The Dark Road Series Collection

by Bruno Miller

  Reaching back into the far corner of the safe, he pulled out his Remington M24. This was his primary hunting rifle when they went for elk or mule deer, and it had the longest range of any of his guns while also being the most accurate. Chambered to fire a .338 Lapua Magnum round, it was capable of reaching out beyond 1,500 yards. Ben became familiar with this rifle and learned to use it well while in the service. The Army referred to the gun as a “weapons system” because the 10 × 42 mm scope to be quickly detached and used as a monocular. It also had a bipod attached for stability, like one of the ARs. He slid it into a soft case with a sling and zipped it up.

  Leaning the rifle against the growing pile of gear to take, he looked back at the safe. There were still a few other guns in there, although he wasn’t sure how many more of them would make the cut. There were a couple of older wooden stocked 22 rifles. One had been Ben’s when he was a kid and the other was a little Davey Cricket youth model that Joel had learned to shoot with.

  Then there was Joel’s .308 Savage hunting rifle. It was the first gun he had saved up for and bought on his own. Ben remembered how proud 12-year-old Joel was when he walked out of the gun shop that day. He took his first deer with that gun and still used it to hunt with.

  His and Joel’s camouflage shotguns for duck hunting were also in there, next to each other, Joel’s 20-gauge Weatherby semiauto, and his 12-gauge Browning semiauto. The sight of those guns alone was enough to drive Gunner into a frenzy. He knew the guns and gear involved in going for ducks and nearly burst with excitement whenever they started getting ready for an outing. Gunner was a quick study and didn’t require much training to figure out his role as retriever. He seemed happiest when he was in the water and working the downed birds.

  There were also a few guns in there that had been Ben’s fathers: an old double-barrel 12-gauge and a .30-30 lever-action Winchester were among the more notable firearms remaining along the back wall of the safe.

  Ben didn’t have the heart to follow through on his original Plan about the old 12-gauge double-barrel shotgun. At well over a hundred years old, it was an antique at this point, and now that it stood in front of him, he couldn’t bear the thought of modifying it. He had thought about cutting down the barrel and the stock and making a compact mini cannon out of the thing.

  Not willing to operate on the old gun, he pulled Joel’s Weatherby out and gave it a look. Maybe this was a better candidate. It immediately made more sense to Ben for a few reasons. If the need arose, Allie could handle this gun. It was lightweight and could hold twice the amount of ammo as the old shotgun. The wide shot pattern of the number 2 bird shot would allow her to easily hit any target up to 45 yards away without much effort. Ben wasn’t sure if she had any experience with guns, but the recoil on the 20-gauge would be far less severe than on the 12-gauge. He couldn’t make it quite as short as the other gun, but it would still be easier to handle.

  “Okay then, this one it is,” he said out loud.

  He laid an old towel in the bench top vise and then laid the gun barrel in the towel and tightened the vise until the two sides came together and gripped the portion of the barrel he intended to cut off. He fished a hacksaw from his toolbox and laid it across the barrel. Eyeing it up with the end of the foregrip, he started cutting a half inch past that. Hoping Joel would forgive him for customizing his gun, Ben sliced through the barrel slowly but surely. Once he was down to the last couple of pulls with the saw, he stopped just short of cutting through and held the gun. Giving it a little pressure, the barrel bent easily at the cut and broke off, leaving a small burr that he smoothed down with a flat file.

  He re-clamped the gun by the stock and cut through the composite stock smoothly with the fine-toothed saw. With his other hand, he kept a firm grip and went all the way through. The edges needed attention after that. He grabbed an old sanding sponge and smoothed off the ends of what was now the pistol grip.

  Impressed with his handy work, he grinned at his creation. He couldn’t help but wonder how many laws he had broken with these modifications but figured none of that really mattered at this point. He used the towel in the vise to wrap the gun up just the same and added it to the pile.

  He pulled the crate with the coins in it out of the safe and put it up on the workbench. Picking through the assortment, he separated the silver buffalo coins from the rest and put them in a small plastic tub.

  There were 265 of the one-ounce coins, and all together they weighed about 16 pounds. He wasn’t sure what they would encounter en route to Maryland but figured a little bartering power might go a long way. Cash would be worthless in this post-apocalyptic world, but tangible goods like precious metals, food supplies, and weapons would rule the land.

  Ben was reminded of something the old-timers that came into his shop used to mention as the only thing they had faith in anymore—the three G’s: God, gold, and guns.

  He finished going through the safe, removing anything he thought they would need for their trip, and packed the remaining knives and specialty ammo on the shelves in his last spare ammo can.

  Adding the can to the pile, he stepped back to assess how much stuff he had added to the load and tried to figure out how much more he could cram into the truck. He looked around at the shelves in the basement. He grabbed two dark blue plastic water containers with built-in spigots from the top shelf and brushed the dust off them. He hadn’t used these since the car camping trip he and all the kids went on when they were here on summer vacation last year. They each held five gallons and were pretty heavy when they were full. He set them down by the pile, thinking he would fill them up in the morning with the hose outside so he didn’t have to carry them far. They should fit with the cooler and gas cans on the rear hitch-mounted rack. That would max out the rear rack most likely, so he’d better start figuring out where he was going to put anything else he decided to bring.

