Pilgrimage_A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story

by Tom Abrahams

  “Listen, brothers,” Kepler growled, “this is gonna be fast. As soon as we rip off that gate, I want three of you headed for the main house. It’ll be the biggest building.”

  “Where is it on the property?” asked one of the men. “How do we know?”

  “We don’t know the layout,” said Kepler. “Doesn’t matter. Look for a house. It’ll have lights on inside, I’m sure. The barn is gonna be behind the house somewhere. Back left corner.”

  “How many to the barn?” asked Berger.

  “Three to the garage, which is right up here.” Kepler pointed with two fingers, then his arm swept to the left. “Then back there, in front of the barn somewhere, is a second, smaller house. I want three men there.”

  “And the barn?” Berger repeated.

  “Nobody to the barn, yet,” said Kepler. “We need to clear the property of threats. The barn will be last.”

  “Do we enter the house?” asked Reggie.

  “Yes,” said Kepler. “Reggie, you lead the team to the house. I’ll lead the team to the small house. Berger, you take the garage. That leaves one extra man. I want you to float. Look for issues and eliminate them as you see fit.” Kepler pointed to a short, muscular grunt named Frederick. “Fred. That’s you.”

  The men mumbled their approval and Kepler twirled his hand in the air. “Let’s do this. We meet at the barn.”

  Two men jumped into the cabs of the trucks, cranked the engines and slammed into reverse. Within fifteen seconds, the gate exploded off its hinges. Camp Driggers and the thirteen people inside the fence were exposed.

  ***

  “You good?” James looked at Steve, assessing whether or not the vet would have the guts to follow through. “Do you want me to run the controls?”

  “No.” Steve shook his head and whispered, “I need you on the rifle. I’ll handle the controls.”

  The men were in the tree house, quietly perched twenty feet above the ground. With night-vision scopes, they could see the men gathered on the street. They watched as the men attached a pair of winches to the front gate. They could almost hear the barking of the man in charge as he pointed and waved his hands.

  James was lying on his belly, legs spread wide for stability. He held the stock of the semiautomatic rifle against his shoulder. His cheek was pressed toward his arm. He looked through the scope, pivoting his view using the Versa-Pod under the barrel.

  “I haven’t shot one of these before,” he admitted to Steve. “But I think it’s probably the same as a twenty-two, right?”

  “Yeah.” Steve was sitting on his knees, his attention shifted to the tablet controls. “A little more kick, though. That’s thirty caliber. Make sure you have the stick pressed tight to your shoulder, or it’ll kick and hurt you.”

  “I’ll be good.” James followed one of the men as he got into the cab of a winch-pulling truck. His view was momentarily obscured by a tree toward the front of the property.

  “I hope so.” Steve exhaled. “I hope so.”

  ***

  Mike Kelly watched the gate explode from his spot near the garage. He was seated on an ATV, ready to crank and go when he got the signal. His heart was thumping against his chest. His hands were sweating as he gripped the handlebar. A lot of their success would rely on his ability to start the engine unnoticed and cross the circular driveway as fast as possible.

  If his timing was off by just a couple of seconds, he’d be useless, and it would expose the main house. He was determined not to let the men get to the house.

  He took a deep breath and wiped his hands on his shirt, thinking about his wife, Michelle, and their children. Michelle was the consummate wife. She was supportive and forthright. Even when they argued, as married couples do, they did it out of love for their family. They would celebrate twenty years together in just a couple of months.

  Mitch was a starting safety on the football team. He was popular with his peers, and he’d done so well on the math portion of the SAT, schools from both coasts were pursuing him as a junior. He wanted to go to the Naval Academy and serve his country. Mike believed Mitch had a good shot at an appointment.

  Molly was on the freshman cheerleading squad. She’d practiced so hard all summer to make the team. It had taken her weeks, and a lot of sore muscles, to perfect an aerial cartwheel. She cried at dinner when she announced her new skill.

