by Harley Tate
“Maybe?” Truth be told, Madison didn’t have a plan, but every minute that ticked by without them shoring up their defenses and gathering more supplies was a minute wasted.
She reached down and scratched Fireball’s head behind the ears and the little cat meowed his appreciation. “I know we have a lot, more than most people, but…”
“Someone will try to take it.” Brianna held out her hand, ticking each finger as she ran through a list. “We have food. Water. Shelter. That only leaves one critical item: weapons.”
“We have a shotgun and a pistol.” Peyton frowned. “Add in Wanda’s gun and that’s more than enough.”
Brianna snorted. “It’s not anywhere close. But that’s not the real issue. We could have an entire arsenal full of guns but they won’t be any more useful than a sack of rocks if we don’t have any ammo to go in them.”
Madison nodded. She wished they could all just stay home, but they couldn’t. “Brianna’s right. Bill knows we have food and water. He saw Wanda’s gun since my mom pointed it at him. If things get ugly around here, he won’t leave us alone. The sooner we can defend ourselves the better.”
Peyton crossed his arms. “It’s too dangerous, Madison. We could get ourselves killed.”
“We did just fine at the mini-mart.”
“That was luck. What if the shop owner hadn’t run out the back? What if one of those thugs hadn’t died in there? One of us could be lying facedown between the Twinkies and the Snickers, rotting in a pool of our own blood.”
Brianna wiggled her nose. “Thanks for that mental image.”
“I’m serious.” Peyton glanced at Tucker. “Help me out, man. You can’t want your girlfriend going back out there.”
Tucker pushed his hair off his face. “I don’t. But she’s right. At some point the two of us are heading to Truckee. Brianna’s parents need to know she’s okay. We can’t leave without a way to defend ourselves and if we take a gun from here, you won’t have enough.”
Brianna joined in. “We have, what, a partial magazine of rounds for the handgun and a box of shells for the shotgun? It’s pathetic.”
Peyton opened his mouth to argue again when a chipper voice interrupted.
“Who wants grilled pie for breakfast?” Madison’s mom Tracy stepped onto the patio, a tray full of baking supplies and fresh apples in her hands. She stilled as she caught sight of all their faces. The tray wobbled in her hands. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”
Madison exhaled. Her mom might have stuck a gun in Bill’s face the day before, but that had been to protect her only daughter. Madison didn’t know how she would react to her plan.
“We’ve been talking about the future. What we need to do to prepare.”
Tracy raised an eyebrow. “Prepare for what?”
“The people who will come to take what we have. The ones like Bill Donovan. You know he won’t be the last.”
Her mom frowned. “I was hoping we could ignore that for a day or two.”
Madison managed a small smile. “Me, too. But we can’t. Now is the best time to go out there.”
Brianna nodded in encouragement and Madison took a deep breath. “Don’t freak out, but we need more guns and ammunition. We’re going on a supply run.”
Chapter Two
TRACY
Sloane Residence
8:00 a.m.
“Over my dead body.” Tracy palmed her hips. Madison might have survived a harrowing drive from her college campus to home, but that didn’t change the fact that she was nineteen and barely an adult. “No daughter of mine is becoming an arms runner four days into the apocalypse.”
Peyton stifled a laugh.
At least someone agreed with her. Tracy softened her stance. “I know you mean well, Madison, but it’s dangerous out there. People are… horrible.” She glanced back at the inside of the house.
Her former boss still slept inside, tucked into a pile of blankets on the couch. If she hadn’t picked Wanda up at the bus stop, if they hadn’t gone back to Wanda’s apartment on the very same type of scouting mission Madison now proposed…
Visions of the two thieves they had encountered filled her mind. The one with greasy hair. The other holding a six-pack of beer and the keys to a car she so desperately needed.
