by Bowman, Dave
12
Jack watched the alley from the apartment. No other guards had run through after the first one.
Where are they?
The lack of activity on the street below was unsettling. He almost would have preferred to see the guards searching for him. As it was, the relative calmness outside the apartment had him wondering what they were up to.
The anxious minutes in that room had a distinct feeling of a calm before a storm.
Were they waiting for him outside, lulling him into a false sense of security to make him think he could leave unnoticed, then ambush him?
There was only one way to find out.
He didn’t risk everything by taking out the five guards and re-entering their territory only to turn tail and run.
He’d have to leave the shelter and go out looking for Brent and Naomi.
Gathering his weapons, he shot one more glance down below. Still nothing happening in the alley. As tempting as it was to descend the fire escape ladder, he left it behind and headed toward the front door of the apartment.
He would have to go out another way. The alley opened up onto a main street, where a work crew was supervised by several guards. And the other end of the alley pointed toward the road he had just crossed, where the men had been on his trail.
Opening the front door, he checked the hallway of the building. Empty, except for scattered debris of the looters.
Jack emerged from the apartment and found the stairwell. Light filtered in from a skylight, illuminating his path down to the first floor. Quietly and cautiously, he opened the door to the first floor, walked into the hall, and approached a door with an exit sign.
The door was a side exit out of the building. It was a solid metal door without a window, which meant Jack would walk out of the building blind. But the front door wouldn’t work, since it opened onto the main street and well within view of the work crew.
He positioned the rifle just right, then pushed the door open slightly with his foot. He waited and listened for any movement or reaction on the other side, then brought his face up to the crack to look out.
The door opened onto a small street. Other than several useless and abandoned cars lining the side of the road, there was very little cover. Across the street, a large semi was left sprawled across a large parking lot. If he could cross the street and take cover behind that truck, he could get a better view of his surroundings.
This side street was empty, but he could hear the voice of the work crew around the corner on the adjacent street. One of the guards might spot him, but he had to take the risk.
Jack stepped outside the door and let it shut quietly behind him. He quickly bolted across the street, stepping lightly as he ran. The rifles he wore over his shoulders limited his mobility, but he pressed onward.
He made it to the rear edge of the semi. Panting to catch his breath, he looked around. So far, no one appeared to have seen him. The sounds of the work crew nearby continued.
Jack advanced behind the cover of the truck, which was parked right behind a pharmacy building. Jack peered around the front cabin, looking across the street at the blocks ahead of him to the west.
Several hundred feet to the north and three or four blocks away, a work crew of about five male prisoners stood digging a large hole. Jack spotted two armed men guarding them. He was too far away to make out any distinguishing features of the prisoners.
Could Brent be in that group?
Farther to the south, several people pulled trailers on bicycles. Scattered throughout the area were more armed guards walking through the streets, patrolling the area.
Jack had to find a way to the work crew.
He waited until the closest guard had gotten a good two blocks away on the street facing the pharmacy. Then, holding the rifles close to his body to minimize noise from the clanging metal, he crossed the street and the parking lot on the next block.
He took cover behind a garbage dumpster, surveyed the scene, then crossed the next street. Slowly, he made his way to the edge of another alley. Hiding himself behind an abandoned car, he crouched down and watched the work crew nearby, on the other side of a chain-link fence.
The men were scattered around a large, empty lot. Jack was almost within speaking distance of the closest prisoner, a young man who labored with a shovel. Jack squinted, trying to see the other prisoners.
Brent wasn’t there.
Jack fought back frustration. He had chosen the wrong work crew. And now he had gotten himself into a bad situation – he was too close to the guards who might see him trying to leave.
And where would he go? He didn’t see any other work crews. The gang’s territory was sprawling. Brent could be working on any of several dozen blocks to the south, east, or west.
The guard inside the lot was slowly making his way around the fenced-in area, supervising the men digging. When he began to make the loop facing away from Jack’s end of the lot, Jack made his move.
“Hey!” he hissed at the prisoner on the other side of the fence.
The prisoner startled, then turned to see Jack crouched in the bushes nearby. The young man was confused and stared at Jack for a moment. Then, remembering the risk in stopping work, he began digging again. But he positioned himself to face Jack as he worked.
“What are you doing out there?” the prisoner asked under his breath. “And who the hell are you?”
“Nobody,” Jack said. “But I’m looking for someone. Do you know a guy by the name of Brent, early twenties, tall and thin, wears glasses? Maybe you know where they have him working?”
The prisoner glanced at Jack, looking at Jack’s obvious injuries and wounds, and the weapons strapped to his body.
“You’re that guy who escaped, aren’t you?” the prisoner said.
Jack shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flitting up to the guards making their rounds.
"Yeah, I heard the guards talking about that this morning!” the guy said, getting excited. “You killed some of them, didn't you?"
"Listen, I'm just looking for my friend," Jack said, keeping his eyes on the guards. The closest one was nearing the end of his loop through the yard. Soon, he would be turning toward Jack and the prisoner.
