by Bowman, Dave
He was skinny, but wiry. The long sleeves of his shirt were cuffed, and Jack could see track marks on his forearms and between his fingers.
So they've got a junkie running this whole thing?
As he approached, Jack saw that his cheeks were hollowed out. His light brown hair was tousled. His eyes were huge, with dilated pupils. And something was off with the color of his skin. Jack couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was some kind of unnatural cast to his complexion.
The man came to a stop right in front Jack. He crossed his arms over his chest as he sized Jack up. Then, he moved on, doing the same for Brent and Naomi.
He returned to stand in front of Jack. Hooking his thumbs in his belt loops, he leaned back on his heels and smiled.
“What brings you folks to our fair city?” he asked.
Jack's stare was unwavering. He was silent for a few moments, as he stood with a stone face. Finally, he spoke.
“Just passing through.”
The man – Oscar as Jack had heard him called – kept smiling.
“But you didn't just pass through, did you? My men tell me they caught you stealing gas from some cars on I-10.”
Jack didn't answer. He just held the man's stare.
“That's right, Oscar,” the big man at Jack's side offered. “Filled up their whole gas can, too.”
Oscar made his eyes go big in mock surprise at that last statement. “Your whole gas can? Is that right?”
Jack glared at him.
Oscar let out a long whistle. “See, now, gas is a precious resource. We don't take kindly to people from out of town just showing up and taking our gas.”
Oscar waited for some response, but Jack didn't bother. Oscar laughed and walked back to stand in front of Brent.
“You folks are from California, right? Maybe that's how they do things out there, but not here in White Rock.”
Oscar turned and started to walk toward Naomi, but Brent spoke.
“Jack and I aren't from Cal –”
Oscar snapped his head back and glared at Brent, his smile dropping.
“This one's got a mouth on him,” Oscar announced, looking at his buddies still seated around the table. “The big one can hardly talk at all, but this one can't shut up.”
The men at the table laughed heartily as they picked their teeth and leaned back in their chairs.
Oscar clasped his hands behind his back and returned to his seat at the head of the table. He sat down, got comfortable, then looked up at the men who had dragged the three of them to the house.
“The camps,” he said flatly, with no trace of the smile he had worn before. “All three of them.”
The man at Jack's side grabbed his arm and started to pull. But Jack stood firmly in place.
“What kind of a coward are you?” Jack said, scowling at Oscar.
The room became totally silent. Everyone in the room turned to stare at Jack.
“You've stolen our car. Isn't that enough for you? Take these damned cuffs off us. Now. And then maybe we'll leave without making any trouble for you.”
The silence hung heavily in the air. Everyone turned to look at Oscar, who didn't react for a while.
Finally, Oscar's mouth opened up in that grin again. He began to laugh loudly, making the others laugh, too.
He glanced at the man beside Jack.
“Get them out of here. And take John Wayne here to the C Block.”
The men nodded and started tugging on Jack's arms again.
Oscar glanced at the man sitting beside him.
“Dox,” Oscar said. He motioned toward him. Then Oscar returned to his steak.
Dox scribbled on some scraps of paper. Then he looked up at Jack and scowled. Without taking his eyes off Jack, he handed one of the pieces to Billy.
Billy, the big guy at Jack's side, pocketed it.
Jack glared at Oscar in disgust as they pulled him away. Oscar waved goodbye with a smile.
Behind him, Jack heard Brent and Naomi being led away as well.
Billy clenched Jack's elbow and chuckled as they walked out of the house.
“C Block,” Billy said cheerfully. “You'll have a great time in C Block.”
23
Paul woke up. He had fallen asleep again, there beside the log on the ground.
He was still in the woods. But now, he was fully awake. Not just from sleep, but from the daze he had been in.
He had no idea how long he had been wandering around. He didn't know what day it was. Because the sky was overcast, he didn't even have a sense of whether it was morning or afternoon.
But he knew he had lost everything. Marie, the boys, and his little girl. He had even lost his home. He didn't even care about that so much. What did a house matter if he had lost his family?
But it meant that he had no place to go.
Now that he was no longer in that semi-trance state, the pain hit him full on. The rage and grief was so tremendous that any physical pain he had felt in his life paled in comparison.
He couldn't go back to that place, his old home. It was nothing but a pile of rubble. Everything was destroyed. And he couldn't return to face those dead bodies again. Maybe it made him a coward, he realized, but he just couldn't do it.
He sat there for a long while. He had no inclination to move. He had no direction or thing to move toward.
He remembered the sound of the child laughing he had heard earlier that day. The sound that had woken him from his stupor. It had reminded him of the family he had lost.
He didn't know how he could go on living. Everything he cared about was destroyed. He was completely alone in the world. He had lost everyone that he cared about, everyone who cared for him. His family was gone.
He picked up a rock and began scratching it into the bark of the fallen pine.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. Perhaps not everyone.
There was still Jack.