Tracy steeled herself. Madison might think of herself as tough, but in the moment, would she have the strength required? Would she be able to look a man in the eye and take his life? Tracy would never forget the way the first man she shot looked down at his chest, watching in horror as his own blood coated his shirt.
She had done what she had to in order to protect Wanda and herself. But she couldn’t ask her daughter to do the same. Killing a person wasn’t something you could take back or get over. It would haunt Tracy forever.
“Mom, we’ll be fine.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I just got you back. I won’t risk losing you again. If anyone is going on a weapons run, it’s me.”
“But Mom!”
Tracy smiled at her daughter and picked up the tray of food. “Enough about this for the moment. Who wants breakfast?”
9:30 a.m.
If only we could pretend for a few hours longer. Tracy leaned back in her chair, a cup of instant coffee in her hands. After talking her daughter off the gun and ammo ledge, Tracy had convinced the four college kids to huddle around the patio table and learn how to make hand pies to grill in the backyard.
Peyton’s continuously growling stomach didn’t hurt, either. The boy had to eat five all by himself.
But now they sat staring at empty plates, Wanda included, waiting for something to happen. Anticipation hung in the air around them like an early Sacramento fog. The more Tracy thought about Madison’s comments, the more she agreed with them.
Regardless of who stayed in the house and who left, they would need more ammunition—a lot more. A few more shotguns, a knife or two, and some pocket pepper spray would all come in handy. But where would they get it?
And who would go?
She glanced at each member of her new household. Tucker, the physics geek, seemed responsible and sensible, but he was still a twenty-year-old young man. Brianna, Madison’s roommate and Tucker’s girlfriend, was as gung-ho about survival as anyone Tracy had ever met. But that didn’t make her a good choice.
Peyton hated the whole idea and wished everyone would stay home and barricade themselves in. And Wanda…
Despite showing a bit of resolve in her apartment, Wanda couldn’t be trusted with much more than her own person. Tracy knew she was a liability, but she couldn’t ask her to leave. She hoped the longer she stayed, the more she could grow.
Survival took more than ingenuity and skill; it took resolve.
At last, Tracy settled her gaze on her daughter. Madison was deep in conversation with Peyton, arguing the finer points of container gardening in the Sacramento heat—something they would need to perfect in the coming months.
She couldn’t ask any of them to come with her. Singling someone out would be tantamount to declaring him or her expendable. Tracy couldn’t do it. Oh, how she wished Walter were home. Just the thought of her husband’s name shot a pain through her heart.
He could be anywhere from Hong Kong to the Sacramento airport right now. When he’d left the morning of the geomagnetic storm, he had kissed her goodbye just like it was any other day. If only they had known a few hours earlier… If only someone had warned them…
Tracy exhaled. Walter was the strongest, most dependable man she knew. She had to believe in him. No matter how long it took, he would make it home; Tracy knew it.
“All right.” She sat forward in her seat and reached out to take the empty plates. “We should come up with a plan. I’ll need two volunteers to come with me and three to stay behind. There’s a Walmart about five miles from here. If anywhere still has ammunition, that’ll be the place.”
Brianna stood up. “I’m coming with you. I’m the only one who knows what
ammo we need just by looking at the box.”
Tracy nodded. “Who else?”
“I’ll come.” Tucker stood up and joined his girlfriend. “If Brianna’s going, I should come too. We’re the ones who will probably leave first, so it makes sense for us to scope out the area, see what kind of activity we’ll encounter on the road.”
She had to admit their reasons made sense. Tracy glanced at her daughter. “Is that all right?”
Madison frowned. “It was my idea. I feel like I should go.”
Brianna shook her head. “No. Your mom’s right. Someone needs to stay behind. I don’t trust that Bill guy. He might come back and besides me, you’re the only one who knows how to shoot.”
Madison stared at her roommate for a minute before nodding. “Okay. But at the first sign of trouble, you all need to come home.”
Tracy smiled. She would make it a point of thanking Brianna and Tucker for being so brave and selfless when they hit the road.
