“I guess you're right.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“How are you holding up?” Jack asked.
“Exhausted,” Brent said with a sigh. “And we haven't even gotten out of LA yet. Do you really think we can make it to Texas? I mean, there are people wanting to steal our stuff on every block. And even if we don't get robbed, where will we get new food when we run out of all this? It will only last so long. And where are you thinking we'll sleep? And are we always going to be traveling at night?”
Brent finally ended his onslaught of questions. He was out of breath. He turned his face expectantly toward Jack as if to demand answers.
Even in the dark, Jack could see the youth and inexperience in Brent's face. Brent was so young, and he was afraid. He could be annoying at times, but Jack also felt a little sorry for him. Society as they knew it was ending right when his life was beginning. It didn't seem fair. And Naomi too. They weren't much more than kids. Jack thought of his own early twenties. He had been so carefree, so unaware of all the evil in the world. It was a shame that young people were being robbed of their innocence.
“I know you have a lot of questions,” Jack said slowly as they walked down the empty street. “But I'm afraid I don't have many answers. All I can tell you is that we're going to find a way. Come hell or high water, we're making it to Texas.”
Jack's confidence seemed to put Brent a little more at ease. The young man nodded and was quiet for a moment. Then he thought of something. “Are you still thinking of stealing a car?”
&nbs
p; Jack gave him a sidelong glance. “Are you still gonna try to convince me not to?”
Brent shook his head. “No. In fact, I'm sorry I gave you a hard time for trying to find one the other day. I guess I didn't realize how serious this was. Stealing a car might be our only hope to – you know, to make it back to Texas alive. Don't you think?”
“I'm afraid so.” Jack reckoned that Brent didn't even fully realize how true his statement was.
Stealing a car was just about the only chance they had for making it home. There were so few cars that still ran, though, that it would be hard to find one in the first place. And anyone who had a working vehicle would be protecting it like nothing else.
The truth was that Brent wasn't the only one with moral objections to stealing a vehicle. Jack also felt a stab of guilt whenever he thought about it. They needed a car to make it home in one piece. But what if taking someone's car meant that person might not survive? What if by stealing a vehicle someone needed, Jack was putting their lives at risk?
He was hoping for the impossible. A running car owned by someone who didn't need it to survive. Even better if the owner were somehow a bad person. But Jack knew how silly that line of thinking was. If he spotted a classic car in a garage, he knew he would try to find a way to take it. It didn't matter who it belonged to.
The survival instinct was strong. And it wasn't just his own skin he was trying to save. There were others who were depending on him. Annie, Brent, Naomi. He couldn't let them down. Especially not his wife. But even Brent and Naomi had become so important to him that he would take a risk for them. Two days ago, he had only known Brent as a coworker, and Naomi not at all. But having gone through the worst disaster of his life with them, they had become almost family to him.
Just then, Naomi screamed.
The sudden noise made Brent jump. Jack reached for his gun.
Both men turned around to see Naomi paralyzed in fear, staring at some bushes nearby.
“What is it? What's wrong?” Jack asked, thinking she had seen some danger.
Naomi just stood there, staring at the ground. Her eyes were big and panicked.
Then she seemed to calm down. She blinked a few times, took a deep breath, and looked away.
“It's nothing,” she said quietly. “I'm sorry to scare you. I thought I saw – I thought something was there.”
Jack looked more closely at the area around the bushes. A doll, no doubt forgotten by some child, lay on the ground. Its hair was splayed out in the grass.
He sighed, then looked up. A candle was being lit inside the nearest house, and warm light glowed from behind the window. Across the street, someone opened their front door. A man holding his rifle glared at them.
“I don't think the neighbors are too happy,” Brent said nervously.
“Let's go,” Jack said, motioning his head for them to walk ahead.
Brent and Naomi took the lead, quickly moving away. Jack took up the rear, holding his gun and keeping an eye on the man across the street.
At the end of the block, they turned on a side street. No one had come after them, and they could relax a little.
“Are you sure you're all right, Naomi?” Jack asked.
Naomi didn't look up but gave a quick answer. “I'm sorry about back there. I guess I'm a little jumpy. But I'm okay. I promise.”
Jack wasn't sure if he could believe her or not. Something was definitely going on with her. They had avoided disaster back there, but he was afraid they wouldn't always get off so easy.
Now more than ever, he longed for a vehicle.
He decided that finding a ride was the number one priority. He didn't care if he had to steal it. One way or another, he was getting a car.
Without one, they didn't stand a chance.
9
Annie was trapped.
Downstairs, there were three strangers in her house. Intruders! Walking around her kitchen as if they owned it. They had broken into her house and taken Jack's gun – and who knew what else. She vacillated between rage at them and fear of what they might do.
