by Harley Tate
Then he moved onto the interior. With a well-aimed tire iron to the overhead lights, Walter broke the plastic casing and retrieved the light bulbs, setting them on the seat before checking the glove box for anything useful. A paper clip. Excellent.
He motioned to the rear seat. “See if you can pull the seat covers off. We can use the foam underneath. If there’s any cotton batting, let’s grab that as well.”
“Have you turned into a hoarder? What do we need all this crap for?”
“You’ll thank me when the sun sets.” Without another word, Walter went back to work, pulling the wires from inside the cigarette lighter and fishing around for anything else that might be useful. Paper receipts, a wayward pack of gum with foil wrappers, a half-empty water bottle he discovered lodged under the driver’s seat.
After wrapping the light bulbs up in his clothes and stuffing the rest of the items in his duffel, Walter helped Drew finish stripping the rear seat. Jackpot. A thin layer of batting separated two layers of foam core. Walter rolled it up and stuffed it in his bag before joining forces with Drew to pull out the foam.
After tugging on it for a few minutes with no success, Drew stepped back. “Before I break out into a sweat, will you tell me what the hell we’re doing?”
Walter bit back a smile and motioned at the foam. “How comfortable do you want to be on the ground tonight?”
Drew blinked. “We’re going to sleep on it?”
“Unless you’d rather just rough it.”
Drew regarded him for a moment before bending back down and giving the foam another tug. “Let’s strip the front seats, too.”
After another hour or so of scavenging and packing, they were ready. Walter hoisted his bag, now lashed with rolled-up car foam and seat covers, over his head. He glanced at the sky. “We’ve got about three hours of daylight left. Let’s make the most of it.”
Chapter Four
WALTER
Forest of Northern California
6:00 p.m.
“This looks as good a place as any. I say we stop.”
Walter checked his watch. “How about another half hour? We can get another mile or two before sunset.”
Drew grimaced and pointed at his feet. “Dress shoes aren’t made for hiking. If we go too much farther today, I’ll have hamburger for feet.”
Walter understood the pain of blisters and bleeding skin. He might have been a pilot, but he still trained like every other officer in the Marine Corps. Substitute deciduous forests for the pines and redwoods surrounding them and Northern California wasn’t that different from Quantico.
He motioned at the road in front of them. “Let’s clear this hill. There should be a good vantage point around this bend and then we can decide.”
Drew grumbled under his breath, but kept walking, his steps awkward from the rubbing of his shoes. As they crested the hill, Walter hushed him.
“Look.”
A roofline sat barely visible among the trees, the brown of its metal roof blending with the forest all around.
Drew squinted and stuck his neck out, peering into the distance. “At what? All I see is miles of forest.”
Walter pointed at the peak of the roof again. “There’s a cabin just through there. About two hundred yards off the road.”
At last, Drew spotted it. He turned to Walter with a frown. “What do we do?”
Truth be told, Walter didn’t know. “We could see if anyone is home.”
Drew shook his head. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. You really think whoever took the time to build a house way out here wants visitors?” He glanced around at the never-ending trees. “People don’t come out here because they want to socialize.”
“It could be abandoned.” Walter cinched his bag higher up his shoulder. “It would give us shelter for the night. Maybe a few supplies.”
He knew walking up to the front door of a cabin a handful of days into the end of the world wasn’t the best plan, but what other options did they have? They could keep hiking with barely any food and water left, no real means to keep warm at night other than scavenging to start a fire, and no weapons besides a tire iron and Walter’s wits.
Or, they could scope out the place, do a little reconnaissance, and possibly earn a good night’s sleep out of the elements. He thought about Tracy and Madison and the pair of them spending another night wondering if he would ever come home. Where was his daughter right now? Did she make it home already? Would he need to set off to find her when he reached Sacramento?