With a deep breath, she stood and began collecting the plates. “Let’s all get ready. Madison, you and Peyton need to set up a watch schedule. Someone should be monitoring the street at all times.”
Madison and Peyton nodded.
“Wanda, can you clean up the house and update the supply list I made a few days ago? We’ll need to start using the garbage bags I bought. I don’t think the trash will be picked up this week.”
Tucker snorted his agreement. “Just think about how bad the cities are going to smell soon.”
“Ugh.” Brianna made a face. “What I’m wondering is how we go about setting up a shower.”
Wanda surprised Tracy by speaking up. “When I was little, we had an outdoor shower to clean off before coming inside. It was gravity-fed. I might be able to recreate it.”
Wow. Maybe Wanda would be an asset after all. “Thank you.” Tracy smiled at her former boss before turning to Brianna and Tucker. “As for the two of you, let’s get ready to go. There’s one place we need to stop before the Walmart. I made a promise a few days ago and I need to honor it.”
Chapter Three
WALTER
Ten miles south of the California-Oregon Border
10:00 a.m.
“A blue raspberry Slurpee. Four-dollar frozen coffee with some name I can’t pronounce. The ice cream shop where they mix in M&Ms on top of a cold hunk of marble.” Drew leaned back in the passenger seat, groaning as he exhaled. “That’s just the cold stuff.”
Walter shook his head. “Why do you want to torture yourself? Just be thankful for what we do have.”
Even without looking, Walter could feel the death-ray stare. “Speak for yourself, but driving a tin can for a car down some backwoods road halfway to nowhere isn’t my idea of a good time.”
“It’s not?” Walter laughed. “Funny. I took you for the mountain-man type.”
Drew flipped down the visor and scoped out his three-day-old beard in the mirror. “Really? You think I can pull off the lumberjack thing? Anne always wanted me to grow a beard. Said I’d be the hippest pilot flying out of Sacramento.”
“I was joking.”
“Oh.” Drew flipped the visor back up and resumed his slouch.
Walter’s co-pilot Drew Jenkins had progressed from denial, to horror, to resignation all in the span of a few days. Witnessing the end of the modern world from 37,000 feet up in the air could do that to a person, Walter supposed. When the crash landing didn’t jolt Drew out of his fog, Walter had hoped the altercation outside the bank in Eugene, Oregon would have taken care of it.
But no. If anything, Drew had slid into an even more precarious state. Instead of rising up and defending his own life when someone threatened it, he stood on the sidelines and let Walter take the lead. Walter might be in the best shape of his life, but forty-seven-year-old muscles and bones weren’t half as good as a thirty-year-old’s. If Drew didn’t grow a pair, and soon, the man wouldn’t make it in this new world.
“Next shop we see, we’re pulling over. I need some caffeine and something more to eat than a Clif Bar.”
Walter scrubbed at his face. “Mr. Harbin was generous to give us what he did. We could have left with nothing.” After emergency landing a 747 on a tiny airstrip outside of Eugene, Oregon, Walter didn’t know what to expect. Thankfully, they’d landed at a private airfield and the owner, George Harbin, had been more than welcoming.
Drew straightened up in the seat. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want a damn Twinkie.”
Walter kept the retort on the tip of his tongue to himself. He wasn’t happy about their circumstances, either. A canceled flight and a quick drive home to his wife would have changed everything. But life didn’t always work out the way a person wanted it.
No sense in dwelling on it.
They would make it home to Sacramento. He would reunite with his wife, Tracy, and find their daughter. Every minute that ticked by was a minute longer his family was alone in a city growing increasingly unsafe. How long could they survive on their own?
How long before someone tried to take what wasn’t theirs? How long before Tracy’s strength was tested in ways she never imagined?
Walter tightened his grip on the steering wheel and eyed the gas gauge. An eighth of a tank. He sighed. They needed gas, and soon. “How far do you think we are from Sacramento?”