"Hey, take me with you," the prisoner whispered. "Get me out of here, please!"
"I can't right now," Jack said. "Sorry."
Jack readied himself, preparing to make a run for it before the guard got too close. The prisoner wasn't going to help him. He probably had never even seen Brent.
"I'll tell!" the prisoner said, growing agitated. "I'll call them over here right now if you don't help me get out!"
"Keep your voice down," Jack hissed.
"Then take me with you!" the prisoner pleaded, talking a little too loudly. He had also stopped digging, which Jack knew would draw the attention of the men in charge. Any second now, the guards would notice the prisoner’s disruption and come running.
Keeping to the ground, Jack crept away from the fence. He set out in a low run, breaking away from the cover of the vehicle. Darting between the bushes and trees that lined the fence, he ran to the west.
As he ran, he heard the prisoner’s voice again behind him, angry and laced with hysteria.
Was he calling after Jack? Was he alerting the guards of an escaped prisoner’s presence?
Either way, the guards might have already spotted him. Jack sprinted toward the next street, half-expecting them to open fire on him at any moment.
13
Myra rode her bicycle toward the truck, glancing at Katie as she approached.
"Is he –" Myra began to ask, then stopped herself.
Katie stood frozen in place, paralyzed with fear as she stared at the truck.
Myra came to a stop a few feet away. The door was closed. She moved her eyes frantically over the cab.
It was empty.
With a trembling hand, she opened the door and looked inside. In the middle console cup holder was Henry's coffee Thermos
. A paper bag from the hardware store rested in the passenger seat. There were no keys, yet the doors were unlocked.
Myra suddenly felt dizzy. Without thinking, she dismounted the bike and let it fall over onto the gravel road. She took a few steps away from the truck, then started to look around.
"Don't move," she told Katie. "I want to see if I can find any footprints."
She bent over, looking closely at the gravel road, trying to find any footprints. But the heavy winds the day before had blown the road clean, and she couldn't find any tracks.
Searching for any other kind of sign of where her husband might have gone, she spun around in a circle.
Frustrated, she kicked at the rocks on the road.
"Grandma?" Katie asked. "Are you okay?"
Myra wiped the tears from her eyes, but she didn't turn to look at her granddaughter. Instead, she kept staring at the side of the road, which was hemmed in by the thick forest.
Katie got off her bike, looked in the truck, then went to stand by her grandmother. "Why would he leave his truck here like this?" Katie asked after a long silence.
Myra shook her head. "I don't know, sweetheart. I don't know."
She walked to the woods at the edge of the road and stared at the greenery in front of her.
Katie followed her. "What are you looking for?"
"Broken twigs, snapped branches, trampled saplings. Any disturbance that might be caused by a man walking through here," Myra said. "Can you help me look for something like that?"
"Okay," Katie said as she crouched on the edge of the gravel and studied the land.
Myra walked a few steps away, slowly surveying the scene. Then they crossed to the other side of the road where they repeated the process. They found a few areas that looked like an animal had passed through – broken twigs and torn leaves near the ground. Myra followed the animal paths several yards into the woods, but they always lead nowhere. They could find nothing that looked like a human had walked through.
"Well, at least there's no blood or anything like that," Katie said hopefully.
Myra nodded. She she had been thinking the same thing, though she didn't want to say anything to Katie about it. But as it turned out, Katie was already considering the worst possibility.
They spent a long time looking through the woods surrounding the truck. Next they tried riding their bikes farther down the road in search of some kind of sign of Henry.
But there was nothing. Just the same forest they saw everywhere – mostly undisturbed and bearing no sign of a struggle, or of any human having passed through the area.
Henry had vanished.
But how could this be? Myra asked herself as she tromped through the woods, looking high and low for any abnormality in the landscape. The truck wasn’t so far from the house that he couldn’t have made his way home on foot the first day. And he knew the area well. There was no risk in him losing his way. Certainly after three days, he should have been home by now.
There was no explanation.
Finally, exhausted and hungry, they decided to turn back home.
Myra's heart ached as she followed Katie on the bike. They had found Henry's truck, but not Henry. The whole thing began to seem hopeless.
It was late afternoon when they got home. They found Brody sitting at the dining room table.
Katie burst in the house, headed straight for the kitchen.
"Any luck?" Brody asked his mother as she dragged herself in the front door.
Myra collapsed in a chair beside Brody. Fighting back tears, she told him how they had found his truck, but no sign of Henry.
Brody shook his head sadly, grappling with the strange news.
"But he's got to be out there somewhere!” he said, looking out the window. “Maybe it's like you said – he injured himself walking back home."
Myra glanced up at Katie, who was busying herself searching for food in the kitchen. "But his coffee Thermos was there," Myra said in a lowered voice.
"So?" Brody asked.