  Glancing down at his watch, he realized it was approaching 11:00. Anything else they would bring they could figure out in the morning and pack it once they had everything else loaded, if there was room. Walking over to the still-open safe, Ben took one last look inside at the remaining guns and gear and told himself that he would be back here someday. He wasn’t sure if he believed that entirely, but at least telling himself that made it easier to close the safe door, spin the lock, and walk away.

  Chapter Five

  Satisfied he had done all he could do for the night, Ben moved up the stairs lazily. Checking on Allie on his way through the living room, he was jealous of how soundly Gunner was sleeping as he snored loudly. Plopping down on his bed as soon as he got to his room, he rubbed his hand across his face and up through his hair. Brushing his teeth could wait until morning, he thought, and he turned the little LED lantern off. He’d run the generator for a while in the morning, and they could all enjoy the last hot shower they would most likely get for a while. He was physically and mentally fatigued at this point, and his thoughts were heavy with the prospects of their impending journey.

  He tried to remain optimistic but knew, based on the condition of the roads and even the main highway they had seen on the way back from town, it would be a long trip. He wasn’t sure if Allie would be up for it, but he hoped Joel could help with the driving if it wasn’t too crazy out there. It would be tedious going for sure. They would have to be on the lookout for abandoned vehicles and wrecks the entire time. Driving at night might be impossible to do safely, and not having that option would add a significant amount of time to the trip.

  Thinking back to his younger years, he remembered driving east on two separate occasions. One of those times, he was headed to Fort Benning, Georgia, to report for Ranger School and 68 days of hell.

  The only other time he had been east, he actually took the same route they were about to attempt on this trip. He and his ex had visited her parents in Maryland before Joel was born. They were young and carefree back then and had made the coffee-fueled road trip in three days, only stopping to spend th
e night once. This time would be a very different experience and take much longer for sure.

  They would head east on 160 initially, and it would presumably be slow going. It was a two-lane road in some sections, winding its way through the Rocky Mountains.

  From the western slope of the Rockies to the eastern slope, the route would take them across the Continental Divide with a series of switchbacks. God’s country, as Ben liked to call it, and in his opinion some of the most beautiful views he had ever seen.

  Most of the higher-elevation passes required snow chains during the winter months. But even with good weather and clear roads it could take most of the day just to get within an hour of Boulder. He had gone up that way last year for a trade show, through Boulder and then on to Denver, remembering it was pretty much a full day’s drive. The road was filled with blind corners and drastic elevation changes for at least the first few hours, which added to the difficulty. Maybe they could make up some time once they hit the plains of Kansas where it was straight and flat.

  Unable and unwilling to think about anything else, Ben was nearly asleep when his head hit the pillow. Not even bothering to take off his clothes, he pulled the comforter over himself and drifted off involuntarily.

  * * *

  There was an airplane headed straight for the house. Joel could see the long, sleek commercial airliner careening out of control. It almost glowed red, blazing away and leaving a trail of smoke and flames. It was headed straight for them. He couldn’t move.

  Straining to yell, he opened his mouth, but nothing came out but a raspy grunt. It was happening so fast. He couldn’t move away from the window. He was frozen in place like a statue. His face pressed against the cold, wet glass.

  “Whoa! What the…” Joel shot up from his bed and into a seated position, pushing Gunner away as the dog licked his face.

  “Oh, man! What a dream!” Joel coughed as he tried to get his voice back. Rubbing his face, he realized he was covered in sweat. He threw the covers off, anxious to pull himself back to reality and leave his crazy dream behind. Gunner forced his snoot into Joel’s lap, not willing to be so easily put off.

  “All right, all right, come on, you big brown moose,” Joel teased. He looked out the window. It was still predawn, but he also knew that once Gunner was up, there would be no peace until he had been let out to do his business. Joel had tried to make the dog wait in the past, but Gunner simply sat in the corner of his room and whined impatiently until Joel surrendered. Based on past performances from the dog, he figured it was probably around 4:30 or 5:00.

  He forced himself out of bed, a little unsure of his footing for a second. He balanced himself before leaning over and flicking the light switch.

  Click.

  “Oh right, duh.” He shook his head and fumbled around on the nightstand for his headlamp.

  “There we go.” Switching on the light, he made his way downstairs. Halfway down, he remembered that Allie was sleeping on the couch. He paused and switched his headlamp over to the red-light mode, then proceeded quietly. Gunner was waiting impatiently at the bottom of the steps and started for the door as soon as Joel stepped off the last tread.

  “Stay,” Joel whispered, cracking the door just enough to look around outside. He wanted to make sure it was clear after the coyote incident last night. All seemed calm. “Okay, go ahead.”

  Gunner flew across the deck and down to the bottom of the steps, not making it more than a few feet before relieving himself. It was just as well with Joel that Gunner stayed close to the house this morning.

  “Hey, come on, let’s go,” Joel called to the dog. Gunner had finished up and was beginning to wander toward the site of last night’s little skirmish, sniffing as he went.