Walter opened up his duffel bag and checked the contents. One more bottle of water and a granola bar. That was it. Drew couldn’t have much more. With as many as a hundred and fifty miles to go before they reached home, they wouldn’t make it.
Not without more provisions.
He zipped the bag shut and exhaled. “We need to check it out. If you want to stay here, that’s fine. But I’m going in.”
“You’re serious?” Drew’s eyes went wide, but the set of Walter’s jaw must have told the man all he needed to know. After a moment, he composed himself. “All right. But I’m going with you.”
“Suit yourself.” Walter began the descent down the hill toward the cabin’s concealed driveway. “When we reach the road in, we’ll drop our bags, scope it out, and come back to get them if it’s clear.”
“And if it’s not?”
Walter smiled, but it wasn’t from humor. “We run like hell and hope we don’t get shot.”
“Comforting.”
“Nothing about the current state of the world is comforting, Drew.” It might never be again. Walter stepped ahead of his co-pilot, hugging the edge of the road with each step. The broken asphalt crunched beneath the soles of his shoes and Walter focused on the sound. They were hundreds of yards away from the place, but the noise concerned him.
Walking up to a stranger’s cabin in the middle of the Northern California woods might be crazy, but he didn’t have a choice. Without water, food, and shelter, they would never make it home. They needed to get off the road.
At last, a weed-covered drive broke the tree line into two and Walter slowed, raising his hand to stop Drew behind him. The duffel slipped from his shoulder and Walter eased it onto the ground.
His voice barely reached a whisper. “We can stash the bags in this ditch and approach from the side.”
Drew set his bag next to Walter’s in the depression next to the road and followed him into the forest. “What should I do?”
Not get shot. Walter exhaled. He knew Drew was only looking for some reassurance. A little training would up his confidence, maybe even make him an asset instead of a liability. Walter thought back to his land navigation training. It had been more years than he cared to admit since Walter had needed foot-patrol skills, but he still remembered the key signals.
“Ready for a crash course?”
Drew nodded.
“First, keep a few steps behind me. Never get too close. Next, if I raise my hand in a fist like this,” Walter bent his arm at ninety degrees, fist straight up, “it means freeze.”
“Okay.”
“If I swing my arm up quickly with my palm open, it means come forward.” He demonstrated the motion until Drew nodded.
“You’ll be ahead of me, so what if you see someone or there’s a threat?”
“It’s the reverse of the forward signal. If you need to take cover, I’ll raise my arm and then drop it quickly. If I do that, get on the ground or hide behind a tree.”
Drew’s brow knitted. “All right. Can you run through those again?”
Walter demonstrated each signal a few more times until Drew seemed confident. He could tell the man was running the motions through his head over and over, trying to memorize them.
A two-minute course in silent patrol wasn’t easy for a civilian, but Drew was right—walking into a potential hostile situation without a means to communicate was a fool’s errand.
As they prepared to set off, Drew spoke up. �
��What means run like hell?”
Walter managed to keep his smirk in check. “The sound of gunfire should do the trick.”
Drew paled. “You think someone will shoot at us?”
Walter turned back to the forest. “Plan for the worst. Then you’ll always be prepared.” He raised his arm, palm open, signaling for Drew to come forward. With the sun setting any minute, they needed to get on with it.
Chapter Five
TRACY
Sacramento, CA
11:00 a.m.
Joe Travers lived in a tiny ranch less than a mile from the library Tracy used to work at five days a week. She couldn’t believe how much had changed in such a short time.
“How did you say you know this guy again?”
Tracy glanced over at Brianna with a smile. “He was a regular at the library. Always looking for a new thriller author to read.” Her sunny expression faltered. “If it weren’t for Joe, we might not be having this conversation.”
She focused on the road with a frown, willing back the tears that threatened to fill her eyes. Joe’s explanation of the effects of solar weather had been the reason Tracy loaded up on supplies. If it hadn’t been for him… She cleared her throat. “Solar weather was his hobby. He’s the one who explained Coronal Mass Ejections and EMPs to me.”