  Now, Mike knew, the three of them were prisoners in a basement, praying he would do his job. He knew they were scared for themselves and for him. He loved them so much.

  ***

  Felix stood at the base of the stairs, looking up at the only entrance to the basement. There was a two-by-four held by a pair of wall brackets blocking the doorway. He hoped it would be enough as a last line of defense.

  He held the shotgun at his side. Not hearing any commotion yet, there was no need to take aim. Felix felt both relieved and emasculated that Steve had assigned him to the basement. He didn’t want to be out there in the fray, as it were. But it would have been nice to be asked.

  Instead he was the guardian of the women and children. He was the lone shepherd protecting the flock from the pack of wolves they knew were coming.

  “Do you think our dads will stop them?” asked Sloane. She was sitting in a beanbag chair behind Felix, her stuffed bear on her lap.

  “I do,” said Felix. He said it with more certainty than he truly felt. “They’re strong men,” he added. “They’re smart. They’ll protect us.”

  He turned around, his back to the stairs. Sloane’s brother, Max, was sitting on a sectional sofa. He was between his mother and Connor Driggers. Connor and Max were talking to each other softly.

  Michelle Kelly was at the other end of the sectional with her daughter, Molly. She was chewing on her cuticles, staring at the coffee-colored Berber carpet that ran wall to wall.

  Molly was leaning on her mother’s shoulder, feet tucked underneath her. She couldn’t get close enough, Felix observed. As if, somehow, she wanted back in the womb: warm, protected, senses muted from the harsh reality outside.

  Leigh and Kosia were sitting opposite the sectional at each end of a worn love seat. Neither of them were talking. Both of them had their eyes closed. Felix believed Kosia was praying silently. Leigh, he thought, might be asleep.

  His gaze drifted to the corner of the room and an old rocking chair. Gently pushing her toes against the floor, cradling herself back and forth, was his beloved Denise. She was as beautiful as the day they met, forty-eight years earlier.

  She was out of his league. They both knew it. But he worked hard to gain her affection and then build a life for the two of them.

  Real estate was a hard job, long hours, flaky clients.

  “Buyers are liars.” Felix would come home, dropping his briefcase by the back door at the end of a particularly long day of carting around house hunters. “You can’t trust them as far as you can throw them.”

  “What about sellers?” Denise would ask, putting the finishing touches on a homemade chicken pot pie or slab of pork chops. “Do they lie?”

  “No,” Felix would answer. “They can’t lie. Their house is their truth. And you can’t hide the truth when it’s getting inspected six ways to Sunday.”

  They’d never had children. Not that they didn’t try.

  Felix leaned the shotgun against the wall adjacent to the stairs and crossed the room to his wife. He knelt down in front of her in that chair, her toes still pushing up and down. Up and down.

  Denise looked at her husband and smiled. He was a good man, a little short-tempered and prone to believe the latest, greatest conspiracy, but a good man who she knew loved her. She reached out as he touched her knee, putting her hand on his.

  “I love you.” Tears welled in his eyes. “I want you to know that.”

  “You don’t have to tell me, Felix,” she said, swallowing back her own inclination to cry. “I know. And I love you too.”

  In the distance, above them and outside the house, w
as a large metallic explosion. It was beginning.

  ***

  “They’re in three groups of three,” James said to Felix. “One man is by himself.”

  “So there’s ten of them,” Steve responded. “Ten total?”

  “As far as I can tell through this scope.” James could see the groups assembled at the fence line. They hadn’t crossed the threshold into the yard.

  “Tell me when!” Steve said. “Tell me when!” He punched his screen, bringing up the power control function on the security application.

  “Okay,” said James, his right eye hovering at the end of the scope. He was tracing their movements. “They’re about to move.”

  “Tell me when!” Steve was whispering as loudly as was possible. His finger was hovering over the tablet.