And what could she do? Stuck there in her bedroom with no way out but down the stairs, which led right past where the people now stood arguing. There was no hope of her sneaking out undetected. Especially not with three pairs of eyes to spot her.
And she doubted she could open one of the bedroom windows quietly enough without alerting the intruders of her presence. Even if she could, the fall from the second-story window would easily cause her to break a bone, or worse.
The three of them were having a heated argument. She heard them pacing around, moving things, opening drawers and cabinets. They weren't in a hurry. They were taking their sweet time.
Three strangers had taken over Annie and Jack's house.
“What a perfect couple!” the woman said mockingly downstairs.
The others laughed. Then the sound of glass breaking floated upstairs. More laughter.
They must have been looking at a framed picture of her and Jack, then broken it. Annie's blood boiled.
If only Jack were here!
Not only had they taken over her house, but they were breaking her belongings. And even if Annie could escape alive – which seemed unlikely – she wouldn't be able to pack any of her things. She would have to leave it all for the thieves to destroy or carry off.
She had been in the house for several minutes now, probably longer than she and Charlotte had agreed. What would Charlotte do? Would she get out of the Porsche, leaving it unattended and vulnerable, and come inside? Then the Porsche would be stolen. Everything would be lost.
The only thing Annie could do was try to signal to Charlotte from the window. She at least had to tell her friend not to come into the house.
Annie stepped quietly over the floor, careful to avoid making any sudden movements. She knew how easily sound from the bedroom carried to the downstairs area.
Finally, she got to the window and saw Charlotte waiting in the blue car. But any hope of catching her friend's attention started to wane. The tall pecan tree in the front yard blocked most of the view. And Charlotte's attention seemed to be fixed on the rearview mirror.
Annie's eyes darted down the street behind the car. Some distance away, a couple of men were watching Charlotte from the sidewalk. Charlotte kept her eye on them, and Annie could tell she was frightened. Annie felt her stomach tighten.
Then, the men broke out in a run, heading straight for the car.
Charlotte panicked. Annie could see her moving in the car, but couldn't quite see what she was doing. Finally, a loud noise broke the silence – Charlotte was laying on the horn.
Movement and voices downstairs. They had heard the horn, too.
The men on the street were getting closer.
The car suddenly lurched forward. Charlotte was going to drive away, Annie realized.
But the engine died. Annie cringed. A feeling of dread flooded her. They hadn't had time to let Charlotte practice driving the standard transmission. Annie cursed their bad luck.
The commotion was building downstairs – voices growing in intensity, and more movement. The front door flew open, and Annie saw the three people race out of her house toward the Porsche.
The last thing Annie saw from the window was the terrified look on Charlotte's face as two groups of people rushed toward her stopped vehicle.
10
Saturday, 7:02 a.m. EST - Johnson City, Tennessee
“Can't we just stay here and wait for the lights to come back on?”
Brody Walsh rubbed his temples. He had a splitting headache for the second day in a row, and his daughter's protests were not helping.
“You know this is more than a power outage, Katie,” Brody replied.
The two of them were in their garage, right beside the empty spot of the Ford truck that no longer run – at least not since Wednesday. Brody was airing up the tires and oiling the chains on their bikes. They needed the bicycles in good working order.
Katie huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I just don't see why we have to ride these dumb bikes all the way to Grandma and Grandpa's,” the teenager retorted. “It'll take all day riding that far.”
Brody stood up from the concrete floor and put his tools away. He turned to face his daughter and looked closely at her.
He had been studying his daughter's face a lot lately. He was watching for any changes in skin color, pupil size, or discoloration in the whites of her eyes. And he was careful to be on the lookout for any changes in Katie's energy level or disposition.
Brody was relieved, each time he looked, to find his daughter the same she always was. The same fair, youthful complexion. The same curly red hair that reminded Brody so much of his sister, Annie. And the same moodiness that had put such a strain on his relationship with his daughter the past few years.
But now he wasn't looking for signs of sickness. Now he was trying to get through to Katie, to make her understand.
“Katie, you know how serious this is. I have to get you to their house in case . . . Well, in case anything happens. You'll be safe there.”
Katie rolled her eyes and turned away from him. “And you always say I'm dramatic. You're making this out to be such a big deal.”
Brody sighed. He didn't have the energy for this. “Let's go get our things.”
Katie stormed into the house and grabbed her backpack, which she had packed earlier. Brody threw his own bag over his aching shoulders. He checked to make sure all the burners on the stove were off – an old habit.
He took one last look around the house. He had lived there with his daughter for ten years. A lump formed in his throat.
Then they returned to the garage, got on their bikes, and pedaled away.
Out on the road, the sun was scorching. Brody's joints and muscles were already on fire, and the heat only made things worse. He wheezed as they pumped their bikes up a hill. His lungs didn't seem to be working right. Nothing seemed to be working right. And they had thirty miles to go.
