by Harley Tate
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 idl
ed 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.
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? Di
d 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?”