Tucker leaned forward from the back seat. “If he knew about it, why are we checking on him? Shouldn’t he be prepared?”
Tracy inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, barely able to keep her voice steady. “Joe is in his eighties and walks with a cane. Even if he knew about the EMP potential, he wouldn’t have been able to do much.”
Brianna and Tucker fell silent. She didn’t have to explain that four days without power could be the difference between life and death for a person that age. They didn’t need to see the bodies in the retirement community where Wanda lived or talk to the manager there to confirm it.
She just hoped they weren’t too late. The little Nissan Leaf cruised silently down the street, the battery powering the vehicle at low speeds. Tracy didn’t know how long the little car would last, but so far, so good.
As long as they kept their drives to a minimum, they might be able to rely on the car for a few weeks. Tracy glanced at the houses as they drove down residential streets—every one still mowed and maintained like the power outage was a blip on an otherwise ordinary week. All the husbands and wives were probably standing in front of their picture windows surveying their domains, thinking surely it will come back on tomorrow.
She snorted to herself. Not happening.
As they turned a corner a person caught her eye. The woman couldn’t have been much older than herself, blonde hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. Skintight athletic pants hugged toned legs. A tank top showed off arms tanned by the Northern California sun.
From a cursory glance, she looked like any other woman in the neighborhood. But as Tracy slowed the car, other tells became apparent. The dark circles under her eyes. The grease shining her hair more than usual. The hollow look to her cheeks.
She looked tired. Hungry, even.
Tracy turned back to the road, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. Was this the future? In a month would that woman even be alive?
Glancing at the two teenagers with her on this trip, Tracy frowned. Brianna with her golden curls and Tucker with his bright eyes and pale skin. They might have plenty back home, but other people would be hungry soon, if they weren’t already.
Most people Tracy knew only had a few days’ worth of food. Tiny houses meant tiny pantries. People relied on the corner grocery store or the nearest fast food restaurant instead of their own supply.
If all of the houses they drove by were almost out of food, what would happen in the coming days? If FEMA or a local charity didn’t show up soon…
Tracy shook off the spiraling thoughts. She could only control her own actions, no one else’s. As she turned the corner, she pointed down the street.
“Joe’s house is just ahead.”
Slowing the vehicle, Tracy scanned the mailboxes for Joe’s number: 126, 128, 130… 132. There. A tidy little white house with black shutters and a red door. Old school, just like Joe.
She pulled into the drive and killed the engine. “Are you two ready?”
Tucker glanced at his girlfriend before nodding. “I’ll stand watch outside.”
Tracy climbed out of the car with both kids right behind. Unlike so many houses they passed on the drive over, Joe’s front lawn sprouted with weeds. Fluffy white heads of dandelions waved in the breeze and blooming clover buzzed with honeybees. The place looked unkempt. Abandoned.
Maybe that’s his plan. A vacant house wouldn’t have anything worth stealing. It wasn’t a bad strategy, all things considered. Tracy made her way to the front door and pulled open the screen. Her knock sounded hollow as it echoed through the house.
Brianna shifted beside her, fidgeting with a lock of hair as Tracy knocked again. “Joe? Joe Travers? Are you in there? It’s Tracy from the library. Just came to check on you.”
Tracy cupped her hand around her ear and pressed her head to the door, listening. Nothing. Not a single sound besides her own breathing. The red door reminded her of her grandmother’s house. She only visited the woman once or twice.
The first time, Tracy had been so full of hope. Grandmothers were supposed to care. They were supposed to be plump, bouncy ladies with fresh-baked muffins and lots of kisses. The woman whose bony hand Tracy shook didn’t have a kind bone in her body, much less the humanity required for a kiss.
The second time, Tracy knew better. No one would save her. No one in the little white house with the same red door would take her in. She stepped back with a frown. She had a feeling they couldn’t save Joe, either.