Jack, his younger brother, who lived just a few hours away. Jack, to whom he had been so close growing up, and who he hadn't seen in years.
Paul and Jack were estranged. It had all started several years ago. There was a big disagreement about how to manage their mother's care in her final years. It had turned into a battle between them that raged on for years. One thing led to another, and before long, they were no longer speaking to each other.
That seemed so long ago now. And to Paul, their differences that had felt so insurmountable back then, now seemed minuscule. He had lost his brother for no good reason. They had both wanted their mom to be cared for and safe in her final days. But somehow, a difference in opinion had driven a wedge between Paul and his brother.
It had been at least six years since they had spoken. Paul had met Annie, Jack's fiancée, back then, before their falling out. But Paul had not been invited to the wedding. And Jack had never even met Paul and Marie's youngest child, their little girl.
Paul shook his head in sadness and regret. Suddenly, it hit him all at once how important his brother had always been to him, and how foolish he had been to let a difference of opinion drive them apart. Life was so short, so precious. It could be lost in the blink of an eye. If Paul knew anything, he knew that.
So how could he have ever shut out his own brother?
Suddenly, Paul realized that his brother might be in danger. He hoped Jack was all right. He knew that Jack and Annie lived in Austin. If even the eastern suburbs of Dallas had been destroyed in the attack, he wondered what had happened in the state capital.
All of a sudden, Paul felt overcome with anguish. What if he had lost his brother too? Jack was the only family he had left. And Annie – he had always liked her. In losing his relationship with Jack years ago, Paul felt like he had also lost the closest thing he had to a sister.
But maybe they had somehow survived even if Austin had been attacked. Maybe the bombs had missed them. Maybe they had escaped the city in time.
And if they had escaped, Paul knew exactly where they would go
.
They would go to Paul's and Jack's childhood home. They would go to Loretta.
It was out in the country, and it was only three hours from Austin. The property had always been a refuge, a safe place.
When Jack and Paul had had their falling out, Paul had all but given the house and land to Jack. Jack lived closer to it, and Paul didn't want to risk running into him when he went. Besides, his estrangement from his brother had pretty much ruined their old home for Paul.
So Paul had stopped going to the ranch house and the land that he had loved as a child.
Now, he felt that place calling him, drawing him there.
And perhaps he would get lucky and find his brother there, safe and sound. Jack and Annie were the only family he had left. He didn't want to throw them away again. More than anything at that moment, Paul wanted to see a familiar face. He wanted to know someone, and to be known. This might be the only chance he had to bury the hatchet with his brother. He didn't want to waste it.
Paul stood up and looked around. He dusted the dirt and brush off of his clothes. He tried to comb his hair into place a bit. He knew he looked frightful, and he didn't want to scare anyone.
Though he wasn't quite sure where he was, he would find the way. First, he had to walk out of that forest and head for the nearest road. Then, he would walk southwest.
Paul left the log behind and ambled through the forest. It had been a stroke of luck – either good or bad, he wasn't sure – that had spared his life. He wanted to make the most of the time he had left.
Overhead, the clouds were clearing. As he emerged from the darkened woods and into a field, the sun was starting to come out. He had already walked for a long time, and he still had a long journey ahead of him. But this time he would be moving toward something.
And this time, he hoped, there would be a light at the end of the tunnel.
24
Another day had gone by with no sign of Henry.
Myra Walsh had covered another section of forest looking for her husband today. Then she had walked into town and visited the home of Fred Clanton, the owner of the hardware store where Henry had said he was going that day he disappeared.
This time, Fred answered the door.
Myra had explained everything to him. How her husband had left just before all the lights went out, and how he had been going to Fred's store. And with her voice shaking, she told him how he had never come home.
Standing on his front porch, Fred listened silently. Finally, he spoke.
“Yeah, I saw Henry that day,” he said, scratching his head as he thought back. “He didn't stay for long. Got what he needed and then left.”
Myra felt her chest tighten. So her husband had made it to his destination.
“Then what?” she asked frantically. “Did you see which way he went?”
Fred shook his head. “No, I didn't. I was ringing up another customer by then and didn't pay too much attention to the cars out front.”
Myra fidgeted and looked out to the road, trying to imagine where Henry might have gone after the hardware store. Surely he must have headed back for home. Or maybe he thought of another last-minute errand. It could have been anything…
“And it wasn't long after he left that all the power went out,” Fred continued. “The damnedest thing. And all the cars too. Hell, my truck's still parked up at the shop. And I reckon that's where it will stay for the time being. You know, it had to be North Korea who did all this, don't you? Tom Dickinson down the road thinks it's Russia.”
Fred laughed dismissively, then continued.
“Yeah, that's what they want you to think.” He stopped, realizing that Myra was too distracted to listen to his theories. “I wonder what Henry would have to say about all this.”
Myra turned away, blinking back tears.
Fred shook his head sadly. “I sure do hope he comes back. And, Myra, let me know if you need anything from me or Nancy. We know you're out there all alone.”