  “All right.” James saw one of the groups set to move. They were at the main gate. “Get ready.” The group moved across the fence line. “NOW!”

  Steve hit one of the power buttons on his tablet. It sent a signal to a wireless adapter plugged into a GFCI outlet in the garage, closing the circuit and supplying power to an air compressor.

  In that same instant, the compressor forced just enough air through forty yards of plastic tubing and into two of the buried cans at the main entrance. The air puffed into the cans, blowing the corn flour into a cloud. But nothing happened.

  “Did you push it?” James asked, his trigger finger ready to pull if necessary.

  “Yes!” Steve pushed the button again. Nothing. “It’s not working!”

  “Try another one.” James saw a second group of three men start across the opening. They were headed toward the garage. The first group was heading for the parking circle. “Do it now!”

  Panicking, Steve hit each of the other power buttons in succession, triggering every remaining can simultaneously. This time it worked.

  In seven of the eight cans, the cloud of ball-bearing-laced corn flour exploded when blown into the lit candles, the result of the stored chemical energy in the flour reacting with the heat of the candle flames. Though they were relatively small, they were violent.

  The ball bearings found their way into two of the men headed for the garage. They fell to the ground, rolling in pain.

  To James, they were green heaps undulating against the earth. He took a deep breath and exhaled before pulling the trigger twice.

  Thump! Thump! The suppressed bullets, traveling at twenty-six hundred feet per second, buried themselves in one of the men before James had released the pull. The green blob wasn’t moving anymore.

  He shifted the Versa-Pod and found the other target. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and pulled twice more.

  Thump! Thump! He was true again. Both slugs found their mark, putting an end to the man’s searing pain.

  “Holy—” Steve looked through his scope.

  “I know.” James couldn’t believe it either. He licked his lips and tried to focus on the mission, disregarding what he’d just done.

  ***

  Berger was knocked to the ground, his side catching a few ball bearings. But he quickly regained his feet and kept moving to the garage.

  His ears were ringing and he was disoriented. He looked over his shoulder and saw his two men on the ground. They were screaming for help that wasn’t coming.

  Berger could have sworn, as he glanced back, he saw a pair of muzzle flashes in the sky. He convinced himself it was the afterglow of the explosion.

  Was it an explosion? What exploded? Am I still headed in the right direction?

  He stopped halfway between the gate and the garage and bent over at his knees. Closing his eyes to fight his lack of equilibrium, he composed himself and stood up. Readjusting his weapon, he deliberately walked to the garage. He had his rifle waist high, sweeping it from left to right as he swiveled his neck, looking for another booby trap.

  There was nothing. Straight ahead was the garage. The entrance was facing southwest, parallel to Route 4024. To its left was a parking circle. But it was dark, and as Berger followed the driveway closer to the garage, he heard a clicking sound and then the high-pitched rev of a small motor.

  His hearing compromised, he couldn’t distinguish from which direction the sound was coming. But it was getting louder. He swung to the right and saw nothing. To the left, he could see a truck parked in the circle. Was someone in the truck?

  No! It wasn’t the truck.

  ***

  Mike Kelly couldn’t get the engine to turn over. As soon as he saw, and felt, the explosions throughout the grounds, he tried starting the ATV.

  That was the plan, crank it when the attackers were disoriented and unable to distinguish one sound from another. He kept pushing the start button, but all it would do was answer him with a weak clicking sound.

  I’m screwed! Mike thought. But he kept turning the key and pushing the start button.

  Finally, as he was about to abandon his post, the engine revved. It surprised Mike, almost knocking him from his seat. But he recovered, pulled a pair of night-vision goggles over his eyes, and spun the throttle with his right hand.

  He didn’t see anyone at first. There were hot spots from the explosions glowing as tiny orbs in his goggles. But then he saw him. A man, dazed and off balance, walking toward the garage. Mike was surprised to find only one man, but he was relieved.