"That coffee was the only thing he had to drink," Myra said. "If he were trying to make it home on foot, don't you think he would take that with him? It's a long walk home from down that Forest Service road. He would've known to bring something to drink – the only thing he had."
Brody pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced back and forth across the living room.
"Maybe he had something else with him," Brody said hopefully. "Maybe he bought a soda at the hardware store, and he took that with him."
"You know he never drinks soda," Myra said.
"It doesn't matter," Brody said impatiently. "The point is, the coffee Thermos means nothing. He could still be out there."
Myra started to answer, but she stopped herself. She stared at Brody in surprise, noticing all at once his upright posture.
"How are you feeling?" Myra asked.
Brody looked at her. "I'm feeling better, Mom. Much better."
Despite her worry about Henry, Myra felt her face open into smile. She stood up and walked toward her son.
"You look better too," she said, noticing his improved color. "That gray tinge to your skin is gone. And your eyes look clearer, too."
Brody nodded distractedly, still thinking about his father.
"I told you it was just the flu," Katie said with her mouth full. She left the kitchen carrying a plate of food and sat down at the table. "Did you make this chicken, Dad? It's really good."
Myra looked at Katie's plate loaded with chicken, boiled potatoes, and cabbage.
"I hope you don't mind, Mom," Brody said. "I cooked some of the things I found in your freezer."
Myra glanced at the kitchen. Several five-gallon jugs of water had been placed in the corner.
"Oh, and I brought that water up from the basement," Brody said. "Is that all you have? We're going to have to figure something else out for water soon."
Myra stood staring at him with her mouth open. "Brody, you're all better! I – I can't believe it!"
"Yeah, it's really weird," Brody said. "I feel completely back to normal."
"Do you think it was the flu after all?" Myra asked.
Brody shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe the effects of the radiation were just temporary? I don't know."
Myra threw her arms around him, suddenly overwhelmed with joy. Brody embraced his mother.
"This is such great news, Brody!” Myra exclaimed.
Brody nodded. “I know, Mom. It’s a big surprise.” He let go of her and crossed into the kitchen.
“It’s been awful seeing you so ill,” Myra said, watching him. “I’m so relieved. I can’t lose you, too."
Myra stopped herself, realizing that she had said too much. She didn’t want the others to know how quickly she was losing hope of finding Henry. Despite her best efforts to remain optimistic, seeing the truck abandoned there on the side of the road gave her a bad feeling.
“You haven’t lost Dad,” Brody said.
“I know,” Myra said. “I just . . . I’m worried about him.”
Brody grabbed a piece of chicken and popped it in his mouth, then headed to the door.
“You saw his truck just south of the creek, right?” Brody asked.
“Yes, on the old Forest Service Road,” Myra said, suddenly feeling uneasy. “Why?”
"I'm going out looking for him on the bike," Brody said hurriedly.
"Now? But it'll be dark soon," Myra protested, glancing at the fading light outside.
"I won't be long," Brody said, stepping through the doorway. "I’m going to search through the woods in that area. See if I can find anything. Lock up behind me. And, Katie, mind your grandmother."
Myra watched helplessly as he headed toward the bike. Everything was happening so fast, and she was still uncertain about her son. "Be careful. And hurry back!"
Myra locked the door, then glanced at Katie, who was finishing up her dinner.
"I told you Dad wasn'
t dying," Katie said. She shook her head as she stabbed a potato with her fork. "No one ever listens to me."
Myra smiled at her granddaughter, patted her shoulder, then walked to the window. Myra watched her son pedal his bike down the driveway and disappear as he turned right on the highway.
Myra had been swept up in the excitement over seeing Brody's dramatic improvement. But now, a sinking feeling began to settle in.
She had cared for three children through all kinds of sicknesses. She knew that sometimes, illness didn't follow a linear trajectory.
Sometimes, a person felt better for a while before the illness came back in full force.
She watched the front yard as the sunlight waned, making the shadows deeper and longer.
And maybe they weren't even dealing with an illness any of them had ever seen. Maybe the effects of radiation exposure didn't follow any of the rules Myra knew.
14
Jack heard shouting behind him, but he kept running.
He didn’t know if the guards had noticed him, or if they were merely yelling at the prisoner to keep working.
Either way, Jack covered the distance in a frenzy.
Darting between parked cars, he crossed the parking lot and emerged onto an empty street. Jack spotted a multi-level parking garage on the next block. He charged forward across the street, heading straight for the garage.
Worry nagged at him as he ran. Maybe he was headed for a trap. Maybe the gang used the garage as part of their operation. The top floor would provide a good vantage point for keeping an eye on the area, which the gang would want.
His eyes darted toward an apartment building to the south – just left of the parking garage. Maybe the apartments would be safer?
If he chose wrong, it would mean everything was over. An image of Annie flashed through his mind.
He had to get home to her.
Jack continued straight toward the parking garage. As he entered the cool darkness of the ground level entrance, he hoped he had chosen wisely.