“Well, I could really use some help looking for Henry,” Myra said hopefully. “I've already been looking through the woods to the northeast of here. But there's so much ground to cover. It would be a lot easier with a few people, and I haven't really found anyone else to help me look. So if you and Nancy could go out with me tomorrow –”
Fred avoided her gaze. “You know I'd love to help you look for him, Myra. I really would.” He glanced over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. “But it's Nancy, you see. She's scared out of her mind since this whole thing happened. She won't even come out here to stand on the front porch. And, well, I really need to stay home with her. She's just too frightened to be on her own.”
Myra stared at him. Fred wasn't the first “friend” who had disappointed her lately. It seemed no one wanted to help her look for Henry. Even though Henry would have been the first to search for them if they had needed it.
Fred cleared his throat. “But if there's anything else you need, food or supplies, something like that, you just let us know.”
Myra nodded, thanked him, and hurried off. She had a long walk ahead of her before she could get home. And she didn't want to waste any more time.
So Fred didn't know where her husband had gone. At least Henry had made it to the hardware store that day, though. But where could he have gone? How could he have just disappeared in such a small town?
As Myra walked the several miles along the wooded road back home, she felt a sinking pit in her stomach. It had been three days since her husband had disappeared. Each day he was gone, he felt more and more distant.
And though she wouldn't openly admit it to herself, the fear that he would never return grew a little bit stronger.
It was dusk when she finally dragged herself home and up the steps of her front porch, bent over and out of breath. She was sore all over from all the walking she had been doing. But her knees were what worried her. The pain was flaring a little more every day. As much as she wanted to continue searching for her husband, she had to admit that she was pushing herself too far. She might better take a day to rest tomorrow.
But no, she couldn't do that. Henry would keep searching for her if she were the one missing. It was the least she could do.
They had been married for forty-one years. He had always been good to her, and they loved each other. She didn't know what she would do without him.
She wanted to start searching the national forest land to the south of her home. Maybe Henry had been injured and was stuck out there somewhere. Maybe he couldn't walk and was going without food.
And if he didn't have access to water – well, Myra couldn't even consider the possibility. Because if her husband had gone three days without drinking anything, she feared it might be too late. No, he was out there somewhere. He was holding on. But he needed her. She couldn't give up.
Tomorrow would be the day, she told herself as she walked inside the house. He had to be in the woods to the south. There wasn't anywhere else he could be.
Yes, tomorrow she would find her husband. He had most likely sprained an ankle or broken a bone and couldn't walk out of the forest.
Of course, that wouldn't explain why he had gone into the forest in the first place. Or why his truck was missing along with him. But maybe he had driven along some national forest service road. Maybe he had taken a wild hair and decided to go for a joyride. Something like that.
Myra just had to find the right road. Tomorrow she would find him and bring him home somehow.
Then the next day, she would come up with a plan for getting to Johnson City thirty miles away. She had to make sure her son and granddaughter were all right. After that, she would work on finding Heather and Annie. She would walk all the way to Roanoke, then down to Texas, if she had to.
But the most urgent matter was Henry. If he were stranded out in the woods facing the risk of dehydration and infection, time was of the essence.
Myra didn't even bother to light a candle, though it was getting dark inside the
house. She was so exhausted, she decided to go straight to bed. She walked over to the stairs and looked up at the climb she would have to make to get to the bedroom.
She sighed.
Her knees were killing her. She would sleep on the couch tonight.
She trudged over to the sofa and collapsed. For a moment, she lay there with her eyes open. Her eyes fell on the family photographs hung on the wall. It was too dark to make out the figures, but she had looked at the pictures so many times, she knew them well.
Just as her eyelids were getting heavy, she heard a noise out in the driveway.
Must be that raccoon again, she thought as she drifted off.
But the sound of crunching gravel reached her once more. Her eyes flew open.
Henry!
Springing up to her feet, she grabbed the flashlight from the coffee table. Myra ran to the front door and threw it open.
He's finally come home!
She beamed the light down the long path leading to the house.
But it wasn't Henry. She could see that at once.
Her heart sank.
It was two people on bicycles.
A jolt of fear flashed through her.
Was she about to be attacked?
She watched the two figures approach a moment more while she considered reaching for Henry's rifle behind her.
But something made her stop in her tracks.
The first rider was a girl.
“Grandma!”
Katie.
Myra's face opened into a smile. It was her granddaughter. And lagging behind her, Myra's son.
Myra ran out onto the front porch and down the steps. She met Katie several yards down the driveway, nearly tackling the teenager off her bicycle.
“Katie! It's you!” Myra wrapped her granddaughter up in her arms.
Myra was bursting with joy. What a surprise! She held the girl tight in her arms. She had never been so happy to see her granddaughter. And Brody, too! What luck!
She looked down the driveway to watch him approach. He was struggling up the hill.
But it was more than just fatigue that was hampering him.