“I’m walking around back.”
Brianna nodded, her teeth nibbling on her lower lip like a mouse with a piece of cheese. “Don’t take too long. This place is giving me the heebie-jeebies.”
Tracy stepped into the weedy grass, peering in every window she passed, but seeing nothing. The mini blinds kept the outside light out and her peering eyes from glimpsing the inside. A short chain-link fence separated the front from the back and Tracy opened the gate, pushing it just wide enough to slip through.
She scanned her surroundings. A worn privacy fence. Scraggly bushes. Small concrete patio with a county trash can and recycling bin. Nothing out of the ordinary.
The back door appeared as solid as the front and closed up tight. Tracy tried the door handle, but it didn’t budge. She bent to the ground and fished beneath the mat. He had to keep a spare key somewhere.
After five minutes of fruitless searching, Tracy palmed her hips in frustration. She wasn’t leaving without getting inside. Best case scenario, Joe had packed up and left for greener pastures. Worst case, he was sucking in his last breath as she stood outside, fretting over what to do.
“Any luck?”
Brianna’s voice startled her and she jumped.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I was looking for a key, but I can’t find one. I’ll have to break a window.”
“You sure you want to do that? What if he’s just out for a drive?”
“Joe doesn’t drive. His license was revoked last year.”
“Oh.” Brianna pointed at the window by the back door. “That’s probably your best bet.”
The window stood just higher than hip level, with a single pane in an aluminum frame. Tracy stepped closer and peered in. Single crank to open it, no screen to speak of. It looked original to the house, which meant it wasn’t tempered. When she broke it, the glass would shatter in nasty, jagged pieces.
Tracy wished she had some tape or a blanket; anything to muffle the sound. But they didn’t think that far ahead and they were running out of time. This was only the first stop of the day. Walmart was next.
She turned around and surveyed the yard. A brick from the landscaping edging wo
uld have to do. After digging it out of the ground, Tracy hoisted it up. “If you see or hear anyone, come get me. Otherwise, wait out here.”
“You sure?”
Tracy nodded. “I won’t be long.” With a deep breath, she pulled back and launched the brick at the window. The glass shattered and the brick took the metal mini-blinds with it, clattering to the floor along with massive shards of glass.
Great. So much for being quiet.
Tracy knocked the remaining glass from the bottom of the window and after tossing her jacket over the sill, she hoisted herself up. It was a tight fit, but she made it, slipping into the dark house and landing on a pile of glass. It crunched beneath her feet, drowning out the rapid beating of her heart.
“Joe? Joe are you here?”
Tracy stood in the dark kitchen, blinking until her eyes adjusted to the dim light. As the room came into focus, she frowned. Stacks of cans sat on the kitchen table, alongside boxes of shelf-stable milk and pasta. A few kitchen cabinet doors stood ajar, revealing tidy stacks of plates and glasses, but no food.
Had Joe been preparing to leave? Did something happen? She called for him again, but heard no response. She would need to go room by room, searching. She exhaled. Here we go.
The kitchen opened into a small living room and breakfast nook, both neat and empty. Off the living room, a hallway led to the two bedrooms and single bath. Tracy braced herself. If Joe was still there, she hoped he was still alive. Please be sleeping. Or too sick to stand.
She could handle that.
Tracy reached for the first door handle, turning as she pushed the door open. An office. She exhaled in relief. She opened the next door and found a small bathroom with a pedestal sink, toilet, and tub/shower combination. That left only one door. The bedroom.
Before she opened the door, she knew. On some level, she’d known since the very first day. Saying goodbye to Joe that fateful day when the world changed… She knew, but she wasn’t prepared.
Tracy pushed the door open and her hand flew to her mouth, half because of the stench and half because of the sight. Joe lay in bed, hands on his chest, his skin gray from death. She walked around the edge of the bed, shoes silent on the plush rug, and stopped at his bedside table.