Drew yawned as he thought it over. “We crossed into California, what, ten or fifteen miles ago?”
Walter nodded. They had both almost missed the little wood sign on the side of the road. A pine tree had grown in front of it, obscuring the words, Welcome to California. A far cry from the multilane divided highway most people used. But if the traffic jam outside of Eugene was typical, then all of I-5 was bumper-to-bumper.
The highway might as well be an unlit fuse cutting through a puddle of gasoline. All those people stuck on the road, running out of gas and food while the sun beat down. A spark would set the whole highway ablaze with fights and riots and destruction.
They might be taking the scenic route, but at least they were alone. For now.
“If we don’t run into a gas station soon, we’ll be walking the rest of the way.”
Drew leaned over and scoped out the gauge. “An eighth of a tank? I thought these little things were supposed to drive forever on one fill-up.”
“We idled on the highway for hours not going anywhere. It ate a lot of gas.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
The two men rode on in silence, intermittently checking the gas gauge and scoping out the rural, wooded scenery passing them by. The low fuel light came on.
No gas station in sight.
The car dinged and beeped, warning them of their dire fuel situation.
Still just picturesque forests and dappled sunlight.
Walter glanced at his watch. Based on their speed, he figured at least another hundred and fifty miles to home, if not more. He couldn’t be sure where this road led or what they would encounter. The car sputtered, engine seizing on the last bits of gasoline.
He scanned the horizon. Trees. Blue sky. Nature at its finest.
Any other day, he’d be thrilled to be out there, off the grid, breathing clean air, listening to birds and squirrels in the brush.
Not today.
The car coasted to a stop, engine dying as the last drops of fuel ran dry.
Drew cursed and looked out the window. “We can find a car. Siphon it.”
“Have you seen one in the last hundred miles?”
“No. But there has to be someone out here somewhere. A house, a shop, something. We can’t be that far from civilization.”
Walter exhaled and reached for his bag in the back seat. “Say we do find a car, what then? Do you have a spare tube in your duffel? A container to put the gas in? A way to get it back in our car?”
With every question, Drew slouched further in his seat, a frown turning his boyish features into a petulant child’s face. “No.”
“Then face it.
We’re walking.” Walter pushed open the driver’s side door and got out, stretching his arms high above his head. The car might not get them anywhere fast, but it still had utility.
He bent down to catch Drew’s attention. “Quit moping and get out here and help me. We aren’t leaving anything useful behind.”
Drew clambered out as Walter popped the trunk. “What are you talking about? All we’ve got are our overnight bags and dress shoes.”
Walter’s eyebrows rose. “If that’s all you think we have in the car to use, you’re even more hopeless than I thought. Didn’t you do Boy Scouts or go camping as a kid?”
Drew shook his head. “Nope. City born and raised. If I can’t buy it or pay to have it done, I’m a bit hopeless I’m afraid.”
“Then prepare yourself, Drew. I’m about to teach you a few things.” Walter all of a sudden felt very old. When he’d retired from the Marine Corps as a lieutenant colonel, he’d felt his age. All those nineteen- and twenty-year-olds looking up to him like he was their grandpa, calling him the Old Man.
But once he’d returned to civilian life, forties were the new twenties. He’d never felt so young. Now, for once, he was thankful for his experience. Being the old guy had some advantages.
He reached down and lifted the fabric liner of the trunk, exposing the spare tire and its tools. The tire iron came out with a tug and Walter handed it to Drew.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Beat someone over the head with it, if need be. It’s a weapon, Drew. A damn fine one.”
His co-pilot stared at the tire iron in his hand like it was an alien life form.
Walter didn’t have time to ease Drew into the apocalypse. He would either figure it out or die trying. Scoping out the rest of the trunk, Walter grabbed a rubber band holding the spare tire instructions together and the cargo netting still wrapped in factory plastic.