  He cranked the throttle more, accelerating the ATV over a small mound in the yard, bouncing toward the man. Mike could see the man was armed. The dark shadow of his rifle stood out against the green glow of his body.

  Mike closed the distance quickly, closing his eyes as he whirred past the man, missing him by inches. He couldn’t tell if the contraption had worked until he heard the thud, the grunting, and felt the tug of two hundred and forty pounds of muscle dragging on the ATV.

  Attached to the side of the ATV, just in front of the rear wheels, was a piece of iron reinforcement bar. The rebar caught the attacker at the shins, knocking him off his feet and into a large vinyl-mesh net that was attached to a tow bar on the back of the four-wheeler.

  Mike sped toward the tree house, without his headlight on, pounding across the open space of the yard, past the cottage house to the southwestern corner of the property.

  “I got him!” Mike called up to Steve and James.

  James stood from his perch, pulled the .308 semiautomatic into his shoulder, sighted the catch still writhing in the net, and fingered the trigger twice.

  Thump! Thump!

  The man in the net screamed once and then was silent.

  Three down, thought James. Seven to go.

  ***

  Kepler and his team felt the explosions behind them and saw five more blow in front of them. He yelled at his team to get down. They threw themselves into the grass and dirt, assessing the situation.

  “What was that?” asked the man to Kepler’s right.

  “Some sort of IED,” Kepler cursed, standing up. “Who are these people?”

  “Should we quit and go back?” the man suggested, climbing to his feet. “Give up? Try later? I could—”

  Kepler put his rifle into the man’s chest and held the trigger, shredding him with a dozen bullets. “We’re not quitting! Are we?” He turned to the man to his left, who shook his head and started marching for the cottage ahead of Kepler.

  Both men reached the cottage door at the same time. Kepler tried the handle and the door opened. He burst into the dark room and unleashed another torrent of gunfire, spraying indiscriminately. Winded, he reached with his right hand and found a light switch, which he flipped.

  The room alit in a bath of yellow light from the ceiling fixture. Kepler and his sidekick waded through the lead-splintered debris and found nothing of value.

  “There’s nobody here,” he snarled. “It’s empty.”

  “What do we do next?” asked the sidekick. “I’m with you.”

  “The barn,” said Kepler. “Reggie’s got the house. Berger has the garage. We go to the barn.”
>
  The men exited the cottage and turned left toward the path leading toward the barn. At the edge of the cottage they made another left, marching northwest. The sidekick was two paces ahead of Kepler, jogging between the cottage and the rear of the house when the sidekick screamed.

  “My eye!” he yelled. “My eye!”

  Kepler lowered his weapon and took one more step before he felt a tug at his cheek, another at his neck. He tried to move away from the pressure but couldn’t. He was caught. The more he struggled, the worse it became, until whatever had embedded itself in his cheek tore its way free.

  “I can’t see!” The sidekick was flailing. “Help me!”

  Kepler realized, amidst the pain, he was tangled in something. He dropped his weapon and tried to work his way free. He couldn’t. He was trapped in fishing wire. Hooks were catching his shirt, his pants, his arms.

  With every movement, it got worse. “AGGGGHHHH!” he yelled in frustration against the din of the sidekick’s squeal.

  Who are these people?

  Then he saw them emerge from the darkness beyond the cottage.

  Three of them. All of them with night-vision goggles. One of them with a rifle leveled at his head.

  He heard both thumps that silenced the squealer. He only heard the first of the two that hit him.

  ***

  Frederick joined Reggie and his men as soon as the cans exploded. The four of them waited a beat before moving across the threshold into the yard.

  They moved past two men dead in the yard to the left. Quickly, they moved to the right, around the far side of the garage.

  “I’m taking us straight up the middle,” Reggie said to his group. “They’ll expect it. Follow me.”

  Crouched low, he slowed his pace at the sound of a high-pitched whirring motor. It whined and accelerated past them and to the left, zooming past the garage and toward the parking circle at the middle of the property.