  “Back inside. Let’s go, boy.”

  Reluctantly, Gunner headed up the steps.

  Joel patted the dog’s side as he came in. Relieved once Gunner was inside, he locked the door again. He peeked around the corner to check on Allie. She was wrapped up tightly in the covers and motionless except for the rise and fall of the blanket with each breath.

  Joel stared at her for a minute, drifting off in deep thought about how much had changed in the last few days. The line between reality and something else blurred as he stood there in the living room, his headlamp casting a red glow over everything. Boy, she was pretty.

  The sound of Gunner lapping water out of his bowl broke the silence. It seemed so loud in the quietness of the morning that Joel was afraid the noise would wake Allie at any moment. It got Joel thinking, though, and persuaded him into the kitchen.

  He grabbed a soda and a Cliff Bar out of the pantry. His dad would disapprove of this breakfast, but he didn’t feel like fixing anything and he was hungry now.

  He headed downstairs to see what his dad had gotten into last night. Switching his headlamp back to normal light, he made his way down the steps. He saw the pile of gear at the bottom and looked over the gun bags leaned against the ammo cans. He unzipped the bags just enough to confirm his suspicions about what guns were inside. His .308 was missing. Apparently it didn’t make the cut. If he had anything to say about it, they wouldn’t be leaving it behind. For now, he would at least get it ready and talk about it with his dad later. Surely they could squeeze it in somewhere.

  He set the Cliff Bar down on the workbench and opened the soda, taking a big gulp of the caffeinated beverage before turning to the safe. His dad had trusted him with the combination a couple years ago. Some of the guns in there were his, after all, and he enjoyed taking them apart and cleaning them.

  The mechanics of weapons had always fascinated him. He often thought, after his military career, he wouldn’t mind getting a job designing new models and components with one of the big gun manufacturers. In fact, after high school, he wanted to pursue mechanical engineering and get his AutoCAD design certification.

  It didn’t look like any of that would happen for a long, long time, if ever. He wanted to be mad at someone, but he didn’t know who or what good it would do. And with not being fully aware of all the details involved in the politics behind what had happened, he wasn’t sure who was more at fault.

  He felt like the U.S. had allowed North Korea to become too powerful with weak policy—if that was who, in fact, had bombed them. Of course, the North Korean government was run by a narcissistic nut job, so he guessed some of this was inevitable.

  The topic had been discussed some in his world history class, but Mr. Compton hadn’t gone into any great detail. Joel knew it had been in the news a lot lately as well and had seen his dad watching TV more than he normally did. But he had no idea things had been this close to the tipping point.

  Joel spun the combination on the dial and opened the door. The safe looked practically bare compared to what he was used to seeing in there. He pulled out his .308 and laid it on the bench top, admiring the gun for a second. He had installed a bolt-on muzzle break a few months ago, and it gave the gun a more tactical look, although its primary purpose was to reduce recoil and increase accuracy. He pulled down the soft case for his rifle and slid the .308 inside.

  His shotgun was missing from the safe. He hadn’t seen it stacked up with the others, so where was it? He looked back at the pile by the steps to see if he’d missed it.

  Chapter Six

  Ben rubbed his eyes and checked his watch again. His vision was a little clearer now, at least enough to see it was a just past 6:00 a.m.

  “Oh, man.” He’d hoped to get up earlier, but he wasn’t surprised he’d slept later than intended after pushing it last night. Before he did anything this morning, he was going to have some coffee, take a hot shower, and brush his teeth. As long as they could get on the road by 10 or so he would be happy.

  He wasn’t going to rush. That could lead to mistakes. Instead, he’d take his time packing the rest of the gear into the truck. He’d decided that last night, thinking he might have missed something in his sleep-deprived state.

  He had fought the
gut-deep urge to scramble when this all went down. There was nothing more he wanted to do than grab Joel and get to Maryland as fast as they could. But he knew that wasn’t the way to do things. You needed to make a plan and execute it. Actions based off knee-jerk reactions tended to end in failure—or worse. And they’d had enough worse already.

  Forcing himself up and out of bed, he trudged into the bathroom. Putting both hands on the vanity top, he hunched over and leaned in, looking at his face in the mirror. Tired was the first word that came to mind. He started to reach for the faucet to splash some cold water on his face, then remembered no water would come out. He needed to turn the generator on for any of this to happen, so he headed for the kitchen. He clearly needed to get some coffee in his system before he tackled anything today.

  When he rounded the corner into the living room area, the first thing he noticed was that everything he had piled up in the basement was now at the top of the stairs. And all of it was organized nearly how he had left it.

  Ben hadn’t been looking forward to carrying the gear and ammo up. None of the ammo cans were very light, and his back was still a little stiff from their hike home the other day.

  The next thing he noticed was that the couch was empty, and the blankets were neatly folded and stacked. Surprised that both kids were up, he continued toward the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. He found a half-full pot sitting on top of the mini camp stove in the kitchen. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, he poured the rest of the steaming black liquid into his cup and inhaled the aroma deeply.